Page 9 of Charmed and Alarmed

Maybe I’m being spiteful, or ungrateful for thestellaremployment opportunity, but what the actual fuck? I spend the entire walk back to Honor and Sophie’s apartment—which is extended by the necessity to walk at a yawn-inducing pace and take lots of breaks—furious with him for the audacity.

We aren’t friends. Just because he’s my father’s business partner and we happened to share one sexually charged evening six months ago, does not give him the right to talk to me like that. He certainly doesn’t get to call me out for not sticking with that soul-sucking, stupid job that I only got because my father wanted me out of the house.

It’s boring.So, so boring.Within a few hours of organizing a file drive, I wanted to throw myself out the window, and when Holden appeared beside my desk, telling me I had to stay and do more… I just snapped. My resolution to lean into my new, shitty life was nowhere to be found, and the only thing I cared about was ending the torture.

Okay, so I might be slightly dramatic. I have enough self-awareness to acknowledge that. Itdidsuck, though, and the thought of doing it indefinitely… Nope. Pass.

Holden Ellinger has no idea what it’s like to lose anything. The man is a grown-up fuckboy with good looks and more money than anyone could need. Why does he even care what I do? Surely there are better administrative assistants out there, ones who make polite chitchat with their coworkers, can carry more than one cup of coffee back from the breakroom at a time, and share no weird history with him. It couldn’t have been clearer that the man wasn’t on board with this staffing choice when Dad told him, so why does he give a shit if I quit?

Sitting there, miserable, when everybody else around me seemed so annoyingly chipper, was surreal. It was like they actually enjoy working at E&V, and don’t mind spending a perfectly beautiful summer day shuffling paperwork to make Dad and his insufferable business partner even richer than they are now. People were laughing and talking at their desks, sharing snacks, wandering into Holden’s office to ask him questions or playfully remind him he owes them twenty bucks from that game they bet on last night.

Not one of them approached me.

I guess my resting bitch face was enough of a deterrent to ward off any attempts at office camaraderie, or Linda-Rae spread the word far and wide about Bram Vogel giving his daughter an entry-level job she wasn’t really qualified for. The knowledge that they all saw me that way, though? That Holden did?

Rock bottom.

My leg is stiff and aching by the time I make it back to Honor and Sophie’s apartment building. Despite not having spent a night at the apartment in months, my sister and her best friend still seem intent on pretending they don’t live with their respective partners. They pay the bills, stock the fridge, occasionally turn up to sort through the pile of mail on the counter, and head off.

I have to admit, paying no rent, utilities, or living expenses and not having to contend with roommates for the first time in my adult life has been a pretty sweet arrangement for me. All good things must come to an end, though, and as I walk into the empty apartment, I can sense that time may be now.

The first thing I encounter is a box addressed to Sophie waiting by the door. Remembering she mentioned to look out for the new ice cube trays she ordered, I open it, only to find not ice cube trays, but a very skimpy set of lingerie. The strappy red ensemble likely wouldn’t have sparked such a horrified reaction had it not been clearly intended for my father’s enjoyment.

Gagging, I shove the monstrosity back in its box and head toward the living room, resolving to take up residence in my favorite couch spot for the foreseeable future and daydream about ways to make Holden Ellinger’s life uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, that spot in question is located directly beside a wall hook, which Honor evidently thought to be an excellent place to hang the giant white garment bag emblazoned withCouture Bridalin gold lettering. And—in a sacrilegious act for depressed homebodies everywhere—suddenly, the need to get out is stifling.

Considering I don’t have a car, or friends, or money to order a car to go out and find people I don’t find insufferable to spend time with, my options are limited.

There is a hole in my chest as I sink down onto the edge of the coffee table, the walls of the empty apartment pressing in on me, its silence deafening. I thought losing my career was rock bottom, but this moment somehow feels so much worse, probably because tearing my tendon in two was an accident. Being alone, with no job prospects, is nobody’s fault but my own.

Against all reason, knowing it could very well end like this, I chose ballet. I chose it over friends, family, and love. I chose it over getting an education.

It’s long past due that I face the fact:I chose wrong.

I chose wrong, and now, I’m stuck here, alone in the apartment of people way happier than I am.

Thereisone place I can go, though, and it’s only slightly less unpleasant than staying here. Holden’s offer hangs in the air before me, and with it, the promise of something to do that isn’t sitting here alone, dwelling on my poor life choices. If only it didn’t come with one enormous catch. Admitting I’m wrong isn’t something I’m good at. Thus far in life, I’ve gotten by on nothing but fierce, reckless determination.

“And where did it get you?”whispers a tiny voice in the back of my mind, one that sounds suspiciously like Holden Ellinger.

I stare blankly at the cluster of coats and shoes by the door as I consider my options for the near future. It’s only a matter of time before Honorofficiallymoves in with Julian and Sophieofficiallymoves in with Dad. Their lease is up in a few months, and if I were in their shoes, I wouldn’t renew it.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t afford to take over the rent on this place. Dad would probably have helped, but after quitting the job he set up for me, I’m guessing that will be off the table, too.

If I take my own bitterness out of the equation, was E&V even that terrible? Objectively, I’ll need to get a job, and I’m pretty much as unqualified for everything else as I am for this. Even teaching dance is pretty much off the table due to my general awkwardness around children and frequent cursing.

I let my face fall forward into my hands as the telltale burning in my eyes signals there are tears on the way. I’m only twenty-two, for Christ’s sake, but right now, I feel so much older than that. Months of lingering in this state of limbo have worn me down, and the righteous indignation necessary to maintain any kind of pride has gone with it.

God fucking damn it.Holden was right. I really, really wish I could lie to myself and pretend that isn’t the case, but it seems that even I’m not that delusional. My family has walked on eggshells around me for months, trying to nurture me back to life. Meanwhile, Holden Ellinger, hot architect extraordinaire, was the first person to tell me to get my head out of my ass, and apparently, I needed it.

It takes an inordinate effort to get back to my feet.

My leg, still aching from the walk home, protests each step as I move toward the door. The few blocks between the apartment and E&V feel twice as long as they did only an hour ago as I retrace my steps, heading right back to the place I thought I was too good for.

By the time I make it back to the familiar marble building, my entire leg is throbbing angrily, and I’m beginning to wonder if staying in my depression den would really have been so bad. At least there are fuzzy socks and pants with no buttons there. Whereas here, I am willingly entering my place of employment after hours to help with a boring project I couldn’t care less about.

All because of Holden. What he said to me, not because I want to bang him. Though I do, at least a little. I’m sad, not dead.

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