Free Life in a Rut, Love not Included (Love Not Included series Book 1) by J.D. Hollyfield Page A

out of the pocket and unfold it. My list. I open it and run through the list of alcohol-induced life expectations for myself. Number one—Make a list. Smart, Sarah. Good one.
    I really do need to start making plans though. As much fun as I am having hanging out with Aunt Raines and face-planting into the floor every night, I need to get back on track. I guess I just felt that by sitting around wallowing all day and night meant I was letting them all win. Not that I hoped they thought about me. Well maybe a little. Let’s be honest. I was secretly online searching witchcraft spells so I could get into both their inner thoughts until they were sick to death with guilt. Since I haven’t heard from either of them, I’m going to assume the website was a hoax. I remind myself to get my money back for that. In the end, I realize I have been sitting around waiting for them to contact me with guilt and complete remorse. I mean, I thought it might take some time, but four months? It may be time to admit that ship has sailed, without me on it. I need to move on.
    First things first, I need to find a job. I just don’t know where to look. All the great firms are in the city, and a small part of me fears running into my past there. Knowing it’s time I put my big girl pants on, I vow to make today a success. Since I have to start with the basic attire, I search for an outfit. Nothing screams ‘I have my shit together so hire me’ like Armani slacks and my sheer white Donna Karan blouse. Add a pair of strappy heels, a bit of rouge and some hair primping, and voila! We have ourselves a first-class working girl. I look at myself in the mirror and approve. I have to admit, the silk against my skin makes me feel elegant and feminine. It’s that or the fact that, for once this week, I actually showered.
    I leave my cave and venture downstairs. It is safe to say no one is home. I am also Jack-free since I don’t see his truck out front. Not that I’m looking. I grab the newspaper and my laptop and head out, because I have to start somewhere. I don’t need a fancy job in a high rise. There are plenty of places for me to find work and be completely satisfied. This is good, I mentally coach myself. I smile and pick up my list. I take my pen and cross off number twelve—Be my own therapist. Things are looking up.
    I spend the whole morning at the Ma and Pop coffee joint down the street. Not my first pick, but they have free WiFi and it is guaranteed to be free of ex co-worker run-ins. I spend a few hours revamping my resume and then sending it out to local companies.
    Sifting through the potential options in the paper that sadly may or may not scream “my future career” I email out a bunch of resumes. Three coffees later, four potential job scores and a positive vibe, I set out to personally drop off some resumes to locals businesses. I figure since they are close, it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek into what may be. You can always tell what kind of company you’re getting yourself into by the type of people they hire to be the face of said company. But then again, Hamilton Corp had Becky Longhorn, so . . . Moving on.
    Good thing I’m learning that nothing lasts forever, because after entering three offices, it seems the only thing they took from me was my good mood. No resume. No interview. The day is getting late and I am quickly losing my mojo. My motivation to become employed is draining fast. I figure if I head home right after my last stop, I can make it in time to meet Aunt Raines in the kitchen for happy hour. Then again, I may want to take the day off from that. My track record after time spent with Aunt Raines has not been looking good lately.
    I reach my final destination and park the car. Pressing down the growing wrinkles of my pants from the long drive across town, I head towards the office. I turn the corner and realize that the company is based on the upper level lofts, located exactly above one of the newest Macy’s