Protege by Lydia Michaels Read Free Book Online Page A

wasn’t a fair appraisal of anything. The only thing that paperwork told him was that she would try anything once. With any luck, she’d fill in the second application a bit more honestly.
    He’d call her tomorrow and confirm their second appointment. During that time, he’d offer her sponsorship. If she declined, the interview would be over before it began and her new application would join the first in the trash. If she accepted, they were going to Fernweh.
    ***
    â€œDid you finish the application?”
    Allowing him to take her coat, Collette nodded, wondering what on earth had possessed her to return. “Yes.”
    She couldn’t justify the longing she suffered to be somewhere more meaningful than where she was, the pull to discover more. It seemed a homesickness for something she never knew.
    â€œAnd were you honest?”
    â€œYes.” Her glance slid sideways, mocking his. He too seemed to be teasing.
    â€œDon’t be coy, Ms. Banks. Our last encounter showed what a talented little liar you can be when you want. Take a seat.”
    Familiar with the office, she lowered herself into the same chair she’d occupied last time, only this time she was obsessed with who’d sat there since. Her eyes combed the office for any changes but found none. Mr. Duval was a very tidy man.
    â€œAre you looking for something?”
    She folded her hands on her lap. “No, just curious.”
    â€œAbout?”
    Well, if he was going to give her the floor . . . “How often do you host interviews like this?”
    â€œI can’t divulge that information.”
    â€œHow many members does Fernweh have?”
    â€œEnough.”
    â€œWhat’s the divorce rate?”
    â€œTwo.”
    â€œPercent?”
    â€œNo. Just two.”
    She frowned. “How many marriages have you orchestrated?”
    â€œSomewhere just above five hundred.”
    If one in three American marriages ended in divorce and Fernweh had arranged five hundred marriages but only two ended in divorce, and Tommy was traveling on an eastbound train carrying two dozen apples—there was a reason she taught French.
    Mr. Duval chuckled. “The statistics are as follows. According to the latest census, there were just over two million marriages per calendar year, over a third ending in divorce. If our fail rate matched the rest of the country’s we’d be on our one hundred and sixty-sixth divorce, but luckily for us, we’ve seen only two divorces since our company was founded.”
    â€œWhy did they break up?”
    â€œOne found a God that required a more traditional arrangement than they had contracted, and the other fell in love with someone else.”
    â€œBut shouldn’t your company make sure that doesn’t happen?”
    â€œWe do our best, but nothing is foolproof.”
    She supposed that was true. “Well, you’ve certainly had more success than the traditional methods.”
    â€œOne might ask which method is actually the true traditional one. Before men and women based marriage on love, there was the practice of arranged matrimony, be it for strong lineage or the magnetism of a female’s dowry.”
    She laughed. “You’ll note on page six, I have no dowry.”
    He grinned and paged through her résumé. His brow arched at a few parts, but she wasn’t sure what caught his eye. The silence carried on as he took his time perusing her responses. She tried her best to accommodate him, but the longer she sat there, the more impatient she grew.
    After trying to read the spine of each book on his wall and deciding she needed to visit her optometrist, she sighed.
    â€œAm I keeping you?”
    â€œSorry. No.” Chastised, she tried to still her fidgeting. If she listened carefully, she could hear the soft hum of cars passing below and the glide of a filing cabinet opening and closing nearby.
    â€œIs this true?”
    She