Page 2 of The Companion Love Trap

I wouldn’t let Grace and Todd get the best of me. Their actions had dented me a little, but I wouldn’t let this crumble me. See, knowing my worth was my superpower.

Climbing onto the city bus, my mind churned out ideas of where to go from here as I headed to work. Now, you might think that someone as awesome as me would have a kick-ass job, right? Surely, if this plus-sized beauty knew her worth, she had her future figured out too?

Wrong.

Unfortunately, knowing my worth did not equal knowing what I wanted to do with my life. And believe me, I’ve had a lot of jobs on my quest to find my passion. A few were a bit wacky, others strange, and some just downright awful. No one could deny that I hadn’t tried almost every type of profession, though.

Like when I was a cocktail waitress for a bar made entirely out of ice but was expected to wear a bikini. Frozen nips were not a pleasant thing.

Or the time I was a dog groomer and the owner of a pug wanted me to give her dog a faux-hawk. I still have nightmares about that poor dog.

Then there was the hair salon I worked at—note to self, human hair differed from dogs. Who knew?

I’d also been a snake milker, bingo manager, and crime scene cleaner. Those had all been fine at the beginning, but like most of my jobs, something always went screwy a few months in and I either lost interest, messed up, or forgot to go back.

So far this month, I’d been a fortune cookie writer: if you get any that end “in bed,” well, you’re welcome. The company, however, did not find it humorous. Lame.

This was followed by being a professional snuggler; some people were just too sweaty to hug that long, but apparently, you couldn’t tell them that. Oops.

And my latest addition to my resume: dog poop scooper.

Yeah, it wasn’t going to last long. I’d been too entranced by the owner’s perfect smile and six-pack abs to actually listen during the interview. I’d actually thought it was for dog models, so imagine my surprise when they handed me a pooper scooper and bag. Ew.

BTW, if you’re Hank’s owner, you should change his food.

Sincerely,

The woman who picks up his shit.

With all my various jobs and labels over the years, I chalked it up to experience and a really extended journey to find myself. And there was always my volunteer work. Between the teens I mentored, the soup kitchen, and the old folks’ home I visited, I kept myself busy so I didn’t have to think about my future. Plus, it was the one thing I enjoyed most days.

It was now two weeks away from my thirtieth birthday, and I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps I was the problem, after all.

But if there was one thing I was good at, it was picking up the pieces and starting over. I might be adding a new label to myself—homeless—but this was old news.

I so had this.

I did not have this.

It turned out that being homeless was not as fun as it sounded. In fact, it downright sucked. And now, it looked like I was about to be fired… again.

“But, sir, how was I supposed to know the kennels were only for dogs?”

“Everly.” Josh, my incredibly attractive boss, sighed, rubbing his temples like saying my name truly pained him. “It’s just not going to work. I’ll pay you for the week, but don’t return on Monday.”

He turned away, saving me from having to stare at the pity on his face any longer. Out of all the jobs I’d lost, this one hurt the most. Mainly because I knew it was my fault.

Despite what I’d said to Josh, I’d been fully aware of my choice. Hello consequences, we meet again.

It hadn’t been my finest hour to crawl into the kennel van, but I’d been desperate. Add in a few drinks, rain, and the belief I’d wake up before anyone arrived; I’d crawled right into rock bottom.

Holding back the tears I refused to shed, I turned and walked out with my head held high. My hips swished with the movement, my inner diva unwilling to crumble, no matter how much I wanted to. The door shutting behind me felt like a proverbial nail in my coffin, and while I’d never been this low before, I had faith that things would turn around.

They had to.

My paternal grandmother always said even a blind squirrel occasionally found a nut. So, I’d keep searching and pray my next opportunity was right around the corner.

Feeling somewhat hopeful, I made a quick pit stop at the gym my friend worked at, who allowed me to use their buddy pass. A trip to the sauna and a hot shower later, I’d successfully washed the stench of dog poop off me.

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