The next Matchmaker book (book #4, now titled PLAYING THE FIELD) is coming July 28! I'm working hard to torture Gladie and make you a really fun book. Here's a little sneak peek of Gladie's troubles. Poor Gladie. Why is life so hard for her? Oh, I know! It's because I make her life so hard. I'm an evil author. :) Enjoy!
She looked at the resume a couple of
seconds and then looked back up at me. “Your resume is twenty-three pages
long.”
“That’s good, right?”
She riffled through the pages. “There’s
over a hundred jobs here in less than two-year period.”
I bit a nail. “That many? Are you
sure?”
“I know how to count, Miss Burger.”
“You could say that I have a lot
skills and talents.” Or that I got fired a lot.
She squinted and pointed her pen at
me. “Aren’t you the woman that Walley’s is suing?”
“No. PETA is suing Walley’s because
of me. I can see how you got that confused.”
“The snake, right?”
“Who ever heard of an assistance
snake?” I laughed, but she wasn’t laughing with me. She was still squinting and
shaking the pen at my face.
“And the head, right? You did
something with a severed head?”
“I thought it was a lobster,” I
squeaked.
“Holy crap! You’re the woman who
drove through Ruth Fletcher’s tea shop!”
“It wasn’t me! I wasn’t driving!”
“I know exactly who you are, now. You’re
Zelda’s granddaughter. You find the dead people.”
“Well…” I started. “If you want to
get technical.”
She handed my resume back to me.
“Sorry. I can’t find you a job. My liability insurance won’t cover you. You’re
a disaster.”
She stood and put her hand out. I
stood and shook it. “Disaster is a little harsh,” I said. “I’m very good with
data entry. And I got very few complaints as a seating hostess at Denny’s. Four
or five, tops.”
She pushed me toward the door. “You
should probably leave before you burn down my office.”
“I resent that. I’ve never burned
down an employment office.” She pushed me harder and opened the door for me,
waving me outside. “I’m not bad with food. I could be some kind of taster.”
She leaned in and got in my face.
“Listen young lady, nobody will ever hire you in this town. Do you understand
me? One whiff of your trouble-making, and they’ll head for the hills. You’re
the jinx of minimum wage jobs. You get me?”
“I’m happy to work for more than
minimum wage,” I offered. But it was too late. She closed the door on me and
locked it to make sure my bad luck self couldn’t infect her employment files.
What was I going to do? I had worked
every job in America. I had run into a brick wall. And not just the one I ran
into when I was a chauffeur in Los Angeles for three days. This was an
employment brick wall. I was persona non grata for anything with a paycheck. I
was doomed.
