Page 27 of Semi Sweet (Working For Love #1)

“M y mother was fifteen when she got pregnant with me. My grandmother had four other children and could barely afford to feed them.”

Sean and I were at a shopping mall close to his apartment.

We’d gone to change my phone number and get me off of Evan’s plan, as he’d begun calling me as soon as he must have been home from work for the day.

I had a new modest phone, a completely different number, and a plan I prayed I could afford with my bonus hours and internship money.

Now we sat at a table in the food court.

I was eating sweet and sour chicken with lo mein while Sean had a sad looking piece of chocolate cake and a tuna melt from an imposter New York style deli.

Initially, I’d been worried about being seen out in the real world, but it became apparent that a Quittero would never be caught dead in such a place, so I relaxed a bit.

There were not enough top tier stores to pique the family’s interest.

“What about your real dad?” I asked.

“No idea who he is,” he replied. “A schoolmate, perhaps. He was never mentioned, even when I went there five years ago. I must look like him, though. My birth mother is blonde and blue-eyed.”

At first, I couldn’t imagine not knowing who my parents were, but with how estranged things had become with mine over the years, I guessed it wasn’t that different. “So how do your adopted parents come into the picture?”

Sean laughed. “My parents are...unique. My dad is actually from Japan. He decided to stay here after college and he has dual citizenship. He’s a cardiologist. My mom’s parents are from Japan, but she grew up in Aspen.

She is a therapist specializing in EMDR, among other things.

They couldn’t have kids of their own, so they knew they were going to adopt.

” Sean took a bite of the sorry-looking cake, whipped out his little notebook, and started taking notes as he continued to explain.

“They figured adopting a Chinese or Korean baby would make things confusing and they didn’t want an open adoption like they typically do here, so they started looking in Moscow. ”

I continued to eat my lo mein as I watched him crinkle his brow when he took another bite of the cake. I was interested in what his little notebook used as a rating system, but I didn’t want to get him off topic.

“What are orphanages like?”

“Can’t tell you. I was fifteen months old when I left the one I was brought to,” Sean replied, pushing the piece of cake away and going back to the tuna melt. “Akira and Momoko Mizuno adopted me and the rest is history.”

“How did you end up named Sean?”

“Imagine my life if I looked like this and was named Kenzo,” he replied. “They thought Sean sounded good with Mizuno and was close enough to my birth name.”

“I saw on your diploma that your middle name isn’t Japanese, either.”

“That’s a Russian thing, too. Typically they have middle names after their father. Since no one knows who my father is, my parents used my birth name for it.”

“Sergeevich,” I repeated what I’d seen on the wall in the bakery.

We finished our food and started to walk around the mall. I needed a few more outfits to replace the ones Evan had shredded. Sean assured me he could occupy himself for hours in the fancy kitchen supply store.

“They stack things to the ceiling. Take all the time you need.” I turned to leave when Sean called back to me. “Maybe look for a gift for Beth, too. Her birthday karaoke thing is on Friday.”

In all the confusion and craziness, I’d forgotten I’d said I would go. Part of me wanted to hide out in Sean’s apartment for the rest of my life, but I told myself a little socialization besides my former boss and his dog would probably be a good thing.

I picked a couple pairs of jeans and several of my go to oversized sweaters before I decided everyone could use a nice traditional black leather clutch.

Beth would appreciate the gesture, if nothing else.

I quickly scanned the surrounding area for any angry guys resembling Evan.

When it appeared safe, I made my way back to the kitchen store and laughed when it looked like Sean hadn’t made it more than halfway around the shop.

“Find anything good?”

“I might make macarons,” he said, holding up a strange pan. “I haven’t made them since the Culinary Institute of America.”

“Alright, I can test them for you,” I said excitedly. Living with a pastry chef would be delicious, but problematic for my waistline.

“I still haven’t gone completely through the store,” Sean said. “And you have to go to the Rocky Mountain Press tomorrow. If you are holding back because of me, no worries.”

Knowing I probably shouldn’t start my internship in casual clothes, I turned out of the store once more.

***

I was relieved to see most of the people at the Rocky Mountain Press were dressed in business casual. The floral print dress and black cardigan I bought were almost too much when I came to sign my contract. Black slacks and a sweater and I’d be good to go.

“I know I already asked,” Chloe said as she double-checked that I’d signed in all the right places, “but I’m still looking for someone to help our editor in Aspen. She’s very popular and might have to close submissions because she can’t keep up.”

“My living situation has changed, so it might be something to consider in the future once I get myself settled,” I said diplomatically. I didn’t want to say that if they hired me, I would go in an instant because I didn’t want to sound ungrateful.

Chloe Richardson, who I’d learned was one of the founders of the press, seemed placated by that. “Awesome. Please let me know.” She took the papers and put them in a filing cabinet. “Would you like to see where you’ll be working?”

I nodded vigorously and she led me to an adjacent room that seemed like a common area.

There were several desks with computers as well as a few inviting chairs and couches.

“Our interns and editorial assistants typically work here. You guys go through submissions based on our preferences and if you think it’s interesting or a good fit, you take notes and share with the editor you are matched with.

If we want more, you will email on our behalf. ”

“I get a say in who gets published?” The very idea felt both powerful and terrifying.

Chloe laughed as she replied. “At the most basic level, yes. If you can’t get invested in it, we probably won’t, either.”

She showed me around the office, introduced me to anyone who wasn’t busy, and even showed me several copies of books the press had released with success before she asked me, “What are you studying at the University of Denver, again?”

“Marketing.”

Chloe looked pleased with this bit of information. “Good to know. We are always looking for new ways to get our books in new hands. We will be sure to keep that in mind.” She guided me towards the front. “Think you’ll be good to start joining us Monday?”

I beamed as I answered. “Absolutely.”

I left feeling energized and happy. Was this how people felt when they actually liked their job?

I didn’t stop smiling on the train back to Sean’s place, hoping when the work actually started I’d be this happy and there wouldn’t be some egotistical Devil Wears Prada situation.

Remembering how Russel treated me, I decided anything would be a cakewalk in comparison.

***

Sean and I walked to the karaoke bar where we were meeting Beth and a few others for her birthday. I hadn’t realized how far away I’d been from fun things in the city when I’d lived with Evan. The bar was only three blocks from Sean’s apartment.

He was dressed in the same black shirt and dark jeans from the masquerade. I noticed when he wasn’t in his work coat, he usually wore a band shirt, sweatshirt, and jeans. Maybe he hadn’t packed anything fancier when he moved from Aspen.

I wore nice jeans and my jacket covered a silky teal top I’d bought at the mall, just in case I ever needed something more than business casual. In the meantime, it worked for the dress code for Beth’s party.

“And I will have a say in someone’s writing journey!” I gushed excitedly. “It’s nuts!”

“It’s nice to see you happy about something,” Sean replied. “They say that means you’ve found the line of work you're supposed to be in.”

“So have you found that?”

“Sort of,” he replied as we waited to use the crosswalk. “Being a pastry chef, absolutely. Working as a manager in a grocery store, not so much.”

“Well, you’ve got your whole store front bakery dream. You will get there some day,” I mustered. I was surprised to find him staring at me intently. “What?”

“I’ve noticed something about you.”

“Um, what’s that?” I asked as the pedestrian signal lit up across the street and we started moving.

“Whenever we talk about you, you quickly change the conversation to me,” Sean said with a smirk. “I’d actually like to know more about you.”

“I’m a capricorn, I hate lima beans, and I’m a marketing major.”

“You and I both know that’s not what I mean,” Sean replied.

I clutched Beth’s gift as I said, “What do you want to know?”

We’d reached the other side of the road, delicious smells wafting out of a Greek food place.“ A million things. But for now, I want the five minute version of who you were before Evan came around.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer the drunk, dramatic version at two in the morning?” I said, once again trying to dodge the question.

“Oh, I fully expect to get that as well,” Sean replied. “You are much more uninhibited when you’ve got alcohol in your veins. I already know that.”