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I can’t help but laugh. “Is it really so hard for you to believe that maybe I’m just… I don’t know, discovering myself? Figuring out where I belong in the world?”
“That’s something you do when you’re in college, experimenting with chicks and drinking questionable liquids at keg parties.”
Tipping my head, I ask, “And what would you know about that, little sister?”
When I graduated from Stanford, Carrie was starting as a freshman at Yale—Dad’s choice, of course—but I assumed she was as straight-laced and proper then as she is now.
Choosing not to comment, she flashes her phone at me, showing a search for apartments in the area. “I’m serious. Look at these prices. You heard Mr. Erickson say it could be months before the building is repaired, but you’re acting like it’s no big deal.”
I swivel on the barstool, furiously chewing my thumbnail until there’s nothing left to bite.
A notification from Mom flashes across her screen, and a bout of jealousy rises when my phone remains quiet.
“If you’re going to refuse my help, then the least you could do is call him.”
The him she’s referring to being Dad.
I reach for a napkin to dab the blood from my cuticle, and a succession of messages finally illuminates my phone screen. Except, what I find are receipts for several business courses fully paid for by Dad, and scheduled three months from now.
Logan’s smirk chooses this moment to pop into my mind.
Carrie would walk into that office and run circles around those boys with her knowledge of sales and marketing, but not me.
Then again, it could be fun to accept the position, knowing the best I could do is make a decent coffee bitch.
My heart rate ticks faster, recalling that stare and the devastation hidden behind a wall of arrogance when I left.
The money would be a relief, no doubt, and I’d earn more than enough to save a nice cushion for a new place and stash some away to help my friends. But then I wouldn’t just be working with Logan—I’d be calling him boss.
“Yeah, that’s a hell no from me,” I mutter to both my thoughts and my sister. “And I need you to promise you won’t tell them about this.”
I hold out my pinky, waiting for hers to curl around it.
“Pen…”
“Promise me,” I say, crooking it at her.
She groans before snagging my finger with hers. “Fine.”
“Let’s keep looking,” I say after swallowing the last few drops of my tequila shot. “We’ll chill in the hotel for a couple of more days until I can get some side jobs lined up. And don’t worry. I’ll make sure the rest of your visit is a blast.”
Carrie gives me that look—a pity-filled one that crawls over my skin and makes me feel small.
‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ starts blaring through the speakers, and I stuff my troubles away somewhere dark and inaccessible for the unforeseen future before grinning at her.
“No, Pen, this is serious,” my sister argues. “We need to find a better solution than simply hoping it all works out.”
But I’m already biting my lip and shoving her phone in her hand. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud. Let’s have some fun!”
She pouts.
“Oh, come on. You love to dance. And don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about that night in Cabo San Lucas…”
“I do my very best,” she grumbles, but she doesn’t put up a fight when I start singing, smiling widely as I drag her out to the middle of a group of obvious tourists.
I twirl her in a circle. “Ah, to be young again, shaking our asses on top of the bar without a care in the world.”
She tips her head back with a mischievous grin. “Yeah, except you ended up twisting your ankle, and who had to give you a piggyback ride for an entire block?”
