The Last Resort Read Online Free PDF

dark-gold hair that touched the edge of his collar. It felt, absurdly, as if it were the most moving thing I had ever seen—I wanted desperately to touch it.
    I entered the room on a kind of autopilot, and suddenly I found my knees were quaking. Violently. But it wasn’t the nerves this time.
    In fact, it was my feet folding underneath me against the edge of a heavy carpet.
    Time ground to a near-standstill, as if the universe felt it would be best if I savoured this moment to the fullest. The floor approached my face at a leisurely pace; in fact, by the time I hit it, I’d sort of come to terms with it, greeting it as one would a long-forgotten friend. What else was there to do? Cry? Scream? Laugh?
    I lay on the floor for a long moment, quiet and thoughtful. This is a lovely rug, for what it’s worth , I pointed out to myself. Nice and soft. Plush. Wonder if it’s Persian? Good thing you’re not bleeding. They’d probably send you the cleaning bill.
    Eventually, time caught up with itself, and a pair of shoes arrived next to my face. The man’s cologne wafted to my nostrils, warm as hay with a hint of cinnamon, and a hand appeared in my line of vision. Should I mumble a hello? What’s the protocol in these situations?
    I decided to wait until I was upright.
    I took hold of the proffered hand, and an unexpected shock of adrenaline charged through me. But I was hauled up much more sharply than I expected—only to come face to face with a person who was not Jack.
    Jack was lithe and long, well-groomed, polished. But this man, while just as tall, had the body of a backstreet boxer, someone who’d had a lot of knocks and who’d somehow made it through. Less than thirty, but his face was so stony he looked ancient. His pale, pale green eyes seemed almost wolf-like. A faint scar bisected his upper lip, cutting it across the cupid’s bow, and his hair and skin were different shades of the same gold. His scent, apparently the only sweet thing about him, floated lightly in the air between us.
    I drank him in for a split-second: his face, so sad, pierced me with emotion. This man had some kind of secret to tell me. I had to know what it was. You can tell me what’s broken your heart , I vibed, I’ll be the one to understand .
    I could feel the pull of something elemental, a tide turning beneath my feet. And I realised I was blushing from head to toe.
     
    But the spell was quickly broken. “You alright?” he harrumphed.
     
    “Yes, thank you.” I must have sounded very meek, because a flash of irritation passed over his face.
    He motioned towards a seat. “Sit down. Please.” His accent was faintly Scots.
    He took his place back behind the desk and waited for me to follow. I felt faintly put out; he was looking at me like he’d just pulled me out of a toilet bowl or something. What was wrong with him?
    He was avoiding my eyes, which only served to highlight the long eyelashes that framed his. Who was he? “I haven’t made a very good impression on you, I’m sure,” I said, forcing myself to giggle a bit.
    Stony silence. He didn’t even glance up. Oh dear , I thought.
    “So,” I chirruped, trying desperately to steer myself back to a show of competence, “where do we begin?” Mia told me to make sure I seemed eager to get stuck in. I wasn’t to appear standoffish or reluctant under any circumstances. And anyway, I had the distinct impression that the quicker this was over with, the happier we’d both be.
    I rubbed the shoulder I’d landed on, wincing. I’d really fallen hard, I realised.
    “Well, we’d better get on with it,” he said quietly, after an uncomfortable silence, and then quoted an enormous sum of money. “That alright?”
    I was staggered. What did he mean? Was that meant to be my salary ? I made less than half that at the dealership. Was I in the right interview? “You mean—p-per year?” I managed, my mouth suddenly dry.
    “What?” he said, with an unreadable expression. “That