Breakers Read Online Free
Author: Edward W. Robertson
called."
"What've you got? The flu?"
"There's a problem." He looked down at the carpet. It was a nice carpet, so thick your toes could get lost in it. He'd miss it if she kicked him out. "With my heart."
She reached for his shoulder, gaping, horrified. Her fingers never felt so good. "Your heart ? Are you going to be okay?"
"I don't know. They want me back tomorrow." He covered his eyes with his hand, shoulders shrinking. "I'm scared."
3
Across the desk from Raymond, Lana Englund turned from her monitor, the wrinkles around her eyes highlit by the Santa Monica sunshine spilling through her great glass window. "We have a problem here. Our ad specifically asked for a degree in Communications."
"I minored in it."
"And maybe if you'd minored in English you'd know words have meanings."
He cocked his head. "The ad said experience would be the key factor."
"So it is. Your resume mentioned web work. Can you elaborate?"
"I've designed graphics for a half dozen different sites. I've been designing and writing my own blogs since before there was a word for them. I had a popular one that covered art supplies—pens, brush brands. I think that will carry over here."
She frowned, round cheeks puffing. "Traffic?"
"For my site?"
"No, for the 405. I was thinking of running out for some tapas."
"Before I moved on, I was drawing about 1500 unique visitors a month." Raymond's mouth twitched as Lana literally rolled her eyes. He'd been trying to keep things pro. "Is something the matter?"
"Something? No. Some things ? Take your pick." She ticked off her points on her fingers, bending them back until the knuckles cracked. "You don't have a BA in the field. No direct experience writing copy. The best you can muster is a website that wasn't even a blip on the screen and has been dead for years. What I'm not understanding is who cleared you for an interview in the first place."
"I know my resume isn't a knockout. That's because I'm the only guy in LA County who doesn't lie on it. That's what I'm offering: honesty. I can do this job."
"I don't need a guy who'll tell me when my ass is looking big. I need a guy who can write me crisp, compelling copy. You're not that guy."
Raymond stood. "Fuck you."
"Excuse me?" She drew back in her chair, chin disappearing inside her high collar.
"You're talking to me like you never expect to see me again. So fuck off."
"Security's going to squash you like a toad." She reached for the phone and they probably would have, but he'd already left, walking down the sidewalk in a wrap of sunshine, smelling salt from the shore and grilled carne asada from the truck down the block. He hadn't told her to fuck off out of anger, but more out of the conviction that if you don't make a habit of standing up for yourself in the small moments, you'll never be able to do it when the big ones rolled around. Well, that and some anger. Anyway, it would make a better story for Mia.
Mia, when he'd told her they were out of money, that unless something changed, within two months they'd be living out of his car or, with luck, a spare room at one of his siblings', had been exactly the woman he'd married: concerned but forgiving, miles from petty, focused on nothing but making it together. She'd reached across the table and taken his hand and said they'd be okay.
He'd fully resolved to put his graphics career, if he could use the word without stringing quotes around it, on hiatus. A man on a mission, he'd replied to every feasible want ad on Craigslist. Most hadn't replied. A handful scheduled interviews. Lana Englund had been his first.
Mia smiled when he relayed his day. "Nowhere to go but up."
"Or postal."
"It's one interview."
"Maybe I should stop wasting time on the ambitious positions. I can worry about liking my job after I've stopped worrying about starving to death."
"You know what?" She grabbed his waist, shaking him like the beautiful thing you're compelled to destroy. "We should do something
"What've you got? The flu?"
"There's a problem." He looked down at the carpet. It was a nice carpet, so thick your toes could get lost in it. He'd miss it if she kicked him out. "With my heart."
She reached for his shoulder, gaping, horrified. Her fingers never felt so good. "Your heart ? Are you going to be okay?"
"I don't know. They want me back tomorrow." He covered his eyes with his hand, shoulders shrinking. "I'm scared."
3
Across the desk from Raymond, Lana Englund turned from her monitor, the wrinkles around her eyes highlit by the Santa Monica sunshine spilling through her great glass window. "We have a problem here. Our ad specifically asked for a degree in Communications."
"I minored in it."
"And maybe if you'd minored in English you'd know words have meanings."
He cocked his head. "The ad said experience would be the key factor."
"So it is. Your resume mentioned web work. Can you elaborate?"
"I've designed graphics for a half dozen different sites. I've been designing and writing my own blogs since before there was a word for them. I had a popular one that covered art supplies—pens, brush brands. I think that will carry over here."
She frowned, round cheeks puffing. "Traffic?"
"For my site?"
"No, for the 405. I was thinking of running out for some tapas."
"Before I moved on, I was drawing about 1500 unique visitors a month." Raymond's mouth twitched as Lana literally rolled her eyes. He'd been trying to keep things pro. "Is something the matter?"
"Something? No. Some things ? Take your pick." She ticked off her points on her fingers, bending them back until the knuckles cracked. "You don't have a BA in the field. No direct experience writing copy. The best you can muster is a website that wasn't even a blip on the screen and has been dead for years. What I'm not understanding is who cleared you for an interview in the first place."
"I know my resume isn't a knockout. That's because I'm the only guy in LA County who doesn't lie on it. That's what I'm offering: honesty. I can do this job."
"I don't need a guy who'll tell me when my ass is looking big. I need a guy who can write me crisp, compelling copy. You're not that guy."
Raymond stood. "Fuck you."
"Excuse me?" She drew back in her chair, chin disappearing inside her high collar.
"You're talking to me like you never expect to see me again. So fuck off."
"Security's going to squash you like a toad." She reached for the phone and they probably would have, but he'd already left, walking down the sidewalk in a wrap of sunshine, smelling salt from the shore and grilled carne asada from the truck down the block. He hadn't told her to fuck off out of anger, but more out of the conviction that if you don't make a habit of standing up for yourself in the small moments, you'll never be able to do it when the big ones rolled around. Well, that and some anger. Anyway, it would make a better story for Mia.
Mia, when he'd told her they were out of money, that unless something changed, within two months they'd be living out of his car or, with luck, a spare room at one of his siblings', had been exactly the woman he'd married: concerned but forgiving, miles from petty, focused on nothing but making it together. She'd reached across the table and taken his hand and said they'd be okay.
He'd fully resolved to put his graphics career, if he could use the word without stringing quotes around it, on hiatus. A man on a mission, he'd replied to every feasible want ad on Craigslist. Most hadn't replied. A handful scheduled interviews. Lana Englund had been his first.
Mia smiled when he relayed his day. "Nowhere to go but up."
"Or postal."
"It's one interview."
"Maybe I should stop wasting time on the ambitious positions. I can worry about liking my job after I've stopped worrying about starving to death."
"You know what?" She grabbed his waist, shaking him like the beautiful thing you're compelled to destroy. "We should do something
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