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Everything inside me deflated. I hated how much Istillenjoyed those memories of Damian and I watchingThe Big Bang Theorywhile Jeremy dicked off somewhere else. Sometimes, our elbows would brush, and I’d spend the entire weekend wondering what it might feel like to go to second base with him.
“I just don’t want to be a charity case,” I said slowly.
“You aren’t a charity case,” Jeremy said, a certain glee punctuating his words. “You’refamily.”
I couldn’t deny it—he’d found his angle, the rationale that would puncture any attempt I made to deflect his help. I hated him for it as much as I loved him for it. Jeremy wouldn’t let me flounder—I had to acknowledge that. Even though everyone in my family wanted me to skulk back to Kentucky like an unsuccessful raccoon after rummaging through empty trash cans, Jeremy would make moves to help me see this New York thing through. And his reaching out to Damian was technically help, even though the mere thought of it made me want to shrivel up and die of embarrassment.
“I’m gonna call him now,” Jeremy announced. “Hang tight.”
The phone went dead. I groaned so loudly that Nicole probably heard me on her way to Peoria.
Seconds ticked by with a walloping slowness. I paced every square inch of my apartment over and over. Of course I knew what the Fairchilds were up to. Everyone in Oakville—actually, everyone in greater Louisville—knew what the Fairchilds were up to. They were practically the Kardashian family of our area, minus the butt lifting and heavy makeup. Everyone had an opinion about them, too, but one thing was certain—nobody was more successful or more interesting than the Fairchild brothers.
My lowly little broke ass did not fit in their new world. And I did not want Jeremy to shoehorn me in there.
He called me back twenty-three minutes after we hung up, not that I had been counting. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Jessa, I’ve got great news.”
I grimaced, preparing myself for whatever came next. “Yes?”
“They’ve got a job waiting for you.”
I slapped my palm against my forehead. “Do they?”
“And guess who needs a confidential secretary?”
Please let it be anyone other than Damian.“Who?”
“Damian!”
I nodded, my gaze stuck to the curling edge of the linoleum in the kitchen. This was just my luck. Trace couldn’t need me. Not even Axel. It had to be Damian. The one guy I’d barely been able to speak in front of as a sixteen-year-old. Sure, I’d grown and matured since then. But he’d outstripped me ten to one in every department imaginable. If I’d been the meek and unnoticeable sophomore back then, now I was even tinier in Damian’s long shadow of accomplishment and world experience. From what I’d heard, the man had a private chef, and I couldn’t even afford a bagel.
“Great.” Even I could hear how devoid of enthusiasm I was.
“He said they’ve been looking for a new full-time hire. Jessa, you’re gonna get benefits and everything, I bet. He said you can go on over today. Can you get to their building by three? I told him how your roommate just up and left, so he said he could fit you in last minute. Isn’t that nice?”
My stomach cinched into knots.Full-time hire. Fuck.“So incredibly nice.”
“Jessa, this is gonna work out great. We should have called him as soon as you got into town. But no, you insisted on doing things your way. Jessa’s gotta do what Jessa’s gotta do.”
My eyes fluttered shut, something sick churning inside me. “All right, Jeremy. That’s enough. Don’t make me turn sour.”
“All I need is ‘Thank you, big brother, for being the best.’”
“Thank you, big brother, for being the most annoying. Now I gotta get ready for this interview.”
We hung up, and I drifted back toward the bathroom mirror, tracing my face in imaginary lines. My fingers itched for an actual pencil. Truth was, I had nearly fifteen new designs scrambling to get out of my head. Between my weekly fashion courses and the part-time job I’d found at a diner five blocks west, I’d had just enough time to keep up with the coursework, make my half of the rent, and sketch out new ideas for myself.
But now? I didn’t know how I’d keep up with a full-time job.
I’d come here specifically and solely for the fashion course so that I could launch my dream of becoming a fashion designer. But I couldn’t get the certificate if I couldn’t pay rent.
Frustration swallowed me whole, and I spent the rest of my afternoon mentally preparing to reacquaint myself with the Fairchilds. I’d last seen Damian in person at his graduation party, which was damn near thirteen years ago. Damian, Axel, and Trace had a joint graduation party at their mom and daddy’s farmhouse, the old one they’d moved their parents out of as soon as they made their first kajillion dollars.
I still remembered the autumn cherry tree near their driveway, the tree that masqueraded as normal—with tire swing and normal green foliage—until September rolled around when the thing turned into a fiery piece of artwork sent from Heaven. And for whatever reason, that cherry tree was one of the earliest indicators that the brothers were destined to burn brighter and more beautiful than anyone else around them.After Deb Fairchild’s extensive update one day in aisle two of the Sav-a-Lot about Damian’s hunt for the perfect marble countertops for his third home, I knew the brothers preferred the finer things now. Which meant I had to look the part, even if I couldn’t act it.
I thumbed through the dresses hanging on the rolling rack in my bedroom, sifting through the best thrifted dresses I had, as well as some of my own designs. I settled on a high-waisted black dress with a fifties vibe and set to giving my mahogany hair soft finger waves.
I gave myself a once-over in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my door.Here we go, Jessa. Let’s find a way to make it work.
