Jilly-Bean (Jilly-Bean Series # 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Bachelor of Commerce diploma from the University of Toronto encased in a shiny gold frame, mounted on the wall.
    “Yes, the University of Toronto is my Alma Mater— the Harvard of the north so they say. I graduated back in '75. The picture beside it is of me receiving my admission into the Institute of Chartered Accountants.” Ms. Bradshaw's voice had become syrupy sweet. Jillian gathered that she enjoyed hearing herself talk, and so she listened with feigned attentiveness as the middle-aged woman went on and on about her past accomplishments. If truth were told, what really fascinated her were Ms. Bradshaw's protuberant eyes— much like those of one goldfish in the tank, which had stopped swimming minutes before and was now staring back at her. The woman had hardly any eyebrows, which made her face look doubly shocked, startled. Maybe she shaved them each morning as a man shaved his whiskers? Good thing women didn't have to shave their faces— not like eyebrows, which had to be plucked— something Jillian had resolved she would never do. She had plucked her eyebrows once with her friends, Annie Treadway and Amelia Hartmann. She remembered her adolescent voice, laughing and half pleading, because it was a dare:
    “Are you sure this isn't supposed to hurt?”
    “Jilly-B, this is nothing, wait till you try waxing your legs; now, that will make you scream,”
    “Ouch... Stop!”
    Jillian could see that something was wrong. Ms. Bradshaw had stopped talking and was staring at her with a wide-eyed, startled look. Had she spoken out loud? Ms. Bradshaw leaned forward on her desk and asked gently, “'Stop'? Did I hear you correctly? Would you like me to stop, Miss Crossland?”
    Jillian was speechless. Her eyes were guiltily fixed on the spot above Ms. Bradshaw's eyes where the eyebrows should have been.
    Ms. Bradshaw shrugged, “Never mind. I thought I heard you tell me to stop.” She cleared her throat. “You'll basically be helping out the nurses in the geriatric ward.”
    She paused to look down at the resume one more time. “Hmm, the name Crossland sounds very familiar. One doesn't come across many people with that name. I knew a Geordie Crossland back in my university days.”
    Jillian beamed a smile, “Oh, that's my dad. You knew him?”
    “Why yes, what a small world. I knew him casually. So you are Geordie's little girl. What's he up to these days?”
    “He's a day trader.”
    Ms. Bradshaw leaned forward on her desk as if she hadn't heard correctly. “Excuse me? A day trader?”
    “Oh, he flips stocks. He's quite good at it.”
    Jillian talked nervously for a few minutes about her family and growing up, while Ms. Bradshaw fixed her protuberant gaze on her, murmuring “Ah, yes” at appropriate intervals. Then leaning back in her chair, she glanced at the clock mounted on the wall, turned to Jillian and asked softly, “Now, about the job. It is in the geriatric ward, as I said. Have you any experience?” Jillian nodded enthusiastically and felt her face grow flushed as she talked nervously and inanely about looking for medical experience as she intended to apply to the faculty of medicine at Queen's University and eventually specialize in orthopaedics. No, she had no experience. She needed a summer job so that she could save for her tuition fees for September. No, she wasn't expecting her parents to foot the whole tuition bill.
    Ms. Bradshaw paused to cough into some tissue paper and wiped her mouth a few times. “Well, Miss Crossland, that is quite a noble ambition.”
    Jillian wavered for a moment and replied, “Is it?”
    Ms. Bradshaw was looking apologetic. “You are still very young, if you don't mind my saying. I'm sure your plans will change a dozen times before you graduate university. Mine did. Well, getting back to the job, I still have a few more applicants to go through. We'll be in touch.”

    *****

    She flung herself into the familiar dent of the reclining leather chair with the