Page 5 of Step Brother Bear

I wait until I hear him shut his bedroom door before marching up the stairs to my room. I’m gluing myself to my laptop until I find a new job and can get the hell out of here.

Chapter 3

Ibeam at my laptop camera, excitement bubbling in my chest. “I’m thrilled to hear you think I’d be a good fit for the company.”

The blonde woman on my screen smiles. “Great, do you have any questions for us before you formally accept?” The question ticks off an internal alarm, and I shift in my chair, hoping she can’t hear my legs peeling off the leather. She can only see the top half of me. Why waste pants when I can throw on a blazer and keep my bottom half comfy in my sleep shorts?

I fumble for words. “Uh, yeah. I’d like to know more about the compensation package.” It’s always companies that make you interview three separate times that don’t tell you the pay upfront. But at this point, I'm desperate, so I can’t be too picky. Surprisingly, this whole third interview happened without Derek’s music blasting from the other side of the wall, but I know I must count my blessings. There’s no promise that the next interview wouldn’t provide such luck.

She stiffens, her rosy expression gone. “Well, for this position, we’re really looking for team players.”

I wait for more. “This is a paid position, right?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll send you an email with the compensation now, and then you can review it and get back to me in about an hour. Sound good?”

“Yes, sounds great.”

The email hits my inbox before we log off, but I wait to read it until she’s not on my screen anymore. Disappointment sours my stomach the further I scan. Fifteen dollars an hour, fully in-office, smack dab in the middle of Manhattan. This is clearly a job for some bored trust-fund kid, or one they never actually plan to fill. I’m infuriated. What a big fucking waste of my time.

My phone chimes beside me, and I half expect it to be the recruiter already curious about my answer. It’s not. It’s Chrishell.

Hey, girl. I heard from my mom that you are in town. I’m about to drop into Bean Bold and thought we could catch up!!!

I stare at the text. I haven’t talked to Chrishell since I left five years ago. Sometimes we like and comment on each other’s social media posts, but it’s never gone beyond that. We didn’t get into a fight or anything, just grew apart. She’s engaged and works as a realtor. I doubt it will be long before she’s popping out babies. I should want to see her and catch up. It’s nice that she reached out, but a large part of me wants to invent an excuse. We’re at entirely different places in our lives, and I don’t know if meeting with her will be the best medicine for my mental health.

Music buzzes to life at the other side of my wall, followed by heavy weights dropping to the floor. I groan. You’d think with a gunshot wound, he’d quit working out so much, but the guy's vanity must be more important than his health.

I pick up my phone and tell Chrishell I’ll meet her in fifteen minutes. I can’t stay in this house any longer. But first, I need to find pants.

***

I swear, Deep River got cool shit the minute I left. I can’t believe the charm of the downtown area, filled with artisan boutiques, apothecaries, restaurants, and of course, Bean Bold, an influencer’s coffee shop dream come true.

It’s packed when I push through the glass door, greeted by the whiff of freshly roasted coffee and baked goods. Chrishell sits at a small table at the entrance, waving me over. She stands as I approach, wrapping me in a bear hug. Her perfume encapsulates me. “It’s so good to see you!” she says, pulling back to take a look at me. “God, you look the same.” I don’t, but compared to her, I do. Her normal caramel hair is even blonder, and as someone who spent years sleeping next to her snoozing face at summer camps and sleepovers, I can tell she’s had some injectables. I don’t judge her. I’ve contemplated it myself. I’ll probably need some after the stress of the last few weeks, once I get the money.

“Thanks so much for inviting me out.” I take a seat in the empty chair across from hers.

“When I heard you were in town, I knew we had to catch up.” Her expression sobers. “Now tell me, how are you doing?” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. The mock sincerity annoys me, but honestly, I prefer it over pretending she didn’t already know why I’m back. My mom cares about putting on a perfect persona, but not enough to quit gossiping. I’m sure she found a way to share my epic failure that is my life with her book club, all while making herself seem like Mother of the Year.

“Honestly, pretty shitty.”

“I can only imagine,” she says, squeezing my hand again.

A waiter comes from my side, placing two whipped cream-topped iced coffees on our table. “Crème brûlée lattes,” she announces before making a swift exit.

“Thank you!” Chrishell replies, pushing one closer to me. “I know you like frilly drinks. Hopefully that hasn’t changed.”

I smile, my heart clenching. “Thank you.” I love coffee in all forms, but it’s nice to have my past self reflected, the simple aspect remembered. “I needed this. I just had a shitty job interview.”

Chrishell takes a long sip before adjusting herself in her seat. “You know, if you’re looking for a job, you can work for me. I always need help with writing and marketing for my listings. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s something.”

Keep the reading streak going.

More stories are waiting for you at Lokepub.

It’s a kind offer, but it stings. Perhaps if we were closer and not distant acquaintances, I’d take her up on the offer. A job is a job, and I could potentially work on my savings. But we haven’t spoken in years. It seems more like a pity gift than an actual offer. I smile. “Thanks so much, but I don’t think I can. I’m spending all my time interviewing.” I’m not. I don’t have a single interview lined up. “I need to land something that gets me out of this town.”

She nods, scrunching her lips. “You really are the same. You always were so focused on leaving.” She takes a sip of her drink, her eyes darting away from mine. I can’t help but notice the sting in her words. Perhaps our loss of contact has more weight than losing touch. I never thought that I could have hurt her when I left, which makes me feel completely shitty, because she was my best friend. Of course, she didn’t want me to leave.