Love In Fine Print

Chapter Four

JESSICA

Jess shoved the heavy glass doors of Adams & Co. behind her like they were part of her enemy’s fortress and marched onto the busy street. Her heels clacked against the pavement in frantic rhythm, her chest rising and falling like she’d just finished a sprint.

She needed air. She needed comfort. But more than anything, she needed alcohol.

Her fingers fumbled for her phone. Liz. The one person who wouldn’t laugh so hard she choked—well, not until after Jess got everything out of her system.

She pressed the call button, pacing. “Come on, Liz. Pick up. Pick up. PICK UP—”

Finally, the line clicked. “Jess? Why are you yelling like you’re running from a mugger?”

“Liz!” Jess nearly wailed. “I need alcohol. Now. The strong kind. No, stronger than that. Meet me at Murphy’s Bar in fifteen minutes. Bring your wallet. Bring tissues for when I burst into dramatic tears. Bring a shovel in case I bury myself alive in shame!”

Liz yawned. “Jess, it’s literally ten in the morning. Who even drinks at this hour?”

“People who just had the worst morning of their lives, that’s who! Fifteen minutes, Liz. Don’t be late, or I will haunt you forever.”

There was a pause, then Liz sighed. “Fine. But this better be good.”

Jess hung up before Liz could protest further. “Oh, it’s good alright,” she muttered bitterly, stalking down the street. “The kind of good that makes you want to throw yourself into traffic.”

---

Murphy’s Bar smelled faintly of fried snacks and old wood polish, but to Jess it was an oasis. She slid into a corner booth, head falling into her hands as she let out the world’s loudest groan.

The bartender looked over with mild concern, but Jess waved him off. “I’m fine, just dying inside. Usual, thanks.”

Ten minutes later, Liz strolled in, looking far too casual for Jess’s current level of misery. She dropped her bag on the bench, slid into the seat across from Jess, and squinted. “You look like someone just told you your soul was overdue.”

Jess raised her head slowly, hair sticking out of place. “Liz… you are looking at a broken woman. A shattered soul. A tragedy in heels.”

Liz smirked. “Dramatic much? What happened? You called me like you were being chased by a pack of wolves.”

Jess sat up, slamming her hands on the table. “Not wolves. Worse. A glacier in a suit. A bumper assassin. A soulless robot in Armani!”

Liz blinked. “…What?”

Jess groaned and waved for a drink. “Let me start from the top. So, picture this: traffic everywhere. Me, freaking out because I’ve got thirty minutes to get to my interview. And just as I’m praying to every saint in existence, bam! Some dunce bag crashes into my bumper!”

Liz’s mouth dropped open. “No way. Today of all days?”

“Yes!” Jess cried. “And when I get out, I’m ready to chew this man into pieces. ‘Come out and face your crime!’ I told him. I was ready with insults, Liz. Comic gold! You know me. But guess what? He just hands me a card with some mechanic’s address, doesn’t apologize, doesn’t even blink, and then drives off like some James Bond villain who stole my peace of mind!”

Liz burst out laughing, covering her mouth. “No, stop. That didn’t happen.”

“Oh, it did,” Jess said, stabbing a finger in the air. “And it gets worse. Guess who was sitting in my interview room at Adams & Co.?”

Liz blinked. “…No.”

Jess threw her hands up. “YES! The bumper assassin himself! Andrew Freaking Adams. The CEO. My potential boss. The devil incarnate with a jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds!”

Liz choked on her drink, laughing so hard she nearly spilled it. “Oh my God, Jess, you can’t make this stuff up!”

Jess leaned across the table, whispering fiercely. “Liz, he’s terrifying. Stone Face Deluxe. Human iceberg. He looked at me like he was calculating my funeral costs. Every answer I gave felt like it was wrong. I smiled politely, but in my head? I was hurling insults nonstop. Robot Man. Corporate Vampire. Emotionless Alien in a three-piece suit. The list was endless.”

Liz giggled uncontrollably. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious!” Jess clutched her glass as if it was life support. “Every time he blinked—which, by the way, was barely—I thought I was going to combust. And when he said, ‘Oh, so you’re Jessica McWilliams, the one who wants the job of being my secretary,’ I swear my soul left my body, packed its bags, and ran.”

Liz was nearly crying with laughter. “He can’t be that bad!”

“Oh Liz, he is,” Jess said darkly. “He’s cold. He’s smug. He’s the kind of man who probably organizes his socks by shade of gray. My sass was wasted on him. Wasted! It just bounced off like rubber in hell.”

Liz covered her mouth to hide another laugh. “And let me guess—you hope they never call you back?”

Jess slammed her palm against the table. “NEVER! I would rather eat raw broccoli for life than work under that man. If they call me back, I’ll throw myself into the ocean. I don’t care if I need the job—I will not survive Andrew Adams. He is a curse in human form.”

Liz shook her head, still giggling. “Jess, you are impossible.”

“Impossible and right,” Jess muttered, draining her glass. “Pray for me, Liz. Pray they forget I ever existed. Pray they lose my résumé in a tragic office fire. Anything. Just… not him.”

Liz leaned back, smirking. “It really can’t be that bad. You’re exaggerating.”

Jess fixed her with a look, her face dead serious. She leaned in across the table, voice low and dramatic.

“Oh Liz… it is.”