Page 1 of Drawn to You

CHAPTER ONE

Josie

I thought eatingpeanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch every day at work was the worst.

It’s not.

Running out of jelly and bread before payday and eating a peanut butter sandwich made with the two heels of the bread loaf—that’s actually the worst.

“That looks disgusting, Josie,” my coworker Monica says as she unwraps the deli sandwich she had delivered from DoorDash.

“It’s not bad,” I lie, reaching for my water bottle to wash down the stale bread.

Monica is twenty-three and still lives at home. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be so broke you put five dollars’ worth of gas at a time in your car because it’s all you can afford.

I smile to myself because that’s the one upside of my car getting repossessed last week: no more paying for gas. But now I have to pay for bus rides to work, which costs more than gas.

FML. I thought by age twenty-seven, I’d be a senior publicist at JG Publicity, getting my hair and nails done on my Friday lunch breaks to prepare for a weekend of barhopping in downtown Minneapolis.

Instead, I spent the first half of my lunch break listening to horrible on-hold music for the electric company before begging them to give me another week to pay my bill, leaving the rest of my break free for my dry sandwich and clueless coworker.

“Eww, I told them no tomato,” she says, grimacing at her sandwich. “They mess my order up every time, I swear to God.”

I lock eyes with Linda, one of the secretaries. She’s a single mom of four who also has no tolerance for Monica’s nonstop complaining.

“You want an apple?” Linda offers, taking one from her lunch bag.

“I’m good, thanks.”

It’s true what they say about people who have the least being the most generous. Linda knows I struggle, and she checks on me to make sure I’m okay.

I’m not okay, but I’m hanging in there. Making payments on a ten-thousand-dollar health insurance deductible for an unexpected gall bladder removal surgery eight months ago has put a major strain on my already meager finances. Those monthly five hundred- and fifty-dollar payments are the reason I’m waiting tables on weekends and clipping coupons.

Good thing I’m in line for a promotion. If I get it, the salary increase will change my life.

Convincing my boss to promote me, though? That’s another story.

“Excellent font choices, Monica,”Jane Garver says during our two p.m. group meeting. “The client wants to see a full presentation. I’ll expect it to be ready by Monday afternoon.”

“Absolutely,” Monica says.

“Josie, did you steal that shirt from a homeless person?” Jane asks me, wrinkling her nose.

Or should I say,AuntJane. Having my aunt as a boss is worse than eating dry peanut butter sandwiches for every meal.

Monica cackles like the ass-kisser she is, and I smile tightly. My plain short-sleeved gray shirt may not have a designer label on it, but it’s perfectly fine.

“I’m not seeing clients today, so I decided to dress down a bit.”

Jane scoffs. “You’ll need to go home and change before our four o’clock meeting.”

“What meeting?”

She waves a hand. “I’ll fill you in before. It’s a job for a high-profile client, and you’re perfect for it.”

I straighten in my chair, taken aback. Perfect for it? Aunt Jane has never, since meeting me within a minute of my birth, thought I was perfect for anything.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard that Marnie is leaving us,” Jane says crisply. “That creates an opening for a senior publicist. Junior publicists, show me your best work in the coming weeks and help make my decision easier.”

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