Page 4 of Baker

“If I was her?”

“If you were her. What would you have done?”

His eyes searched the floor for a moment. “I’d have given the thief the bait money.” He tilted his head to the side and raised both eyebrows. “But I wouldn’t have made it so obvious.”

I spit a laugh on the floor between us.

His eyes thinned. “What?”

“You’d follow the conditions of employment at the bank, but you won’t follow them with the club?”

“She was an irritating bitch.”

“It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

“Yeah.” He grinned a sly grin. “It was.”

It wasn’t an accident, and I knew it. “Whatever you want to call it, it’s going to cost you roughly fifty-three thousand bucks. After the club’s paid, that’s seventy-five percent of your take.”

“God damn it, Baker,” he seethed.

“It’s not negotiable. I’ll announce it to the club on Wednesday afternoon.”

“Fine. But that bitch better hope I never see her on the street.”

The job was in Indio. The odds of him ever seeing her again were nil at best. “She’s a hundred and fifty miles from here, so we won’t have to worry about that, will we?”

“It’s a good thing.” He tapped the tip of his index finger against his forehead. “Because the next one’ll be between her eyes.”

TWO - Andy

Present day.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.” He shook his head so lightly it seemed unintentional. “I hate to say it, but I believe you were called in by accident.”

My heart sank. “Accident?”

“You have no property management experience? Is that correct?”

“Yes, Sir. I mean, no, Sir,” I stammered. “I have no experience, but I believe I’m more than qualified. In fact, I’m convinced I’ll better serve you in this position than anyone else you’ll interview. I’m sure of it. Quite sure.”

I was three minutes into the most important job interview of my life. A job I had no experience at. The Notice to Vacate I’d recently been forced to comply with was all the motivation I needed to convince the old man on the other side of the desk to hire me.

He held my resumé at arm’s length. His brow wrinkled. “I don’t know why she prints these things like this. I need a magnifying glass to read it.”

He picked up a pair of wire-framed glasses and stretched the curved earpieces over the back of each of his ears. For just shy of eternity, he studied my sparse work history through the thick lenses. When he finished, he placed the resumé on the side of his desk and set his glasses on top of it.

“You are Andy Winslow, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’ve got to be honest, Andy. When I told Nadine to call you in for an interview, I thought you were a man.”

“I’m one hundred percent woman. All 134 pounds of me,” I said playfully.

His face remained expressionless.

“Does being a woman prevent me from being considered?”