Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(4)
My cheeks get warm as I wave her off. "It’s a start."
"A start? Sierra, you’ve spent a year working your ass off trying to market freaking dog food. Dog food that in my honest to God opinion, shouldn’t even be allowed to be labeled and sold as dog food in the first place, all because your boss was a total jealous bitch! Their name speaks for itself. I mean, come on! Poochie Goo Dog Food? No way the ingredients are even legal. I say the job switch is happening at just the right time. I couldn’t imagine what other companies Julia would have had you work with had you stayed.” She sucks in a huge breath before blowing it out just as fiercely.
The car moves out from between the yellow lines of the parking stall and we join the bustle of cars on the main road. I can feel myself fidgeting in my seat: shaking my leg like a nervous school girl and twiddling my thumbs to the point Clare reaches over to place a steady hand on them.
I've worked so hard to get this chance. To find a company that actually wants to show off my skills, not just shove a failure of a project in my lap that nobody else wanted so that I can fall to the back of the herd—alone and unnoticed. Julia Stroll is a successful woman. I had hyped myself up to the point of near explosion the first day I met her, naive with the idea that she would want to take me under her wing. You know, show me the ropes. Be my mentor. Or better yet, a friend. I hadn’t had many of those after I graduated college. I spent far too many weekends with my nose buried in a textbook or watching Ted Talks to build any friendships that I would want to carry with me in the real world. But from the moment she laid eyes on me—those stone cold, vacant brown eyes—I knew that my perfect idea, my perfect plan, had already found its way into the shred pile.
Now here I am, three years and a briefcase full of less than admirable dog food and lice shampoo marketing experience later, about to be the new girl again.
"I'm a bit nervous, honestly," I admit, gnawing on my bottom lip.
"You'll be great. You’ve worked your ass off for this job. If Liz ever gets lice, I would use Itch Be Gone shampoo without a doubt." I can see her biting the inside of her cheek to avoid laughing.
"Wow, you always know how to say the right thing. How did I get so lucky?"
"I wonder that myself." She smiles with satisfaction and flicks on her signal light before turning into my neighbourhood.
The continuous rows of green spruce trees bring a sense of familiarity to the air that I can almost smell and feel brush my skin. As we pass the beautifully bricked, colonial style houses lining the street, I can't help but feel an inch of jealousy climb up my spine.
After growing up sharing the only extra room in our childhood home with Clare, I've always dreamed about owning one that was a little larger than necessary. Not anything that would feel empty and cold on the days where my future children were at school and my imaginary husband was at work. But somewhere that we would never fully grow out of. A home big enough to host holiday dinners and my weekly book club meetings with all the neighbourhood mothers where we would get drunk off red wine and reminisce on the old days.
I had hoped that I would end up scoring large with one as soon as I finished school, but reality hit like a bitch when I realized that I was aiming a bit high. Okay, way high. Being fresh out of four years of college left me with nothing but a heaping pile of student debt and a drinking problem that didn’t seem too much like a problem at the time. The negative balance in my bank account kept my housing options pretty small once it was time to move out of dorms. I was lucky enough to find a decent-sized apartment within a few weeks of graduating, but my low budget pushed my living quarters way farther away than I had wanted from my old job, and even further from my new one.
The car comes to a slow stop outside of my small two-story apartment as Clare turns down the radio. "I'm serious about the picture, Sierra. I need to see how beautiful you look tomorrow."
I unbuckle my seatbelt. "I will. I promise.” There was no way I would live it down if I forgot to take the damn picture, anyway. Clare would guilt me for it long after I died. Hell, her parting words while leaning over my casket would be, “How could you forget the picture, Sierra? I would have had that picture to look back on today.” I climb out of the car and with a final goodbye, shut the door and wave.
"Love you!" she yells after rolling down the window and pinning me with a glare for rushing away.
"Love you too." I blow her a kiss before moving to grab my bags from the trunk. With the trunk shut and the bags in my hand, I start walking up the uneven sidewalk and head inside.
As I'm placing the last plate into the dishrack, the intercom on my wall wails out a screeching cry. Wiping my wet hands on my cookie monster pyjama shorts, I blow a stray piece of hair out of my face and head for the speaker by the front door.
"Open up. I got ice cream!" Sophie's voice pierces my ears. I shake my head and buzz her in. When it comes to my best friend, I know that ice cream means that she has something to talk about—more than likely some sort of drama involving her or something that’s about to involve her when she sticks her head in the middle of it.
A minute later, there's a string of knocks on the door.
"What kind of ice cream do you have? And remember, there's only one right answer!" I shout through the door.
"Cookie dough. Now let me in before someone snatches me and leaves you without a best friend. The crime rates lately have just skyrocketed."