Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
After we order, Julian folds his hands on the table and looks at me with the same directness he had in the car. “I want to revisit a topic you brought up earlier… the advice you gave me about the ticketing situation.”
I shift slightly. “Oh… that.”
“What you described in thirty seconds took my operations team the better part of a morning and they still hadn’t landed on it.”
I don’t know what to do with that, so I just say, “I’m glad it helped.”
“You have a sharp mind, Harper.” My cheeks heat from the compliment. “And strong instincts about people.”
“Thank you,” I manage.
“Which makes me curious.” He tilts his head. “Why are you driving a car for a living?”
I blink at the blunt question. Not once in my life has anyone questioned my choice of jobs or even been curious why I do what I do. “Um… it pays well,” I say lamely. “Flexible hours. I can pick up shifts when I need them.”
“Did you go to college?”
Now that has been asked of me before, and it brings me a little shame. I manage to meet his eyes, keeping my chin lifted in defense of my life choices. “I tried but it wasn’t for me.”
“What does that mean, it wasn’t for you?”
It doesn’t sound judgmental, merely inquisitive. “It means I sat in lectures and counted ceiling tiles,” I say with a half-smile. “Some of it was interesting but most of it wasn’t so I decided it wasn’t for me. Plus, I needed to work, so I worked.” I shrug. “I’ve always just… hustled. Whatever paid best. Customer service, catering, driving. I’m not too proud for any of it.”
“That’s not what I’m suggesting,” he says. “I’m fascinated that you have this very bright mind and you could do so much with it.”
I stare at him, trying to decide if he’s being genuine or placating. The directness of his stare and the fact that he’s Julian Langley and doesn’t have to placate anyone leads me to believe he’s being honest.
“I appreciate the kind words.” I pick up my water glass and take a sip. “Thank you again for this job, genuinely. It changes things for me considerably.”
He nods, accepting that, but he doesn’t let the thread drop. “With your instincts, you’d be well-suited for operations or marketing. Possibly both.”
I look at him. “Is a college degree required for that job?”
“Not at all. I have people working for me at every level who never set foot in a university, and they have just as much value to me as anyone with an MBA. I’m simply saying”—he considers his phrasing—“that you’re thirty-two. You’re not the same person you were at eighteen. You might find it different now. College is useful less for the credential than for the exposure. It shows you ideas, possibilities, even directions you might not have otherwise considered.”
I open my mouth and close it again. It’s not something I ever considered. When I dropped out thirteen years ago, it never once crossed my mind to try it again. I am a different person, that’s for sure, but my station in life doesn’t allow me to dream of things like that anymore.
“Just a thought,” he adds and leaves it there.
The food arrives and gives me a chance to recalibrate. The filet is extraordinary and I take small, savoring bites. Julian eats with the same unhurried attention and for a stretch we’re quiet, but it isn’t uncomfortable. I find this surprising, given that I’ve known this man for approximately thirty-six hours. Somehow, he’s put me at ease.
Julian sets his fork and knife down, wiping his mouth with his napkin before returning it to his lap. He rests his elbows on the table, staples his fingers and looks at me thoughtfully. “I’m wondering if you can go two for two.”
I pause with a delectable bite of filet halfway to my mouth. “Two for two?”
“You solved one of my problems with the ticketing fiasco with insight and perception… I’m wondering if you can do it again.”
I set the fork down carefully, sparing a brief but longing glance at the tender beef ignored for now. “Um… I can try.”
Julian leans back in his chair and rests one arm on the table. “There’s a situation I’ve been working to resolve for several years. An objective I want for the organization that keeps eluding me.”
“What is it?”
He studies me. “How much do you know about hockey?”
I give him a sheepish smile. “I know there’s a puck and it goes in a net and people get very emotional about it.”
He laughs—short and genuine, and it changes his face completely, softens that part that is normally so composed. “We’ll rectify that. At any rate, the league holds an All-Star Weekend event every year. They have a skills competition, a game with all the top players—Eastern Conference versus Western. There’s international media, sponsors, the works, and cities bid to host it.”