Finding Southern Comfort Excerpt
Maybe this job could give her some breathing room—a chance to figure out her future. Only one child to take care of, or so the ad said. How hard could this be? She was blown away when a request for an interview came back two hours after she’d pushed the send button. Stretched out on her futon, she was watching The Notebook for like the fiftieth time. Even soaking wet, Ryan Gosling still sizzled. Her sobs were interrupted by the ping. She had mail.
One casual glance and she sat bolt upright. Gulping and pausing dear Ryan, she started typing. Sure, ten o’clock Wednesday would be fine. But when she did an Internet search for the address, hot and cold flashes danced across her skin.
The mansion on Victory Drive. Cameron Bennett. Holy cripes. She closed the laptop, only to reopen it fifteen minutes later. The pay was too good to pass up. Time to put on her big girl pants.
Now she squinted up at the building. “Here goes nothing.”
She might not even have one chance if Cameron recognized her.
Her flounced skirt swung around her thighs and her hair was coiled into a demure bun at the nape of her neck. Just a touch of lip gloss and some mascara this morning. One more deep breath from her inhaler before she tucked it in her bag. The tortoise shell bracelets she’d scored at Maisy’s shop jangled on her wrists when she punched the doorbell.
A couple beats and Connie opened one of the heavy black doors.
“I have an appointment at ten o’clock. Harper Kirkpatrick,” she said, as if she’d never seen Connie before in her life. With some effort, she lifted the end of each sentence, just like Mary Ann had told her. “Just a tad, Harper, darlin’. Like you’re lifting the edge of a flapjack?”
No hint of recognition when Connie stepped back. “Please come in.”
“What a lovely foyer.” Diving into a southern accent that clung like syrup to every word, Harper babbled about the marble floor, Oriental rugs and priceless antiques like she’d never seen them before.
“Won’t you sit down, Harper?” Connie motioned to an ornately carved bench that sat under a watercolor of the marshes. The library pocket door slid open while Harper tried to get comfortable on the hard surface.
“Thank you so much for coming, Miss Daniels. Connie will get back to you. We expect to make a decision soon.” Immaculate in gray pinstripe slacks and an alabaster shirt, Cameron Bennett stood in the doorway, his mauve tie a jaunty splash of color. The man had style.
“Then I’ll wait to hear from you.” The gorgeous Miss Daniels smiled with the confidence of a candidate who knew she’d aced her interview. The classic lines of her suit screamed designer and the sand color accented her blonde bob. Mile-long legs ended in nude peep-toe heels.
Harper smoothed one hand over the ruffles of her tiered skirt patterned with purple flowers. Suddenly, her pink jacket seemed too bright, the skirt too girly. She’d drawn the line at wearing the navy “interview suit” her mother had given her as a graduation gift. Navy wasn’t in Harper’s color palette. Now she wondered.
“I’ll just tell him you’re here,” Connie murmured after she’d shown the girl out.
Right. Like he hadn’t seen her sitting there. Harper expelled a tight breath as the library door slid closed behind Connie. Reaching into her bag, she fingered her inhaler. Touching the plastic ridges eased her anxiety. While Connie was gone, Harper rehearsed her new inflection, giggling quietly at her whispered, “Yes sir, that is so very sweet of you.” Studying the Savannah etchings hung along the stairway, she tried to identify each square. Took her mind off how desperately she needed this job.
The library door slid open, the dry sound of wood on wood. Connie padded toward her. “You can go in now.” Bless her heart, the housekeeper shot her an encouraging smile.
Cameron lounged in a wing chair in front of a massive fireplace at the end of the library. He rose with a languid elegance that contrasted with his broad shoulders and a strong nose that spoke of power. She’d seen a lot of that silver spoon entitlement here in Savannah.
He was the real deal. And she was a phony.
Read more of Finding Southern Comfort at these stores:
Amazon
Apple
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Maybe this job could give her some breathing room—a chance to figure out her future. Only one child to take care of, or so the ad said. How hard could this be? She was blown away when a request for an interview came back two hours after she’d pushed the send button. Stretched out on her futon, she was watching The Notebook for like the fiftieth time. Even soaking wet, Ryan Gosling still sizzled. Her sobs were interrupted by the ping. She had mail.
One casual glance and she sat bolt upright. Gulping and pausing dear Ryan, she started typing. Sure, ten o’clock Wednesday would be fine. But when she did an Internet search for the address, hot and cold flashes danced across her skin.
The mansion on Victory Drive. Cameron Bennett. Holy cripes. She closed the laptop, only to reopen it fifteen minutes later. The pay was too good to pass up. Time to put on her big girl pants.
Now she squinted up at the building. “Here goes nothing.”
She might not even have one chance if Cameron recognized her.
Her flounced skirt swung around her thighs and her hair was coiled into a demure bun at the nape of her neck. Just a touch of lip gloss and some mascara this morning. One more deep breath from her inhaler before she tucked it in her bag. The tortoise shell bracelets she’d scored at Maisy’s shop jangled on her wrists when she punched the doorbell.
A couple beats and Connie opened one of the heavy black doors.
“I have an appointment at ten o’clock. Harper Kirkpatrick,” she said, as if she’d never seen Connie before in her life. With some effort, she lifted the end of each sentence, just like Mary Ann had told her. “Just a tad, Harper, darlin’. Like you’re lifting the edge of a flapjack?”
No hint of recognition when Connie stepped back. “Please come in.”
“What a lovely foyer.” Diving into a southern accent that clung like syrup to every word, Harper babbled about the marble floor, Oriental rugs and priceless antiques like she’d never seen them before.
“Won’t you sit down, Harper?” Connie motioned to an ornately carved bench that sat under a watercolor of the marshes. The library pocket door slid open while Harper tried to get comfortable on the hard surface.
“Thank you so much for coming, Miss Daniels. Connie will get back to you. We expect to make a decision soon.” Immaculate in gray pinstripe slacks and an alabaster shirt, Cameron Bennett stood in the doorway, his mauve tie a jaunty splash of color. The man had style.
“Then I’ll wait to hear from you.” The gorgeous Miss Daniels smiled with the confidence of a candidate who knew she’d aced her interview. The classic lines of her suit screamed designer and the sand color accented her blonde bob. Mile-long legs ended in nude peep-toe heels.
Harper smoothed one hand over the ruffles of her tiered skirt patterned with purple flowers. Suddenly, her pink jacket seemed too bright, the skirt too girly. She’d drawn the line at wearing the navy “interview suit” her mother had given her as a graduation gift. Navy wasn’t in Harper’s color palette. Now she wondered.
“I’ll just tell him you’re here,” Connie murmured after she’d shown the girl out.
Right. Like he hadn’t seen her sitting there. Harper expelled a tight breath as the library door slid closed behind Connie. Reaching into her bag, she fingered her inhaler. Touching the plastic ridges eased her anxiety. While Connie was gone, Harper rehearsed her new inflection, giggling quietly at her whispered, “Yes sir, that is so very sweet of you.” Studying the Savannah etchings hung along the stairway, she tried to identify each square. Took her mind off how desperately she needed this job.
The library door slid open, the dry sound of wood on wood. Connie padded toward her. “You can go in now.” Bless her heart, the housekeeper shot her an encouraging smile.
Cameron lounged in a wing chair in front of a massive fireplace at the end of the library. He rose with a languid elegance that contrasted with his broad shoulders and a strong nose that spoke of power. She’d seen a lot of that silver spoon entitlement here in Savannah.
He was the real deal. And she was a phony.
Read more of Finding Southern Comfort at these stores:
Amazon
Apple
Barnes & Noble
Kobo