Page 130 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

Phillip offered me a job today.

Not officially. Apparently people at his level don’t do anything reassuringly straightforward like sliding a piece of paper across a desk and saying, Here’s the job, Merryweather. Would you like it?

Instead, he asked me to come upstairs at ten thirty, closed the door to one of the smaller conference rooms on his floor, and spent forty-five minutes talking at me about restructuring and responsibilities and how the company has grown faster than some of its internal systems.

Then he told me they were considering creating a new planning position.

Then he spent another ten minutes gently describing a job that sounded suspiciously like several of the things I already do, except with more authority, more access, and presumably, more money.

And finally, with five minutes left of our planned one-hour meeting, he asked whether I’d be interested.

And I said yes.

Which is why I don’t understand why I’ve been thinking about the question ever since.

Rose appears in the kitchen doorway with Aurora now draped over one shoulder. “You look weird.”

“Thank you,” I reply, and open the fridge again to see if something has magically materialized in there. Maybe I should order another spell, but this time to make sure my refrigerator is always stocked with food so I don’t have to do anything. “It’s so nice to have a sister, honestly.”

She adjusts the cat, and I hear the traitor start purring at the highest volume possible. I take another drink of water.

“I got the promotion.”

Rose’s mouth falls open. “A promotion promotion?”

“No, Rose, a ceremonial promotion. I get a sash and a bouquet of flowers, and hopefully a nice tiara out of it.”

Aurora decides she’s had enough of us and jumps down, disappearing toward the hallway. Rose comes farther into the kitchen.

“That’s huge.”

“It isn’t technically a promotion yet. The position doesn’t actually exist. They’re creating it for me, I think.”

My sister’s eyes widen. “And you want it?”

“Yes.”

The answer comes quickly enough that Rose nods, apparently satisfied.

I wish I were.

I open the refrigerator again, stare inside without seeing anything, then close it again.

Rose is still watching me. “Why do you look constipated?”

“Oh my god, what is wrong with you?”

My sister smirks. “I’m just a better version of you, Merry.”She finds this—torturing me—highly amusing, I suppose.

I smile, because it’s somewhat true. She’s the evolved version of me. Maybe what I would look and sound like if I weren’t riddled by anxiety and the consequences of being a people pleaser eldest daughter.

Rose’s forehead creases. “Isn’t this good?”

“I don’t know.”

Phillip had barely finished asking whether the position sounded like something I might want before I told him it did. I didn’t ask anything about the role, I didn’t even ask who I would be reporting to. And in a very unMerry way, I didn’t make a joke about how I was a mere mortal at this company, just to placate the uncomfortable feeling that was lingering in the air.

I open the refrigerator again and take out the leftover pasta from last night. It was an attempt at making a more evolved version than the buttered noodles with salt and pepper I exclusively cook for myself. It tastes okay, I guess.