Chapter 3 - Jenna

The original plan was to spend the entire vacation with Katie, only coming back to Berkeley after the first of the new year. That was until I discovered I was staying in a luxurious crime den. Okay, maybe that was going a bit too far. It was unlikely they did any crime in their home, but how was I to know for sure?

My skin practically crawled the two days I did spend there, making up some excuse about a test I forgot I had and needed to cram for so I could go back with Brooke right after Christmas.

Katie saw through it, and was heartbroken, which made my own chest ache. I hated that she felt so bad, but she put herself in that situation, and dragged me along with it as well. My college tuition was being paid for by mafia money, and no one asked me if I was all right with that.

I wasn't. Not at all. Not even if it meant going along with it would erase the pain in my sister's eyes. She let me go, extracting a promise from me that I'd keep an open mind. It was an empty promise, because my mind was shut tight.

And rightly so. It was my fondest wish to get into politics. It had been my dream since I was ten and my mom had been volunteering for someone on the local school board's election campaign. It was just small-time stuff, but the energy at the meetings she took me to was infectious. Those people really believed in something. That they were making things better by backing their chosen candidate. And the speeches by the woman who was running? Wow. She really lit a fire under me and ever since then, all my Barbies ran for office.

Even when I was getting bullied so badly in my first year of public school, that dream kept me going. Maybe one day I'd be on a local school board, and I could make changes so nobody got hassled so mercilessly that she ate her lunch while hiding in a bathroom stall.

Now, I had even loftier goals than that. I wanted to make it all the way to Congress. How could I possibly do that with ties to the Russian mafia? There was no way; it was impossible.

What also seemed impossible was making it on my own.

Brooke was always poring over a little notebook that she ruthlessly updated every day. She kept track of every penny she made and spent, tapping away at her calculator app and sometimes sighing and sometimes thrusting her fist in the air in triumph when she came out ahead for once. Whenever I moaned about money, she told me to make a budget. Supposedly, it really helped, and after the initial depression that descended when she saw how little she had, she assured me that the feeling of being in control was worth it.

Except, I couldn't exactly make a budget when I had no income. Katie had always been strongly against me getting a job, especially when my grades started to slip last semester. My scholarship money was eaten up by tuition, with barely pennies left over to buy books. Everything always came from Katie, who had worked tirelessly to make it so I could go to my dream college. I did the work to get in, and the scholarship helped, but it was Katie who made it happen.

Now, I had moved out of the dorms into an apartment that was also paid for with dirty money. It'd be a blot on my record if I broke the lease, not to mention probably costing a bunch in fees, and then Brooke would be left high and dry, too. We'd both been so thrilled to get out of the crowded dorm with the leaky showers and constantly clogged toilets. The place was the cheapest available, and living in an actual zoo might have been more pleasant.

No money, rent I couldn't afford—hell, I probably couldn't afford to go back to the dorms on my own—and I was teetering on the brink of losing my scholarship.

With my head in my hands, I groaned loud enough to scare a bird sitting on the windowsill outside our adorable little kitchen window. My first taste at independence, the apartment I loved so much, was a shackle now.

Okay, crying wasn't going to solve anything, because, last I checked, my tears didn't turn to gold. I had to find a job, as many as I could get. If it meant losing sleep to keep studying and drag my grades back up, then so be it.

The only other option was to get comfortable with enjoying the perks of criminal activities I didn't want to imagine. That meant giving up my dreams. No. Hell, no.

I got dressed and headed to my advisor's office with what felt like a stone settled in the pit of my stomach. Professor Cardaway hated my guts for some reason, and no matter how many other students told me he treated them just as poorly, I was convinced he really had it out for me. He was the only person I could get to put me forward for paid internships, and as a freshman, he constantly told me I shouldn't be wasting my time. But since he also reveled in my failures, he'd tell me about anything available.

As futile as it seemed with my experience level and somewhat shoddy grades, I would much rather have an internship that would look good on a resumé than a string of coffee shop jobs. Oh, I was ready to take those, too, but I still held out hope for something glamorous and exciting.

I was glad that Cardaway was in his office so soon after the new year, because now, even bus fare was precious, and I would have been sorry to waste the trip. I had normally been checking in once a month or so since that was all the abuse I could take from him, but now I planned to haunt his doorstep every day until something came up.

For once, the grouchy buzzard of a man seemed pleased to see me, or at least relieved. He waved me in and got straight to business without so much as a Happy New Year.

"There's a new lobbying company in San Francisco," he said, rummaging through the papers on his desk. With a sigh, he finally clicked open his email and printed something out. "They want a poli-sci major and don't care what year you're in. They're offering an entire course credit." He waved the paper at me after it slid out of his printer, his eyes narrowing. "I don't have to remind you how important another credit is to you, do I?"

"No, sir," I said, reaching for the paper he kept just out of my reach. "I'd be thrilled to take the internship."

He snickered. "It's only an interview, so don't get too excited. They said they'd see all levels, but I'm sure they want someone with more experience and…" he paused to clear his throat. "Better grades."

"I know my grades could be better," I said, choking on meekness.

What he said was true, but it wasn't like I was slipping due to wild partying. I always had the habit of biting off more than I could chew, especially when excited about something. There was nothing I was more excited about than college, and I'd learned the hard way that slow and steady really does win the race.

"I've been notified that you risk losing your scholarship if there's one more failing grade." His voice wasn't malicious, but it wasn't kind, either. He seemed personally affronted about my poor showing last semester and my less-than-stellar one now. "It might be better if you drop a few of the ones you're struggling with, although that never looks good either, since by now you'd have to take an incomplete."

I wanted to ask if he needed a napkin to wipe the drool he was working up since he was so obviously gleeful about my predicament. One I didn't need for him to spell out.

"I think I can pull it together and get those grades up and avoid failing," I said. So what if a low grade would bring my average down? In my current position, I'd have no way to pay to retake those classes if I dropped them, and two of them were required. "When is the interview?" Maybe changing the subject back to why I came would get him to hand over the information, and then I could leave.

"Tomorrow," he said, still keeping the paper tucked out of my grasp. "Are you sure you should spend your valuable study time chasing after something that you most certainly won't get?"

"I thought they said they were open to interviewing anyone in poli-sci?" I retorted.

He narrowed his eyes at my prickly tone but sighed and handed over the paper with the time and place. He did not wish me good luck on my way out, but I didn't tell him to have a nice day, either.

I was much too excited to go back to the apartment, even though there was always studying to be done. Instead, I headed into town to the upscale boutique where Brooke was lucky enough to have landed a plum sales position. There had recently been an opening, and she'd put me up for it, but Katie had talked me out of taking it, something I still regretted since it was commission-based and the stuff in there was expensive.

Brooke had promised to talk to the owner about me again, so when I hurried in, I tried to make a good impression just in case. If I got a paid internship and could work part-time at the boutique, that would make a real dent in my problems. Just a dent, but it was a start.

We went straight to the sales rack and picked out some suits. I had left behind the lavish new wardrobe Katie had bought me, but when I got home, I realized she had somehow slipped a wad of cash into my bag. It was dumb and childish to mail it back to her, and this way, it would at least advance my career. The last gift I'd accept from her and Aleks, it was going to help me on my road to financial independence.

I found a nice, form-fitting navy suit that was half-price, and Brooke let me use her discount on it, too. At the checkout, I chatted with the owner, a stern-looking lady with sleek silver hair and the most amazing, over-the-top handmade jewelry the shop also sold for a small fortune. If I could work there a couple hours a week, it wouldn't just be fun. It could end up being pretty good money.

Back in Berkeley, I was too anxious about the interview in the morning to get much studying done, and ended up going to bed early so I'd be one of the first ones there the next day. The bus was bursting with commuters balancing coffees, phones, and briefcases, and for about the thousandth time, I wished I had a car. Even an ancient heap of rust like Brooke's. That was a pipe dream, though, so I crammed in between a guy yapping away on his phone and someone who smelled like they ate onions at every meal.

Since I was early, I walked around the block, giddily taking in the building I might be working in if I had a stitch of luck. No. I'd dazzle them and make my own luck. The new suit gave me confidence, and the cool, foggy morning air dissipated the onion odor I picked up from my fellow passenger. As I made my way up the elevator to the lobbying firm office, there were stars in my eyes.

They blinked out when I saw the crush of other students already waiting to be called. It seemed everyone had the idea to get there early, making it seem like I was late. The receptionist barely glanced at me and waved her hand at a sign-in sheet. I quickly counted the names ahead of me. Eighteen people, all of them in crisp suits, and most of them older than me. My spirits wilted. Why would they hire someone shy of twenty when they could pick someone about to graduate who was ready for the real world? I'd never once been chosen for an internship before, and it was difficult not to get a little downtrodden.

Despite my dip in mood, I kept my shoulders back and my chin up when the receptionist told me it was my turn.

"Come in and have a seat," a woman in her mid-thirties said from her desk piled high with resumés.

When she looked up, she tilted her dark red glasses further up her nose, then swiped a stray strand of jet-black hair behind her ear. She had a half-full cup of coffee next to her and grimaced when she sipped it.

"Ice cold," she muttered.

"It's only good when you order it that way," I said, instantly feeling stupid for trying to break the ice. I should have waited for her to ask me a question.

Instead of pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the door and telling me to stop wasting her time, she smiled and agreed before introducing herself. "Vera Balakirev, but don't even attempt it. Just call me Vera."

I nodded, not daring to speak again. She outlined what I'd be expected to do, pausing to ask questions after each responsibility was listed.

"I've done all those things," I said. Who hadn't made copies or scanned documents? I used to volunteer in my high school office to stay out of the way of the bullies, and was a wiz at laminating, too. "I'm pleased to take on any office chore. It'd be an honor to learn the inner workings of political lobbying."

Vera asked me a slew of questions about politics, lobbying, and even campaigning, probably hoping to trip me up and reveal that I was just looking for an easy class credit. I think I actually impressed her by the time I was done with the interview and left feeling on top of the world.

Maybe, just maybe, things were coming together for me instead of unraveling at the seams.

I was so excited, that I called Brooke, since the office wasn't too far from the boutique. I'd noticed a coffee shop down the block while I was airing out the bus smell from my new suit, and she agreed to take her break and meet me there. I was still busy texting her as I walked through the coffee shop door, and bumped into someone who was coming out. His drink splashed all over the front of his suit, which was probably designer, and it was more than my rent for a year combined. Black coffee dripped down his maroon and gray tie and slowly sank into his shirt.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," I said, jumping to the nearest table to swipe a handful of napkins that I began to press against the sodden fabric of his once crisp, white shirt.

"It's not a problem," a deep, rumbling voice answered from far above me.

I stopped swabbing his lapels and looked up. He had to be close to a foot taller than me, and his eyes were the deepest blue I'd ever seen. Sandy blond hair swept over his brow, and he flicked it out of his eyes as he smiled at me.

"No, I- I wasn't looking," I stuttered, shocked, almost speechless by how handsome he was.

Straight, patrician nose, very slight stubble on his strong jaw, and those lips curling into a smile really made me weak. I realized I still had my hand pressed to his chest, the spilled coffee soaked through the napkins to my palm. All I felt was how incredibly hard his pecs were under that sleek suit. I jerked it away and tossed the napkins for fresh ones, trying again to salvage his shirt.

"It's really fine," he said, putting his hand over mine and just about short-circuiting my brain. "Nothing the dry cleaner can't sort out."

It must have been his smile, with a hint of mischief, or maybe it was those sparkling baby blues, but I blurted out that I was going to buy him another drink. "I insist," I said.

Didn't matter that I really shouldn't have been buying myself a cup of overpriced coffee. I had to make things right.

"Nonsense," he said, getting back into line and drawing me with him. He looked down at my suit, then returned his mesmerizing gaze to my face. "Do you work nearby?"

"I hope to," I said as we inched forward in the line. "I just had an interview."

"Well, then, I have to buy you a coffee now," he said.

"What?" I yelped.

"For good luck."

I completely lost the ability to speak as he graced me with another dazzling smile, then looked me over appraisingly. "Something with caramel? Or are you more of a purist?"

"Oh, caramel, all the way," I said, getting goosebumps when he chuckled.

"So you like things sweet?"

"Not always," I replied, trying to look mysterious.

Was this flirting? And with such a suave, sophisticated older guy? I'd had no time for dating since starting college, and the boys in my high school were all stinky savages as far as I was concerned, so staying home to study seemed the safest bet. This man in front of me would have been exactly my type, if I'd bothered to give it any thought. It wasn't just the fact that he was beyond gorgeous. His good-natured smile after my blunder, and his take-charge attitude in choosing my drink added to his charm.

Everything was already going so well after my positive interview. Was it going to be a fantastic day?

When our drinks were ready, I crossed my fingers he'd ask to sit down with me. I was even working up the nerve to ask if he had time to stay and chat. But Brooke came in as soon as he handed me my caramel macchiato, his fingers brushing mine and causing me to wish Brooke wasn't such a good friend.

She rushed right up to me, eager to hear about the interview, saying she didn't have much time.

The handsome dreamboat only chuckled, revving up my heart rate. "Maybe I'll see you around again if you get that job," he said, leaving the shop.

Jenna barely noticed him, pulling us to a table. I stared after him until he was out of view, then shook it off. It was a nice interaction, but of course, it couldn't be more. He'd bought me the drink for good luck, so I took a long sip before we started micro-analyzing every part of my interview.

It wasn't ten minutes into our conversation that I got a text from an unknown number, and after I read it, I let out a squeak.

"I got the internship," I said, holding the phone out to her to confirm. "Right? I'm not dreaming? I'm really starting tomorrow?"

Brooke confirmed it with a laugh, jumping up to order cake to celebrate. Yes, this was a fantastic day after all, and things were looking up. I pushed aside the mountain of other problems that still weren't resolved to enjoy my slab of carrot cake. Even through the excitement and relief, I couldn't get my mind off that mysterious man.

Would I really see him around again? It shouldn't be a priority, but I sure did hope so.