In Too Hard (Freshman Roommates Trilogy, Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

what to say next. Did I tell him how much I enjoyed this job, even though it was only my first day? (Would that sound like sucking up?) Did I relay how much more solidified my idea of him as a great author was, by just reading notes he’d scribbled? (That would definitely sound like sucking up.)
    Before I could decide what to text, my phone rang with a call from Montrose.
    “Hi,” I said, then put the phone on speaker and rested it on my thigh as I carefully unbent my legs and stretched them out, bending forward to touch my toes.  
    “Hi,” he said, his voice low and throaty. It instantly conjured up how good he’d smelled when he sat next to me on the ledge of his desk earlier. Seemed like I could almost still smell his spicy scent. “I forgot to tell you, there are a bunch of delivery menus and an envelope with some cash for you in the middle top drawer of my desk.”
    “Cash?” I asked. My first payment for this job was to come January first, ten days away, and I hadn’t expected cash—though that would be great.
    “For food for when you’re working there and want something to eat.”
    “You didn’t have to do that. I can bring or buy my own food,” I said with a bit of defensiveness in my voice. A prickle of what Jane called my Chip (it was a proper noun to her) rose to the back of my neck.
    “I know you can. But with the hours you’ll be working for admin, and then in my office, my guess is you won’t get to the caf a lot during their limited hours over break.”
    He was right, and I’d thought about that. All the cafs but one were closed for break, and the one that would feed the students here over the holidays had limited hours. I figured I’d be making a lot of pit stops at the convenience store just off campus. And of course, delivery. But I tried to keep both those options at a minimum because of my tight budget, preferring to get most of my meals at the caf, which was included in my scholarship program.
    “Well…I…”
    “Listen, it’s not charity. I know this is your second job, and you’ll be doing it at odd hours. And I know from experience how easy it is to let time get away from you when immersed in a project. This was just an employer making allowances for his employee’s diligence.”
    “Wow, that sounds so…corporate.”
    He laughed. “Hardly. My guess is you’re camped out on the floor with my crap piled all around you. Not real executive of a setting.”
    “Do you have a camera in here?” I said, kind of teasing, but dang his description was spot on.
    “Like a nanny cam?” He chuckled, and I envisioned the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as it had when I’d seen him earlier today. “What would we even call that? A literary assistant cam?”
    “Is that what I am? A literary assistant?”
    I could almost see him shrug. Strange that I’d so quickly become attuned to his body language after so short of a time. Though, I had been watching him—closely—three times a week for the past four months.
    “I thought it had a more prestigious ring than box unpacker. It might look good on a résumé, depending on what types of jobs you’ll be looking for in three and a half years.”
    “God, I so don’t want to think about that yet.”
    He didn’t say anything for a moment, and when he did respond, it was with a quiet, low voice. “But you do think about it, don’t you, Syd? You think about your future all the time. Just so you don’t have to think about where you come from.”
    I slowly eased my body out of my stretch, the phone moving slightly on my thigh. Reaching out to hold it in place, I felt another prickle on my neck. Not Chip this time, but something much deeper. Much darker.
    “Yes,” I answered, not wanting to admit the truth.
    “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to get all heavy on you.”
    “That’s okay,” I replied, even though his insight was a bit unnerving.
    There was a pause, and then he switched tone and topic with, “Have you ever