Chapter Thirty-Nine

Annabel

I jump back into the city with both feet.

What’s my other option, with Beau at work all day? Lounge around in his luxurious penthouse in my tank top and shorts? Yes. That is, in fact, an option. But the urge is rising in my veins to do something. Even an evening cruise to New Hope wasn’t enough to slake my thirst.

So I put on my snappy casual outfit, namely my black slacks, black shell, and gray blazer, and go out. Beau has put together a drawer full of clothes that are perfect for lounging and day trips but none that will entice people to hire me. Maybe it’s on purpose. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I’ve taken the time to dry my hair and style it in what I hope is an elegant twist.

I start in my old neighborhood after riding the subway to get there. Best not to tempt fate with Beau. Though would it be the worst thing if I came home with a job around the corner from his penthouse? I laugh out loud. There is nowhere on his block that would take me. Not with my pink hair and non–brand name blazer.

This is what I’ve been missing. That seat-of-your-pants, anything-could-happen energy that’s racing through my blood. Everyone on the street looks like an opportunity.

There’s a small theater in my neighborhood—much smaller than the Pearl and definitely not as wealthy—with a janky Help Wanted sign posted on the front door.

Bingo.

It’s a little on the nose, but it’s a start.

The guy at the box office is frazzled and pops up when I come in, hitting his head on the counter. “Uh, hi. What can I do for you? Are you here to pick up tickets? I don’t even remember where—”

“No tickets,” I say, giving him my most charming smile. “I’m here about the sign out front. What kind of help are you looking for?”

He’s still rifling through various papers and boxes on the counter in front of him. “A production assistant. It’s actually posted online. The sign—” He looks sheepish. “The sign is more of an inside joke. We’re not getting many applicants for the position.”

“So what’s the job?”

Now he stops and looks curiously at me in the dim half-light of the lobby. “Production assistant.”

“Yes, but what does that entail?”

The man sighs deeply. “Some work on the production—moving set pieces, coordinating some of the other assistants, and then helping in the box office before and after the shows. Light sweeping and cleanup.” He purses his lips. “Listen, I’ll be honest. It’s mostly sweeping and cleanup.”

“That sounds more . . . janitorial.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But we’re trying to fill the job.”

The next lead is slightly more promising.

I strike up a conversation with a woman in a sharp suit at the Starbucks two blocks down from the theater. Turns out she works for a huge multinational corporation. That doesn’t appeal to me at all, but she’s so cool that she buys my coffee, and there are openings in her department. I could work for this woman a year, put some money in the bank, move on. Six months, and I’d have enough saved up to start over somewhere new, if I wanted.

Or I could stay.

Before she leaves she scribbles down a number on a business card. “It’s the HR department rep,” she says with a big smile. “Tell them I sent you. They’ve got some special email address where you can send your email, but don’t worry—it’ll get through the filters.”

I give her a knowing smile, but I have no idea what filters she’s talking about. What I do know is that I’m not going to let a moment pass by before I jump on this thing. I pull out my phone.

Thirty percent battery.

That’s what I get for driving around with Beau until the middle of the night and forgetting to put my old-ass phone on the charger. Still, it’s enough for one phone call.

The young man on the other end of the line is named Paul, and he greets me like we’re old friends. I name-drop Kathy, the woman who paid for the iced coffee I’m currently clutching, and he turns on more charm. “Oh, Kathy, I love her. She’s always finding the best people. Where’d you run into her?”

I tell him about the coffee shop, and he laughs, a rich, hearty laugh. “That’s Kathy for you.” It’s all so squeaky clean, so shining corporate. Normally I’d hate that, but it’s the opposite of the Pearl, and that’s what I need right now. “What’d you order? I haven’t had any coffee today, and I’m dying,” Paul says, and then somehow we fall down the rabbit hole of our favorite secret menu drinks, and before I know it, I’ve talked to him for half an hour, and my old-ass phone is dying.

I hang up with a triumphant whoop. I’ve got a good feeling about this.

“Annabel! What are you doing here?”

I whirl around and come face to face with none other than Cynthia. “Job hunting. Wait—what are you doing here?”

Cynthia gives me a sad little smile. “I was checking in on the old place.” Her mouth twists into a frown, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with her face. “I’m glad I ran into you, because . . . with the lease up so soon—”

“And your sister’s place being so much better . . .”

Her face lights up with relief. “You don’t want to renew, either?”

Is it me, or is the city telling me to run straight into Beau’s arms? It must be a sign. It must be a sign that I should take the leap right now.

“Not really.”

“Yes.” Cynthia pumps her fist, but then her eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean—I don’t want you to think—”

I throw my arm around her shoulders and pull her into a hug. “I totally get it. Time to move on.”

“Exactly. But—” She checks her watch. “Look, it’s my day off. You want to catch up awhile? Have a couple of drinks somewhere?”

Things are looking up. Why not celebrate? “Yes! I do. One last roommates’ day out.”

“I don’t know about last,” Cynthia says.

“You’re right. But we can always party like it is.”

She doesn’t turn me down.