Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Just the other day, I heard Mr. Prichard gossiping like an old hen outside of the post office with Mr. Hinkle. This was right after the pictures that showed up online about his blowup with Cory in the locker room were released. Despite him standing me up for that date years ago, I felt bad for the guy. The locker room should’ve been a safe place for him to get angry. At least, it should’ve been a place where there wouldn’t be pictures, but it seems that he was betrayed by more than just Cory.
I shake my head, making more of my curls fall flat. I don’t know why I’m even trying to get my hair to do anything more than what it wants to do. The effort never lasts.
I hold my head high as I look in the mirror and tell myself that this is a job interview, and I would try my best to look perfect for any interview. This isn’t for him specifically but for the situation.
I pick a sundress that makes me feel pretty because I need the confidence boost it gives me. Rejection has a way of sticking to a person even years and years later. Plus, the man seems to always be at risk of ending up as a cover story for the media, and I’ll be damned if I end up on the cover of some damn tabloid looking like a goblin. There have been numerous times Chase’s wife, Emily, was photographed looking less than perfect, and she was eaten up in comments and repostings. That woman is a literal super model, and they had no mercy on her. I can’t even imagine what they’d say about me. My nose scrunches when I recall that she was even splashed on several magazines when her privacy was invaded as she was sunbathing topless in her own backyard.
I pause I as reach for my purse. Maybe working for him isn’t such a good idea after all.
Then I realize that he’s a superstar, and we aren’t dating. If he needs help decorating his house, then that could mean even more jobs for me when all of his showy star-studded friends love what I do with his house.
Taking a deep breath, I head to my car with fake-it-until-you-make-it confidence.
The drive to the diner is as quick as it always is, but the trip is just long enough. My conviction manages to wane enough that it leaves me standing outside of The Brew and Chew, looking inside with a once-again unmade-up mind about entering.
“Madison?”
I look over and smile at Sheriff Hodson, thanking him for not being rude when he holds open the door for me. Cash works within the city limits, but the sheriff is responsible for calls in the county surrounding the town. I know they have had a few verbal skirmishes since Lindell decided on having a local police force rather than relying solely on the Sheriff’s Department. Mike Hodson took offense that they didn’t think he was enough.
I know where Chase Woodson is the second I step inside the diner, and it has nothing to do with his aura or some kind of draw to the man. People are literally circled around him like he’s responsible for ending world hunger or reducing the crime rate to zero. I wouldn’t put it past some of his local fans to have shrines of the man in their closets.
Chase gives me a tight smile when he spots me, but the glance lasts only that long before he’s back to smiling and chatting with others.
I have more than one option on how I could handle this situation, but waiting for him to be done being fawned over isn’t going to happen. I waited for him once before, and even at the age of thirteen, I was smart enough to know that I’d never wait for him again.
Of course my teenage brain envisioned him begging for my forgiveness and groveling for days and months even until I forgave him. Teenage me fantasized about him spending every second of the rest of his life with me, making up for forgetting about taking me to that dance.
I sigh, turning around to walk right back out the door.
“Madison!”
I take a deep breath.
“Honey, Chase is calling you,” Ruth, the owner of the diner, helpfully tells me as if there’s anyone left in this place that didn’t hear him yell.
“Thank you,” I tell her, because being rude to the woman who makes the most heavenly chicken and dumplings is not something that I’ll ever be caught doing.
I don’t know what he told his hoard of devotees, but they’re starting to scatter by the time I turn back around to face him.
Knowing he’s on display, the man is gracious enough to stand as I approach, but it doesn’t stop the sneer from Marcy as I pass her. I swear that woman hates everyone. Since she works in the front office at the elementary school, I pray she doesn’t treat the kids the way she treats everyone else.