The Billionaire's Heart (The Silver Cross Club Book 4) Read Free Page A

important things in life than having a rewarding, interesting job. Like not getting evicted. But this was my LIFE PLAN. I might as well go all out.
    Go on a date . At least that would get Regan off my back.
    Adopt a pet.
    Stay out all night dancing. I hadn’t done that in ages.
    I hesitated, and then wrote, Clean out the apartment.
    And, Maybe move .
    I crossed that one out. Not yet.
    My life plan was turning out to be surprisingly boring. When had I become a boring person? I used to be fun. Be more fun , I wrote.
    Too vague. What did fun even entail? Getting really drunk and sleeping with people I barely knew? That was what I had done during college, at least. I was probably too old for that now. Or not too old, really. Just too sad.
    Don’t mourn. Be happy.
    Disgusted with myself, I tossed everything back in the box and put on my coat. If I was going to be a maudlin sad sack, I might as well do it at home.
    I started looking for jobs that evening. There were a lot of positions available—I did, after all, live in New York—but none of them seemed very appealing. It was mostly the sort of boring corporate work that I’d been doing for the last five years, and I was sick of it. I wanted room to be creative, not just march in lockstep with the company paradigm.
    Interesting work, my ass. Who was I kidding? I needed to put on my big girl panties and find something that would pay my bills.
    Grimly, I opened my resume and started tailoring it for the least distasteful job.
    I thought about what Carter had said, about all the people he knew who were desperate for a good designer. I hated accepting handouts, but I really didn’t think my spirit could survive another five years of some horrible office job.
    Anyway, it wasn’t really a handout , I told myself. It was just networking . I was appropriately utilizing my social connections.
    I would apply for five jobs, I decided. Just to make sure I was covering all my bases. And I would talk to Carter, and see what he had in mind.
    I put it off for two days. I stayed in my apartment like some sort of cave-dwelling gnome and fooled around with my portfolio until I got sick of my own procrastination and buckled down. I applied for three jobs, made another pot of coffee, painted my toenails, watched some online videos of baby goats, and then admitted to myself that I was avoiding making the phone call out of sheer, stubborn pride, and dialed Carter’s number.
    He picked up on the third ring. “Sadie, what a pleasant surprise,” he said.
    I grinned. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic, so I’ll just assume that you’re delighted to hear from me,” I said. “Are you busy? I don’t really care, you shouldn’t have answered if you are. So you remember what we talked about the other night, about freelancing?”
    He huffed out a soft breath of air. Amused, I decided. “I’m never too busy to talk to you,” he said. “So you’ve decided to go rogue?”
    “Well, sort of,” I said. “The thing is, I got fired.”
    He was quiet for a moment. “You haven’t spoken to Regan yet, I take it.”
    “No,” I admitted. “And don’t you tell her, either. I’ll call her.”
    “You have two days, and then I’m spilling the beans,” he said. “I know she fusses, but she deserves to hear it from you. Lecture over. So, you need a job.”
    I nodded, and then remembered that he couldn’t see me and said, “Yeah. I’ve sent out a few applications, but…”
    “But,” he prompted.
    “But none of the jobs sound all that interesting,” I said, and sighed. “I’m so spoiled, right? I feel ridiculous, acting like I deserve interesting employment. But, you know. I’m tired of working for the man.”
    “How do you feel about working for a man?” he asked. “I told you I know people who need good designers. I’ve got a friend who’s running a clean water start-up, and I’d be happy to put you in touch with him, if you’re interested.”
    “Clean water, huh?” I