smirks, pushing the glass across the counter. I hand him a bill and take my drink, not bothering to wait for my change.
I move swiftly through the body of people and over to the girls, slumping into my chair. My body language immediately alerts them to my bad mood and they exchange a look. I roll my eyes, not wanting their pity.
I’ve known Jess and Dee since we were fourteen years old. We attended West Meadows High School together, and somehow our friendship had survived the past ten years and was now stronger than ever. I’d do anything for them, and I know they’d do anything for me.
“Bad day?” Jess asks sympathetically. “You had job interviews, right?”
I nod with a sigh. “The usual. ‘We’ll call you.’ But they never do.”
“They will. You just need to keep positive,” she encourages, reaching for my hand. “You’re going to make a damn good journalist when someone finally gives you a chance. What about the paper where you interned? That was a big one, right?”
I snort at her terminology. The LA Times is more than just ‘a big one.’ It’s a dream for any up-and-coming journalist. Especially me. I’d do anything to work there. Hell, I’d do anything if it meant securing a job at any newspaper.
“They’ve thrown me the odd story, but they don’t have any entry level work, and I’m not experienced enough for any of their senior roles.” I shrug, pretending it doesn’t bother me, when it does. It hurts to be constantly overlooked. I have to catch a break eventually, right?
The worst part is the editor at the Times is actually a really nice guy, who I’m sure would throw me something if he could; but unfortunately for me, I can’t expect him to fabricate jobs out of thin air.
It’s hard to stay positive when all you get are rejections. I foolishly thought that finishing top of the class in my journalism degree would pretty much guarantee me work at one of the top newspapers. Or any newspaper, for that matter. Apparently I was wrong.
“Is Douchebag still calling you?” Dee asks, a frown on her face.
“He’s cut down to one or two messages a day. And the flowers have stopped, thank God.” Every freaking day for the last two weeks I’ve put up with flowers being delivered to my new apartment. Huge arrangements that I know Nick would struggle to even afford. And every day they went straight into the trash, which is where his dignity is as far as I’m concerned.
“How did he even get your new address anyway?” Jess asks, rolling her blue eyes. She tosses her long, blond mane over her shoulder and smiles at a sexy guy walking past.
“Who knows?” I shrug, taking a sip of my wine. “He probably conned the landlord into giving it to him when I arranged my mail redirect.”
I was lucky that an apartment opened up in the same building as Jess the day after Nick and I finished. ‘Lucky’ might be a loose term, considering the previous tenant slit her wrists in the bathtub, but still . . . timing is everything in LA. Thank God I had some savings and a mother who was more than willing to help me out if it meant getting me away from that “Twat Knuckle.” Her words.
“Well, I think the best thing you can do right now is pick up a hot piece of ass, take him home, and fuck the life out of him,” Jess declares, her eyes wide.
I cringe, wishing her voice wasn’t so damn loud. Now I have at least four guys checking me out, no doubt thinking I’m an easy lay.
“Thanks for the advice, but I’ll pass on guys for the moment,” I say dryly.
“That’s fine.” She grins. “I’m sure there are plenty of fuckable chicks here, too.” She winks at me, and for a moment I wonder if she’s offering up herself. I laugh, because it wouldn’t shock me that much.
“How’s Craig?” I ask brightly, changing the subject. Craig is always a safe bet when I want to redirect conversation.
Dee catches my eye and smiles. I snort as Jess rambles on about her married boss, Craig—who
I move swiftly through the body of people and over to the girls, slumping into my chair. My body language immediately alerts them to my bad mood and they exchange a look. I roll my eyes, not wanting their pity.
I’ve known Jess and Dee since we were fourteen years old. We attended West Meadows High School together, and somehow our friendship had survived the past ten years and was now stronger than ever. I’d do anything for them, and I know they’d do anything for me.
“Bad day?” Jess asks sympathetically. “You had job interviews, right?”
I nod with a sigh. “The usual. ‘We’ll call you.’ But they never do.”
“They will. You just need to keep positive,” she encourages, reaching for my hand. “You’re going to make a damn good journalist when someone finally gives you a chance. What about the paper where you interned? That was a big one, right?”
I snort at her terminology. The LA Times is more than just ‘a big one.’ It’s a dream for any up-and-coming journalist. Especially me. I’d do anything to work there. Hell, I’d do anything if it meant securing a job at any newspaper.
“They’ve thrown me the odd story, but they don’t have any entry level work, and I’m not experienced enough for any of their senior roles.” I shrug, pretending it doesn’t bother me, when it does. It hurts to be constantly overlooked. I have to catch a break eventually, right?
The worst part is the editor at the Times is actually a really nice guy, who I’m sure would throw me something if he could; but unfortunately for me, I can’t expect him to fabricate jobs out of thin air.
It’s hard to stay positive when all you get are rejections. I foolishly thought that finishing top of the class in my journalism degree would pretty much guarantee me work at one of the top newspapers. Or any newspaper, for that matter. Apparently I was wrong.
“Is Douchebag still calling you?” Dee asks, a frown on her face.
“He’s cut down to one or two messages a day. And the flowers have stopped, thank God.” Every freaking day for the last two weeks I’ve put up with flowers being delivered to my new apartment. Huge arrangements that I know Nick would struggle to even afford. And every day they went straight into the trash, which is where his dignity is as far as I’m concerned.
“How did he even get your new address anyway?” Jess asks, rolling her blue eyes. She tosses her long, blond mane over her shoulder and smiles at a sexy guy walking past.
“Who knows?” I shrug, taking a sip of my wine. “He probably conned the landlord into giving it to him when I arranged my mail redirect.”
I was lucky that an apartment opened up in the same building as Jess the day after Nick and I finished. ‘Lucky’ might be a loose term, considering the previous tenant slit her wrists in the bathtub, but still . . . timing is everything in LA. Thank God I had some savings and a mother who was more than willing to help me out if it meant getting me away from that “Twat Knuckle.” Her words.
“Well, I think the best thing you can do right now is pick up a hot piece of ass, take him home, and fuck the life out of him,” Jess declares, her eyes wide.
I cringe, wishing her voice wasn’t so damn loud. Now I have at least four guys checking me out, no doubt thinking I’m an easy lay.
“Thanks for the advice, but I’ll pass on guys for the moment,” I say dryly.
“That’s fine.” She grins. “I’m sure there are plenty of fuckable chicks here, too.” She winks at me, and for a moment I wonder if she’s offering up herself. I laugh, because it wouldn’t shock me that much.
“How’s Craig?” I ask brightly, changing the subject. Craig is always a safe bet when I want to redirect conversation.
Dee catches my eye and smiles. I snort as Jess rambles on about her married boss, Craig—who
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