Not My Type by Melanie Jacobson Read Free Book Online

clusters of three or four in the large, undivided space. Glassed-in offices lined the perimeter of the room, but they didn’t disrupt the open-range feeling. Phones rang, desk mates chattered, and several people zipped from one side of the room to the other, couriering papers or gossip as they went. A middle-aged guy walked past me with a fierce-looking camera slung over each shoulder, like Uzis from one of my brother’s video games, only scarier. He nodded at Tanner as he passed us and scarfed down a Hot Pocket as he walked.
    Just like that, I fell in love. With the hustle and bustle, with reporters doing official-looking stuff, with photographers too busy to eat real food while they chased a deadline. Even with grimy newsprint on my fingers, I wanted it. It all looked so important and interesting. And really, really cool. I loved the idea of being in the know, of putting information out there before anyone else had it, of shaping words that would shape people’s opinions the way the newspaper had done for us every Sunday morning of my childhood.
    With the realization, I panicked. Since Tanner’s call the day before, I’d spent all my time stressing about how to dress professionally and none of it figuring out what to say.
    In some ways, that was better, right? I would probably be all stiff and freaked out if I had rehearsed my answers too much.
    Right?
    Tanner led me to an office on the far side of the newsroom. I willed myself not to limp now that several pairs of curious eyes were checking me out. He held open the door to one of the perimeter offices and waved me in. I guess after Tanner’s conservative outfit, his office shouldn’t have surprised me, but its lack of personality caught me off guard. Beige paint coated the walls, and the only pictures were framed photos of well-known Salt Lake landmarks, like the temple and the state capitol. Unobjectionable furniture—a dark wood desk and two inexpensive office chairs, ate up the small space.
    He took the seat behind the desk and looked over my résumé, easily identifiable by my name in large type across the top. I took the only other chair in the small room.
    “Those are nice pictures,” I said, trying to make conversation. “Did you take them?”
    “What?” he asked, glancing up for a moment. “Oh, those aren’t mine. We’re just using this office for interviews because it’s a little more private. I have a desk out there with everyone else.” He returned to the résumé, and I decided not to make any more small talk while he finished reading.
    I caught myself drumming my fingers on the arm of the chair and quickly sat on my hands to still them. Then I realized that probably looked pretty juvenile, and I jerked them back out and rested them on the chair arms in the most casual pose I could think of. Tanner looked up again a few moments later, his expression much more focused. “I checked out your blog. You have a very strong point of view,” he said and smiled.
    “Um, thanks.” Dang it. I was already flustered. I hadn’t expected anyone to actually check out my piddly little personal blog, and I wracked my brains to think of any posts I should have taken down before putting the URL in my résumé. Maybe the one titled “Die, Boyfriend, Die.” And I’d probably make a point of removing “I Need a Roommate Older Than Seven.”
    “Pepper?”
    Realizing Tanner had said a whole bunch of stuff I’d missed while freaking out about my blog, I pasted on a smile, unsure if I was supposed to answer a question or comment on something.
    “Do you agree?” he prompted me.
    “Absolutely,” I said, forcing my smile even wider.
    One of his eyebrows quirked. He was on to me. “With what?”
    I gave up. “I’m sorry. I missed what you said.”
    This time, he didn’t smile. With a curt nod, he picked up my résumé. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s talk about the job and whether you would be a good fit.”
    I nodded too eagerly, hoping my bobble head