CHAPTER 1 – The Weight of Almost
CALLA MONROE’S POV
They say when it rains, it pours. But what they never say is how cold the water feels when you’re already drowning.
I sat on the edge of the twin mattress shoved into the corner of my studio apartment, watching a crack in the ceiling like it held the answer to everything I’d ever done wrong.
Jobless again. Three months now.
Three months of rejection emails, of upbeat recruiters ghosting me after promising a “follow-up,” of dressing up for interviews in clothes that didn’t quite fit anymore, and still leaving empty-handed. I wasn’t even asking for much anymore—just enough to pay rent on time and maybe buy groceries without holding my breath at checkout.
I exhaled slowly, glancing at the half-eaten cup of noodles on the stool beside my laptop. The smell of artificial beef seasoning clung to the air like it belonged here, like it knew I wasn’t going anywhere.
Another rejection email blinked on my screen.
“We appreciate your interest in the position, but we’ve decided to move forward with another candidate.”
Another one. My fingers hovered over the trackpad, but I didn’t click away immediately. I read it again—like the words would change if I stared long enough.
They didn’t.
I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my chin there, listening to the faint sound of life outside my window. Cars honked. A dog barked down the block. Someone laughed—loud, carefree, like they didn’t know what it felt like to be disposable.
I used to laugh like that.
Before Mark.
Before he told me I was “too much” and “too driven” and “maybe a little too sensitive for corporate.” Before I found out he’d been sleeping with a “less sensitive” coworker while I was pulling overtime to pay off his car loan.
I scoffed.
Stupid.
I stayed for seven months after I found out. That’s the part that still makes me sick. I thought if I tried harder, fixed myself harder, he’d choose me again.
He didn’t.
And now I was alone. No job, no man, no peace.
My phone vibrated against the mattress.
Tessa.
My best friend. My lifeline. The only person who hadn’t treated me like an afterthought.
Tessa: “Hey, girl. Got a lead. It’s corporate, a little intense, but good pay. You interested or nah?”
I stared at the message.
I should say no. I didn’t have the mental energy to keep crashing and burning. But I needed to pay rent next week, and there were only two things left in my fridge: half a lemon and expired Greek yogurt.
Me: “Tell me more.”
The reply came instantly.
Tessa: “Bell Enterprises. They’re hiring an assistant. Executive level. I know someone who can sneak your résumé to the top. But full disclosure—the boss is kind of… a dick.”
A d**k.
How bad could one more asshole be?
Me: “Send the details.”
The elevator in my building creaked as it reached my floor. I dragged myself to the bathroom mirror and stared. Puffy eyes. Skin dull. Hair was in the kind of messy bun that was not Pinterest-worthy. I looked exactly like what I was—tired and trying.
I ran the tap, splashed my face, and smoothed my hair with damp fingers. The woman in the mirror looked a little more awake. Not beautiful. But awake.
She could do this.
I spent the rest of the evening tailoring my résumé, crafting a carefully worded cover letter, and praying to a God I hadn’t spoken to in weeks. As I hit “send,” a strange feeling settled in my chest—not hope exactly, but something close. A flicker.
Maybe this one would stick.
By midnight, I was curled up under a blanket on the couch, watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy, letting the drama distract me from my own. I was halfway through an episode when my phone buzzed again.
Tessa: “They want to meet you. Tomorrow. 10 AM. Dress nice.”
I bolted upright.
Tomorrow? Ten?
I glanced around the room like I’d find a power suit magically hanging from my lamp.
Crap.
I owned exactly one blazer, and it had ketchup on the sleeve from my last job—when the breakroom microwave exploded during lunch. I groaned, digging through my closet, yanking hangers with the desperation of someone trying to win a fashion-based reality show on zero budget.
Eventually, I found something serviceable—black pants, white blouse, and a blazer. I’d clean it in the sink if I had to.
I wasn’t about to let this chance slip.
The next morning came too fast and not fast enough.
I stood outside the towering glass building that housed Bell Enterprises, feeling my knees turn to jelly. The company logo glinted like polished steel above the entrance. I swallowed hard.
This was it.
The place where everything could change—or fall apart again.
I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and walked inside.
