1.

Alex

W hat are you supposed to do when your entire world falls apart and you don't have any money?

Beg?

There's a part of me that thinks being a stripper would be the right choice at this moment in time, but I'm smart enough to know that I don't have the body, the moves, or the attitude. I also don't have the work ethic that most dancers do. Those girls are putting themselves out there night after night. Not me.

I'm way too awkward and clumsy. I'm the type of girl who would definitely trip on stage and twist my ankle. Who wants a dance from a non-coordinated girl who limps around feeling sorry for herself? Not many people, I would guess.

"No stripping," I mutter to myself. I'm scrolling a Reddit thread on my phone. It's got hundreds of comments from people offering advice. I'm just hoping I'll find a couple of solid leads.

What was my search?

"Where can I find a job that pays fast?"

That was my search.

Because I didn't expect to get fired.

I didn't expect to find myself unable to land a new role.

I didn't think I'd be in this position ever because a master's degree was supposed to be my ticket to a better life. I don't want many things. I literally just want enough money to pay my rent and pay a private investigator to find Aaron. Is that too much to ask? I really don't think that it is, but apparently, I'm wrong.

"Any luck?" Beatrice, my roommate, waltzes into the kitchen so quietly that I don't even notice her until she speaks.

"Not yet."

She makes a little sound that's something between a sigh and a coo. I don't want to look at her because I know she's probably busy pitying me. I don't want her pity.

"Are you sure you don't want me to talk to my cousin? I mean, he and his brothers run a pretty big company. I'm sure they could find you a job." Beatrice offers me a weird smile. I know she's trying to be helpful, but I don't want to go work for her cousin.

"I really don't want a pity job."

"I don't want to sound like a bitch or like I don't understand," Beatrice says softly, "but you aren't exactly paying your bills, love." She's right. Again.

"I know. And I'm sorry." I finally look over at her. Yep, those beautiful blue eyes hold nothing but pity: lots and lots of pity. "I promise that I'll pay you back soon." I know Beatrice is super well-off, but I don't like having to depend on her for money. I certainly don't like the fact that I owe her. I'm her roommate: not her girlfriend. I shouldn't be accepting money from her even if it's to pay our rent.

"It's fine."

"It's not."

"Then let me call my cousin," she insists.

"Give me a few more days," I ask. It's only been a month since I graduated from grad school. I should have had something lined up after I got fired, but nothing fell into place. I kept telling myself that as soon as I had my degree in hand, things would turn around for me. They didn't. I had a part-time student-teaching job that I no longer have due to "budget cuts." I thought that my university would offer me a full-time role as a teacher this fall, but that didn't happen.

My student loans are basically maxed. I used them on tuition and books, plus there was the time my car broke down. Now I don't even have a car. I just take the bus everywhere. Sometimes I even walk. At least I've managed to stay in pretty good shape on account of all the walking. That's what I keep telling myself.

"A few days," Beatrice says. "Then we'll call Ryan. I know you want to find a job in your field, but I think you might be surprised at just how much he can help you."

"A master's degree in creative writing really did seem like a good idea," I sigh. I want to be a high school English teacher so very much. I know that Beatrice would never talk shit about me or my ability to actually hold down a job, but there's an undercurrent of disappointment there. She comes from money, sure, but she's also got a big girl job with big girl pay.

Not me.

"I know," she says. We met our first year of grad school and decided to team up and room together. It's been a great arrangement. Beatrice got her graduate degree in children's lit, which sounds insane, but she wants to be a children's librarian or a preschool director one day. She currently has a full-time job that has combined both roles, plus her parents are loaded. Needless to say, she's going to be just fine no matter what she does.

She leaves and returns a few minutes later with a book. Then Beatrice sits at the kitchen counter and reads while I continue job-hunting at the kitchen table. Sometimes I think Beatrice can't stand me, but then there are soft, quiet moments like these where I realize that maybe the universe has offered me something I've never had before: a friend. We sit in silence for nearly an hour before I finally push my chair away.

"All done?"

"Yeah."

"Any leads?"

"No."

"You want me to call Ryan?"

I don't. I really, really don't, but Beatrice seems so hopeful, and honestly, I'm tired. I've been fighting for a very, very long time, and even though this kind of feels like a handout, I haven't really gotten any of those in my life.

Besides, what's so wrong with a handout?

What's so bad about admitting that maybe I need a little bit of a lifeline?

"Yes," I say.

"What?"

"Yeah."

"What changed?"

In the last five minutes?

I can't think of a good excuse.

"I..." I shake my head. I just want to find Aaron. I miss him so much, and even if I take a crappy, low-wage part-time job, I'm never going to be able to afford a private investigator. I really think that's what it's going to take for me to find him. I miss him so much that it hurts, and for the last decade, I've been looking on my own without any hope of actually finding him. I just keep hitting dead end after dead end.

Beatrice's eyes soften. She knows.

"It's your brother, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Hey," she places her hand on my shoulder. "You're going to find him, okay?"

Beatrice hasn't offered to pay for me to find him, and I'm kind of glad. I don't want to act like I'm too proud, but I am. Aaron is out there somewhere, and I want to find where. He didn't just disappear into thin air. He couldn't have.

Separating us was the worst thing the foster agency could have done, at least in my opinion, but it honestly forced me to evaluate who I am without my brother, and without my family. No matter which social workers I talk to, nobody is able to offer me any information about his case because I'm not him. I'm not Mom. I'm just the sibling, and nobody cares about the older sister who misses her kid brother.

"I know," I say. And it all starts with this phone call.

Beatrice reaches for her cell and presses a button.

"Ryan, it's Bea."

I hear laughter on the other end of the line. She's got her volume turned up loud enough that although the call isn't on speaker, I can hear it clear as day.

"I know who you are, cousin. What's up?"

"You have any job openings?"

"Maybe."

"I have a friend – my roommate, actually – and she's looking for a new role."

"Qualifications?"

"A master's degree. 4.0. Ten years of work experience."

She's not lying about any of it. I started working when I was 18 and I'm 28 now. Sometimes it's hard to believe that it's been this long. Ten years and I have nothing to show for it: no car, no job, no husband, no brother.

"I might have something in finance opening up later this month." Shit. I don't really have any finance qualifications. I passed my math classes just fine, but that's it.

"Nothing now?"

There's a pause."

"Ry?"

"Don't call me that."

"You have something else?"

Another sigh. "I can't make any promises."

"What's the job?"

"My assistant is going to be gone. I need someone to fill in for him while he's out. It's a part-time role, but heavy on the responsibility. They'd be managing my calendar, taking notes during meetings, and generally keeping me afloat."

"So, you want someone to be your bitch?"

"Basically."

"She's interested."

"I won't make any promises, Bea. This is a big role. I need the right person."

Beatrice shoots me a thumbs-up. For some reason, she thinks I have a shot at getting this position with her cousin. I'm not sure. He already kind of sounds like a hard-ass.

"When can you see her?"

"Monday morning. Give her directions. 9 a.m."

"She'll be there."

"See ya, cous."

"Thanks, Ry."

She ends the call and turns to me, grinning.

"You got the interview!" She seems so happy that I don't want to point out the fact that Ryan made no promises.

And do I really want to be his "bitch"?

"I don't know about this," I say.

"Yes, you do." Beatrice's face goes steel. This is her rich-girl face: the one that gets people to take her seriously. She's completely perfected it, in my opinion. She reaches for my shoulders, holding me in place. "You do know. You're going to go to the interview, and you're going to totally slay, and Ryan is going to love you. Okay?"

Somehow, I know that there's only one thing for me to say.

"Okay," I tell her. Beatrice starts squealing and tugs me into her arms.

"He's going to love you," she says.

He doesn't have to love me. He just has to be willing to pay me.