Page 14 of Bargain with the Bachelor
And why would I expect it? My stepmother had made minimal effort to act interested in my welfare when my father was alive.
Now she had zero motivation to even pretend.
Well, what she’d said was right. I was young. I did have my whole life ahead of me, and Icouldget a job—one that paid.
I wasn’t sure where. I had a fine arts degree in photography—had even stayed in school and gotten a masters—but some of my friends from college had told me that a MFA degree was essentially worthless in today’s marketplace.
Most of them were working in completely unrelated fields from their majors, some in jobs that didn’t require a college degree at all.
Sadly, a lot of them were no longer even doing photography anymore because the demands of “real life” had superseded their passion for the art.
Once again, I realized how fortunate I’d been to have my father essentially underwriting my struggling photography career since graduation, to have been doing what I loved without the pressure of supporting myself.
Well, that was over, obviously. Things were what they were. Photography wasn’t cutting it earnings-wise, but maybe I could still do some on weekends or something.
One thing was for sure—my life was about to change big-time. I had to find a full-time job and a place to live, in that order.
Luckily, I had somewhere to stay in the meantime.
My friend Cinda owned a very comfortable couch, and I had no doubt she’d let me stay a few days, at least until I could gather enough money for first and last month’s rent on an apartment—and find a roommate.
I left the den, still shell-shocked, and went upstairs to pack my belongings. When I was done, I opened my laptop and created an account on a job-search site.
Unfortunately, there was no category for Over-educated, Under-employed, and Suddenly-desperate.
Scanning the dismal display of local options, I found precisely nothing in my field. Maybe Cinda had an opening in her business, the Fairy Godmother Home Cleaning Service.
I could certainly use a fairy godmother right about now.
Or perhaps a magic mirror.
Mirror, mirror on the wall… happen to know anyone who’s hiring?
Chapter Four
Nice work, Bozo
Hunter
I cruised the waterfront of Main Street, the windows of my Bentley Mulsanne rolled down, inhaling the brisk marine air and taking in the beauty of Eastport Bay’s main drag.
On my left stood a historic church where George Washington had worshipped when visiting Eastport Bay. The white wooden structure with its clock tower and tall, graduated steeple watched over the quaint downtown of the colonial-era city.
On my right, the upscale hotels, high-end restaurants, and tony shops and galleries of Brady’s Wharf buffered the street from the harbor, attracting tourists, even in this chilly weather.
It was good to be back after several weeks away meeting with business partners and clients.
Seattle and Silicon Valley had been especially fun places to visit, but I would never want to live in either of them. The old adage was true… there really was no place like home.
Feeling hungry and wanting a true taste of home, I took a right onto Thames Street, heading for the Cliffhouse, my favorite restaurant.
It was a gorgeous winter day, and I had a yearning for an ocean view while I ate. There was no better reward for hard work than good food and great views, and there was no better venue for both than the Cliffhouse.
The historic inn and its award-winning restaurant sat on a rocky bluff jutting right out into the meeting point of the open Atlantic and Narragansett Bay.
Its panoramic water views and dining room were legendary, and though I’d never say it out loud within earshot of my wealthy new acquaintances, it never failed to thrill me that I could actually afford to eat there now whenever I wanted.
Hell, I could afford to buy the place if I wanted to.
