Beth Andrews - His Secret Agenda

He leaned back, the picture of relaxed, confident male. “I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”

Talk about a nonanswer. “I need someone I can rely on. I’ve been through too many bartenders to count.” He just nodded—in agreement? Pity? Who knew? “To be honest,” she continued, “it’s getting really annoying to hire someone, only to have them walk away a few weeks—or in one case hours—later. I need someone dependable who’s not going to leave me in the lurch.”

She sipped her soda and waited, but he didn’t say anything. And the intense way he studied her made her squirm.

She cleared her throat. “Now, that’s not to say if I hire you I expect you to stay forever….” The idea of staying at The Summit forever caused a chill to run up her spine. “But,” she continued, shoving aside the uneasiness she always felt when she thought of her future, “I would appreciate at least two weeks’ notice, not to mention a few months worth of work first.”

He remained silent.

She sighed. Why were good-looking men always such a trial? “I’m not sure if you understand how a conversation works, but that would be your cue to speak.”

He hesitated. Her experience as a defense attorney told her he was readying a lie. But when she searched his expression, she saw no hint of deception.

Which just went to show she’d made the right decision to quit practicing law. She obviously wasn’t as good at reading people as she’d thought.

“I’ll be in Serenity Springs for a while,” he said. “But I can’t guarantee how long.”

“If I hire you, I need to know you won’t leave me in a bind.”

Still no response. He didn’t try to persuade her he was best for the job, didn’t promise he’d stick it out as long as possible. He sure didn’t seem all that desperate for work. So why was he here?

She glanced over his résumé again. After graduating from Athens high school in Texas, Dean had worked at a Dallas establishment called Benedict’s Bar and Grill for three years before joining the Marine Corps, after which he’d served in both Afghanistan and Iraq. “I see you tended bar before you went into the military, but your recent work record has quite a few gaps. Care to explain those?”

“I was trying to find something that suited.”

“Since you’re here, I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for?”

“No, ma’am.”

She picked up a pen and tapped it against the table. “See, this is where we get back to me being able to rely on you to stick around. And from what I can tell of your work history—or at least, your work history over the last two years—you don’t stay in one place long.”

He clasped his hands together on the table. “After my discharge I did some traveling. For personal reasons.”

“Hmm…” He was hiding something. She could feel it. “So you had a difficult time adjusting back to…what would you call it…civilian life?”

“No more than anyone else who served.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and studied him. Maybe he suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. She was far from an expert on PTSD, but knew that a person affected by it could have trouble keeping a job. Or it could be something else. Wanderlust. The inability to get along with his employers or fellow employees.

And then it hit her why he was so secretive. Why he gave such vague answers. Why there were periods of up to three months unaccounted for in his work history.

“Have you ever been convicted of a criminal offense?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“The gaps. I’m just wondering…”

“Are you asking if I was in prison? Is that even legal?”

“In New York State, a prospective employer may ask if a prospective employee has been convicted of a criminal offense, just not if they’ve ever been arrested or charged with a crime.”

Something flashed in his eyes, something like respect. But before she could be certain, he said, “That makes no sense.”

“That’s the law for you. Besides, being arrested or charged with a crime in no way means you were convicted of said crime.”

“You could always run a background check on me.”

She sipped her soda. “I could—after I informed you of that fact, of course. But I like to form my own impressions of the people I hire based on what I see and hear from them. Not what the state of New York tells me.”

“Would you refuse to hire me if I had a criminal past?”

“Article 23-A of the New York Correction Law prohibits employers from denying an applicant employment because the applicant was previously convicted of one or more criminal offenses.” She caught herself and shook her head. She wasn’t a lawyer anymore. No need to talk like one. “I just mean that it’s illegal, not to mention unethical, to refuse to hire you because of your past. So no, that wouldn’t be a problem.” She paused. “But you lying about it would be.”

“You make a habit of hiring convicted criminals?” he asked, his accent so sexy it made her want to do whatever it took to keep him talking. She tilted her head in a silent question. “Just wondering what type of people I’ll be working with if I get the job,” he explained.

She took a long drink. “If you get the job, you can be assured that none of your coworkers have a criminal record.”

After all, Kelsey’s juvenile record didn’t count, and while Allie’s kitchen assistant, Richie, had some past troubles with drug use, he’d never been formally charged with possession.

And Allie’s sins hadn’t landed her in jail.

Just her own purgatory.

“But,” she continued when Dean remained silent, “if you have a problem with people who’ve paid their dues to society, reconsider if you want this job.” And really, did she want someone so…judgmental working for her? “One of my good friends spent time in prison and he stops by quite often.”

Dillon Ward, Kelsey’s brother, had served time for manslaughter after killing their stepfather while protecting Kelsey. After his release, Dillon had battled prejudice and his own guilt. Luckily, he’d gotten past all of that and was now able to move forward in a relationship with local bakery owner Nina Carlson.

Allie smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t want any of his criminal tendencies to rub off on you.”

“You don’t have any problems with his past?”

“No,” she snapped. She inhaled a calming breath. “I don’t have a problem with anyone’s past.” Well, except her own—but that was what she was doing here, right? Her penance. “I have a bigger problem with people in the present. Out of the last three individuals I hired, one stole from me, one walked off the job and one…” Allie squeezed the can she was holding, denting the aluminum. “She was the worst of all. She lied.”

“Lying pissed you off more than desertion and theft?”

“Deserters can come back,” she said coolly. “A thief can return what he or she stole. But a liar? You can never take back a lie.”

He inclined his head and slowly straightened. “I’ve never been imprisoned or convicted of a crime.”

“And the gaps in your résumé?”

“As I said, I was traveling.”

All the signs, everything she’d ever learned about being able to tell when someone was lying, said that Dean Garret was just what he appeared to be. Easygoing. Stoic. Confident. A sexy cowboy in need of a job. If he could mix drinks, he’d be an asset behind her bar. Once word got around about him, women would flock to The Summit just to hear his Texas drawl. And he wasn’t so pretty as to put her male patrons on the defensive.

“I guess that’s all the information I need then.” She stood, and couldn’t help but second-guess herself when he got to his feet, as well. Who knew manners could be such a turn-on? Still, she walked around the table and offered him her hand. “Thank you for coming in.”