“So what made you think you could work at Beaufort, Miss Casablancas?” “Well, I—” “Is it really true that you’ve worked at a diner your whole life?” Tara burst out before I could answer the first question, a snide giggle tugging at her lips. My gaze skidded between them uncertainly. Panic flared, pressing against my rib cage. This wasn’t an interview. This was a bored mean-girl setup. A way for them to pass the time during lunch break. And I’d walked right into it. “I, uh, I think on my feet…” “See, that’s gonna be an issue, because we’re looking for someone who can think with their brain.”
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