Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
No one else appears to be up yet—thank God—so I bring up the YouTube channel on the TV for my yoga session of the day.
Later, after several attempts at this ridiculousness, sweat drips off me while I push my legs as far apart as they’ll go and grasp my toes. I call it The Crotch Widener Pose, but I don’t think the trim girl in the video would approve. She moves into another position, and I fumble around on my mat, trying to get up. “What’s the point of this,” I mutter, weaving as I try to stand still on one foot, my arms straight and pointed at the ceiling, one foot tucked into the bend of my knee. “Look, I’m a rocket man,” I announce to no one. “Should have brought Vampire Bill out here so he could critique,” I say on a laugh. Then, I catch a glimpse of myself in the glare from the television and wince at the scrunched-up face and strands of hair that have fallen loose from my up-do. Ugh. Definitely not a Dani kind of girl.
Ryker walks into the room wearing flannel pants and no shirt. He comes to a halt when he sees me and rakes a hand through his golden-blond hair. “Damn. Any clue how many captions I could put on this image—”
“Trust me, she can caption them herself,” replies Penelope as she follows him into the room and swats him on the ass. With her copper hair up in a messy knot and her red glasses perched on her nose, she looks slightly mussed and happy in her pjs. I’m not surprised considering the number of times I heard her calling out his name last night. I’m thrilled they’re in love and all that jazz, but dang, enough with the awesome sex already. I make a mental note to pick up some earplugs at the Piggly Wiggly.
“Bedsides,” Penelope adds. “No one likes an audience while they’re exercising.”
“Especially when they’re short and gravitationally challenged like me.” I laugh and continue into the next pose. “Be glad I wasn’t in downward-facing dog.”
“Namaste, Charm. Please continue your workout,” Ryker says then gives me a broad grin as he heads off for a shower.
I finish up just as my phone rings with a call from an unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Charisma Rossi?” It’s a man with a distinct Boston accent.
I grip the phone tighter. The only people I know who’d be calling me from that area is the design firm I signed my graphic design internship with. “This is she.”
He clears his throat. “Ah, yes, this is William Connor. We met a few months ago when you came up for an interview at Prescott Designs.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “Yes, hello! It’s great to hear from you. I’m so excited to see you in May.” I let out a nervous laugh. Getting that prized spot was the highlight of my year. “I even already have a place to live. My cousin has a great apartment near downtown and she’s setting up a room for me. All I have to do is graduate and move—”
“Ah, well, I have bad news. We’ve had to make some cutbacks here at the firm, and we’re canceling.”
“Oh.” I take a seat on the couch. “Why? Was I not right for the program? I mean, I know the competition was tough, but I’m one of the best. Are you—are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake?” I nailed that interview. I know I did. My GPA is stellar and my portfolio is kickass. Ma even bought me a pale gray power suit from Barney’s, and my makeup was demure but stylish, my pink and black hair slicked back in a tight bun—
“No mistake, and I’m sincerely sorry. It’s not you. We’re cutting the program entirely.” A long sigh comes from his end. “I’m in the process of calling several interns and letting them know, Ms. Rossi. You aren’t alone.”
My hand rubs my forehead. Boston was the only thing keeping me going, knowing I’d be out of here soon. “I see.”
“I’m aware it puts you in a bind, and I’d be happy to suggest a few places that may have openings for interns. I’ll email them over to you. My advice is to apply immediately.”
What he isn’t saying is that all the spots at the best firms have been filled. Shit. Boston was the perfect city—close to home yet far enough away that Ma couldn’t pop in and surprise me.
“If you want to take a gap year and reapply next year, we may reopen it then.”
A gap year would mean moving back in with my parents. NIAMY. Not in a million years.
We end the conversation, and I stare down at my phone for several seconds, resisting the urge to throw it across the room. Instead, I head to the kitchen for some much-earned coffee.