License to Shop

Book 2

Kelly McClymer

Copyright © 2015 Kelly McClymer

All rights reserved.

Other Books by Kelly McClymer

Chicklit

The Ex-Files

Secret Shopper Mom Mystery series

Shop and Let Die

License to Shop

Once Upon a Wedding series

The Fairy Tale Bride

The Star-Crossed Bride

The Unintended Bride

The Infamous Bride

The Next Best Bride

The Impetuous Bride

The Twelfth Night Bride

FOR TEENS…and the young at heart…

Blood Angel

Getting to Third Date

The Salem Witch Tryouts

Competition’s a Witch

She’s a Witch Girl

Must Love Black

Must Love Halloween

Boxed Sets

Once Upon a Wedding Bks 1-4

Once Upon a Wedding Bks 5-7

Dangerous Secrets

A Very Romantic Christmas

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

To all the university faculty, staff, and students who toil under-appreciated in the so-called ivory towers of academia: higher education is worth it, so thank you.

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CHAPTER ONE

The Mom with the Golden Interview

Monday mornings were always a whirlwind, after the relative laziness of the weekend, but this Monday morning felt particularly whirly. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why until, halfway through simultaneously making breakfast and packing lunches for the kids, I caught sight of the calendar with the big red circle on it. I only used red for very important events.

Interview, it said inside the red circle.

My stomach clenched and I reached for my mug and took a deep gulp of coffee. Blah. It was cold. As I dumped out the cold stuff and poured a fresh hot mug, I couldn’t help but wonder: Was I ready for the real work world if I could forget what day of the week it was so easily?

Seth came in just in time to grab the toast from the toaster and butter it before Anna and Ryan clomped down the stairs, groggy and ready for food. They sat down and attacked the toast as I spooned scrambled eggs onto our plates.

Scrambled? Ryan was surprised. But I was going to make mine over easy.

At twelve, it was a matter of pride for both of us that he could make his own breakfast. But— If I’m going back to work full-time, we can’t have a dozen dishes in the sink every morning.

He looked unhappy. Then don’t go back to work. Just keep doing that secret shopper thing you do.

Anna chimed in, If you’re working all day, who will be home when I get home?

I wanted to give her a hug and reassure her that she was not going to be forgotten, one of the major anxieties of my anxiety-ridden little girl.

Seth’s reply cut off any comfort. Anna. You will go to the after-school program. Ryan. Your mother has more useful skills to offer the world than shopping for a living.

They both frowned at him, preparing to ask him more questions, but he said sharply, Do you want to go to college? If so, then stop giving her a hard time. It isn’t easy to face a job interview. We need to make her feel confident and successful.

They both looked at me dubiously, and I could hear their thoughts. Confident? Successful? Mom?

I addressed Ryan’s concern first. If you agree to clean your pan after you make your eggs, and put your dishes in the dishwasher, I’m okay with you cooking your own breakfast.

He thought it over for thirty seconds, shrugged, piled his scrambled eggs on his toast, sprinkled on enough hot sauce to kill half his taste buds, and ate. Figured. One kid’s objections down.

Anna stared at her eggs as if they were poison. But I like cereal. I don’t have to use a pan to make my own cereal.

Okay, then. You’ll put the cereal box, and the milk, back in the refrigerator, and put your bowl in the dishwasher?

Yes.

Then give your dad your eggs, and show me you can be a big girl.

She shoved her plate at Seth, who happily ate her eggs while she got a bowl, a spoon, her favorite cereal, and the milk carton. We all held our breath while she poured from the heavy carton, but she didn’t spill a drop.

Good job, sweetie. And don’t worry. The after-school program is supposed to be a lot of fun. They go hiking, and play on the playground, and watch a movie every week.

She nodded. Sarah goes to after school care. She says the movies are lame old movies with a lot of singing and dancing, but the popcorn is pretty good.

Around a spoonful of cereal, she added, The interview people will like you, Mom. Maybe you should bring them some Snickerdoodles. Mrs. Glenn always loves it when you bring Snickerdoodles. She says you’re the best homeroom mom ever.

Snickerdoodles. I basked in the praise for approximately half a second, and then I remembered something I’d forgotten. Oops. I jumped up from the table. I’d promised Mrs. Glenn I’d give her my recipe. I grabbed the recipe card I’d written out last night, wiped off some egg spilled on it, and stuck it in Anna’s backpack. Remember to give Mrs. Glenn this card, Anna, okay?

She nodded, and looked at the clock. But you better get dressed fast, Mom, or we’ll be late.

It was my turn to nod. I had been known to drive the kids to school while still in my pajamas, but that is a luxury for a mom with a very flexible schedule, not a working mom. And especially not a mom going on her very first interview in ten years.

Seth looked over his mug and said, Why don’t I take the kids to school this morning so you can have some extra time to get ready for the interview.

I laughed. You mean I’m not going to get hired if I go in my jammies, without brushing my hair? I tried to keep it light and positive, even though I was panicking inside. I could change out of my jammies. I could brush my hair. I could even wear makeup. But inside, I was still going to be a woman who hadn’t worked in the real word for a long time. My resume was pitiful, especially since Seth, and my mentor Dierdre the heart surgeon, had both suggested I leave off my mystery shopping experience. That left me with PTA and Girl Scout volunteer service to fill in the gap between today and the day I left my full-time job for a life of part-time work and full-time motherhood.

He herded the kids out the door, backpacks, lunches, and all. You’re going to be fine, Molly. Deirdre and Deb will give you excellent references. You know the university well, through me. That’s a plus. You’re good with kids. You’ll make a great admissions counselor.

I stood in the doorway, watching them climb into the car. He made it sound so easy. Interview, get the job, do the job. I hope so. You never know if someone with more experience than I have will apply. The university has to go with experience, after all, even if Deirdre and Deb do make me sound like the most awesome volunteer ever.

He stopped, his hand on the car door. He frowned. Don’t be negative. You promised.

Was the truth really negative? Maybe. I just want to be realistic.

He sighed. The mystery shopping was fun, but we agreed: we need something reliable now if we want to be able to send the kids to college.

Reliable. Seth means respectable. If he’s going to be Assistant Dean, I’m going to have to do something Assistant Dean’s-wife-respectable. Mystery shopping, which I have been doing for six years, in between car pool and dishes and laundry, is not going to cut it.

I picked up my plate and coffee mug, trying to sound confident. I’m going to wow them at the Admissions office today. I couldn’t help adding a cautionary finish. And if they don’t hire me, someone else will. I have five more jobs circled that could be good prospects if this one doesn’t turn out.

He lobbed his backpack into the passenger seat of his car. Think positively. This one will turn out.

I knew Seth well enough to see the shadow of worry in his eyes he was trying to hide. We were being brave for each other, even though we both knew the odds of my getting the first job I applied for fell heavily on the luck side of the gambling equation.

I watched them drive away, hoping the smile I had plastered on my face for them had fooled them into thinking I was positive, confident, and about to conquer the interview.

The Admissions office was on the opposite end of the campus from the physics department’s building. It took me a while to find a parking lot with an empty space. Happily, my phone assured me that I was ten minutes early for my interview. Early. I should get points for that. Right?

I stopped just before entering the Admissions office, took three deep breaths, and tried to wipe any lingering terror from my expression. You will be a great asset to this office, Molly. Be confident and composed. Unleash your inner Dierdre.

Dierdre, my new mentor and the heart surgeon wife of my husband Seth’s dean, had counseled me to smile as I entered the office. She claimed that smiling made you not only look confident, but feel confident. I put my hand on the door handle, took one more deep breath, tried on a few smiles until I found one that didn’t feel too fake, and opened the door.

The admin sat behind a bulkhead that kept everyone at bay. She looked up when I entered, and met my smile with her own. Point to Dierdre. I did feel more confident. Maybe I could get a real job, after being home raising children for ten years. Maybe I could put my scandalous part-time job as mystery shopper behind me for regular hours, an office, benefits, and a much happier, more promotable, husband.

Molly Harbison. I’m here to see Henriette Stubbs, I said, proud of the confident timbre of my voice. I have an interview.

Please have a seat. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived, the admin said, equally confidently. I squashed down my astonishment at how young she looked. She seemed more of a contemporary with the students than the staff. I’d been almost that young, too, fifteen years ago, I reminded myself. Instead of standing up and walking back to the closed office door with Henriette Stubbs’ name on it, she tapped a quick message on the keyboard of her computer.

I surveyed the sad seating choices for my wait. An uncomfortable pair of plastic chairs, and a beat up love seat that was half taken up with a basket of…I moved closer…yep, a mother dog with a squirming litter of puppies. There was a handmade sign on the basket. FOR SALE. $25 OBO. I backed away from the mama dog’s sad eyes and took one of the plastic chairs. Discomfort over dog hair any day, that’s my motto.

The admin’s computer dinged to tell her she had an urgent message and two seconds later she said, Dr. Stubbs will be a few minutes late.

Thank you for letting me know. As the minutes ticked by, marked by a large round analog clock on the wall over the admin’s head, I could feel the confidence seeping out of me like air out of a balloon. I tried to hold it in as best I could, by focusing on how I’d evaluate this office if I had to do a mystery shop on it.

First, Dr. Stubbs definitely got points off for making me wait. Five minutes was understandable, but fifteen meant she was either disorganized or disdainful of other people’s time. Did I really want to work for a boss like that?

I knew what Dierdre would say. Of course, Molly. You can show her how to run her office properly, by example. She’ll appreciate you. You’ll get a raise, a promotion, and soon you’ll be a superstar, just as you deserve. Dierdre, the Dean’s wife, heart surgeon, and general have-it-all role model for women whose husbands are looking for an appointment as assistant dean, could put a positive spin on anything.

I made a short list of changes this office would need me to spearhead, beginning with new chairs to wait in and ending with creating a pup-free zone, and then stopped. Spearheading change was something easier to say, than to do, unless you were a Dierdre. Maybe I should aim for keeping my head down, doing my job well, and leaving the rest until I had managed to make it through my probationary period.

The admin was clearly a temp, given the way she answered the phone. Good morning, Athlet…ummm, I mean, Admissions Office. That made me feel slightly less like a dinosaur. She was probably a student. She had the lithe slim build of a teenager, wore a nose ring, and had a pretty little butterfly tattooed on her inner wrist.

As I sat there, trying not to feel self conscious, a young woman in jeans and pink flip flops entered the office in a rush. Hey, did I leave my phone here by any chance? The case is pink, with blue flowers? She looked too young to be a student, but not by much. Or else I was just getting so old everyone looked like they should be in high school to me.

The admin shook her head. Haven’t seen a phone, I’m sorry. You were on the morning tour of the campus, right? Could you have left it in the Student Center?

The girl, who I was relieved to learn was actually high-school-age, looked crushed. I checked. They didn’t have it.

Did you try Security? They have a Lost and Found for anything on campus.

Thanks, I will. My dad will be so mad at me if I lost another phone. Last time I lost my phone, the person got into my bank account and cleaned me out.

When you find it, you should consider locking it.

She shrugged. It wasn’t that big a deal. The bank gave me my money back because I wasn’t the one who had taken it out. My dad yelled a little, but I’m used to that.

Identity theft is no joke, the admin grumbled after the girl had bounced out of the office, headed for Security and Lost and Found.

I agree. I made myself enter all my passwords every time I needed them. It was a pain, but I couldn’t afford to find out that my bank account had been appropriated by some identity thief. Although anyone who wanted to steal my identity would be a pretty poor identity thief, given my bank balance on any given day.

The admin looked at me guiltily for a moment, as if she had forgotten I was there. Then she had several more text message exchanges with her boss, given the way she kept looking at me after every ding. She didn’t say anything to me about the estimated arrival of Dr. Henriette Stubbs.

I decided to put my shopper senses on high alert and see what she knew about the Admissions office. Temps, by their very nature, were not loyal to the boss, so I could possibly learn something that would help me in the interview. Do you like working here?

She shrugged. I just started this job two weeks ago. I’m only a temp.

Point to me for figuring that one out.

I temped my way through school at my university. Got a class a semester paid for, which helped the pocketbook, I confessed.

She nodded. I get half-tuition here. I’ll be finished my degree just about the same time as this assignment wraps up. She typed one more message on her computer and then stood up to file some paperwork in the bank of filing cabinets behind her desk.

She didn’t offer me tea, or coffee, although I did see a nice Nespresso Virtuoline and little glass mugs on top of the filing cabinets. Fancy.

Are you looking forward to having a permanent job, after you graduate? It wasn’t