Starting Now (Blossom Street #9)(4)

“Jeff Goldstein, please,” she told the receptionist. “Tell him Libby Morgan is calling.”

She was connected immediately.

“Libby, how are you?”

“Fabulous.” She got directly to the point. “You called a few months back and asked if I was happy in my current position, remember?”

“Of course. But that was over a year and a half ago.”

“That long?” Time had gotten away from her. “As it happens I’m free to come on board with Goldstein & Goldstein.” No need to hint at what she wanted. Libby preferred the direct approach.

“Really?” his voice dipped slightly. “As I said, that was well over a year ago. We’ve had a sharp decline in business since then. Almost everyone has. We aren’t currently taking on any associates.”

The news deflated her, but Libby wasn’t discouraged. “Not a problem, Jeff,” she said, continuing to walk at a clipped pace. She was outside the building now, joining the traffic on the Seattle sidewalk, her steps brusque and purposeful. The dark, overcast March sky was an accurate reflection of her mood. It was sure to start raining at any moment.

“I’m sure with your track record you won’t have a problem finding another position,” Jeff continued.

“I don’t think I will, either,” she said, making sure her voice reflected an air of confidence. “I wanted to give you the first opportunity since you’ve pursued me in the past.”

“I appreciate that. If something comes up you’ll be the first person I contact.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for your time,” Libby said.

“No problem. Keep in touch.”

“Will do,” she said, cutting off the words in her rush to end the call.

She regretted calling Jeff in an angry flush. She should have given the conversation more thought instead of acting out of emotion and outrage. Even now she was fuming, caught between disbelief and indignation.

The walk to her condo took fifteen minutes. The distance was what she considered her daily workout. Her building was on a busy street and safe enough for her to hoof it both early in the morning and late at night. She hoped she’d be able to continue to walk to and from work at her new firm.

Shifting the load from one shoulder to the other, Libby struggled to maintain her composure as she walked through her front door. She’d been so certain that this was it, so confident that her hard work and sacrifices were finally being recognized. To get laid off instead was unbelievable.

Only now was the truth of it beginning to sink in.

Libby had always been driven to succeed. She’d been the valedictorian of her high school class and had been in the top ten percent of her class in both college and law school. She had worked hard for those grades; she worked hard for everything.

With her arms wrapped around her middle, Libby walked around the living room three times, her mind racing at a speed to rival any NASCAR engine. The sky had gone even darker and a drizzle splashed against the windows, weaving wet and crooked trails on the glass. This was March in the Pacific Northwest.

Libby needed to think. First things first: update her résumé.

She turned on her one-cup coffeemaker, brewed a mug, and carried it into her home office. Setting it down on a coaster, she looked at the picture of her mother that rested on the corner of her desk. Her mother’s eyes seemed to focus directly on hers.

“I know, Mom. Don’t worry. This is only temporary. All is not lost.”

It was then that Libby noticed the plant next to her mother’s framed photograph. She didn’t even know what kind it was, but regardless: it was brown and shriveled now. It had withered with neglect.

Chapter 2

Four Months Later

With her briefcase clenched in her hand, Libby Morgan left her latest interview with the gut-wrenching feeling that she wouldn’t get this job, either. The economy was killing her chances. Her résumé highlighted her professional qualifications; Hershel had written her a glowing letter of recommendation, and yet nothing had panned out.

Four months!

Finding another position shouldn’t have been a problem; only it was. No one was hiring. No one was interested. Libby lost count of the number of firms where she’d applied, the number of interviews she’d sat through. She’d followed leads from friends, and still nothing. Oh, she’d come close any number of times, but up until now she’d always come in second … or third. Her ego was in the gutter and her self-esteem was dragging close to the seafloor. Libby had never been this depressed in her life. Having nothing to do with her time was slowly killing her. She desperately needed to work.

As she walked into her condo, she tossed her briefcase onto the sofa and sagged into the thick, cushioned seat. The middle button of her suit jacket had stretched to the breaking point. On top of everything else she’d gained weight. Ten pounds. Ten ugly pounds. She unfastened her jacket and let out a disgusted sigh. Nothing fit right. Nothing felt right. Not her life. Not her clothes. Nothing.

The phone rang, and thinking it might be a potential employer, Libby leaped for it.

“Libby Morgan,” she said, doing her utmost to sound upbeat and positive.

“Libby, it’s Sarah. How’d the interview go?”

Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. Who was she kidding? No one was going to call her about a job. “It’s the same old story: there are at least forty candidates for every opening.”