Page 1 of Pure Recklessness

1

ELLIE

‘I’m sorry, Eleanor, but I need someone who’s more experienced.’

As the man I hoped would change my fortunes delivered those devastating words, my shoulders sank and I blew out a defeated breath.

Interview five million and one had ended in yet another rejection.

Story of my life.

If I had a penny for every time someone had turned me down because of my lack of experience, I’d be a millionaire by now.

Each time I wanted to scream: How am I supposed to get more experience if no one gives me any?

If I could just catch a break, I’d prove that I could be an asset.

‘Please,’ I begged. I was desperate. The rent wasn’t going to pay itself and if I didn’t get a job soon, I’d have to go back home and I really didn’t want to do that.

After fighting so hard to get this freedom, I needed to prove to my overprotective parents that I was a capable twenty-six-year-old woman who should be treated like an adult, not their delicate little girl.

They needed to see that despite their fears and the tragedy that sent our world crashing down, I was capable of living in a big city like London.

A sharp pain ripped through my chest and I attempted to push the painful memories away. Now wasn’t the time to get upset.

I knew why my parents worried, but I refused to be a caged bird any more.

If I wanted to finally start having a life, I couldn’t let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

‘If you just give me a chance, I’ll show you what I can do,’ I continued. ‘I’ll start from the bottom. Work my way up. I’ll do anything!’

Mr Balls (I’d fought the urge not to giggle when he’d introduced himself) raised an eyebrow and I realised what I’d said sounded inappropriate.

‘Not anything,’ I stressed. I had standards. I hadn’t fought tooth and nail to come to London just to become a cliché.

Each to their own, but I’d never be one of those women who slept with the boss just to get ahead.

No way.

Firstly, it was extremely unprofessional. And secondly, because although my experience was limited, I wasn’t interested in sex. It was completely overrated.

‘I didn’t mean…’ I stuttered. ‘I just meant I can make a great cup of tea and I’m not precious about running errands or collecting dry cleaning.’

‘That’s sweet,’ he said in a patronising tone. ‘But the answer’s still no.’ He walked to the door then opened it. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have another candidate to see.’

‘Oh. Thanks for the opportunity,’ I said, trudging towards the exit.

Maybe my parents were right. Maybe I was wasting my time in London trying to become a journalist.

I knew the number of newspapers and magazines had dwindled because everything was online, but with my English Literature degree, journalism was the most logical career option.

Despite signing up to every recruitment agency I could find when I first arrived in London seven weeks ago, I had no leads. I’d called them all again on Friday afternoon to beg for any opportunity. Now it was Monday and this morning’s interview was my last hope.

I’d tried to get jobs in bars and restaurants, cleaning toilets and stacking supermarket shelves to make ends meet, but there was nothing.

Which meant that if I didn’t find something by this time next week, I’d have to return to the village.

Great.