Текст книги "Miss Match"

Автор книги: Laurelin McGee

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Table of Contents

About the Authors

Copyright Page

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For Lisa, who started it all

Acknowledgments

Laurelin Paige—

As with any book, this one was not born alone. There are too many people to name all the people I’d like to acknowledge, but there are a few thank-yous that are essential.

First and foremost, to Kayti McGee, my work-wife—I’ll say it again and again: don’t cowrite, but if you do, cowrite with Kayti. You are the wine to my empty glass. The Miss to my Match. You are brilliant and shiny in all the places that I am not. I look forward to all the places this journey takes us together.

To our editor, Eileen Rothschild—I was so nervous to talk to you that first time on the phone, and then you were absolutely everything I ever wanted in an editor. Thank you for sharing our quirky enthusiasm for this series. It wouldn’t have been the same experience with anybody else.

To the team at St. Martin’s Press—What a great group to work with! Thank you for inviting us into and embracing us in your tight-knit family.

To Bob Diforio for making this deal happen and Rebecca Friedman for deals yet to be made. It’s the best feeling to have wonderful people in your corner.

To Shanyn for keeping me together and KP for putting us together. It’s an honor to be called an InkSlinging Author.

To Lisa—You gave me your idea. Ideas are gold. With this, you’ve given me the biggest gift anyone’s ever given me. Thank you.

To Bethany—You fairy me through all the dark places. A particularly hard task when we both love the dimly lit moors so much. There’s a well of gratitude in my heart for you that never runs dry.

To Gennifer—You named our book! It’s perfect. Thank you for that and more.

The women who wrangle me—Wrahm, Naturals, FYW, and others (you know who you are): I make it through my days because of you. I also get distracted a lot because of you, but that’s another story.

To my husband, Tom—Though I tease you for being flighty, you are my rock. Thank you for being so solid.

To my children—I’m so proud of all you are. I hope you see me as an example for making your own dreams come true. I love you, my babies.

To Mom—Finally, here’s a book I’ll let you read. Thanks for your never-ending support. Love you.

To my Maker—Praise is always in my heart, even when it’s absent on my tongue.

Kayti McGee—

First and foremost—Laurelin Paige. You took me on this crazy journey, for no other reason than that you are God’s angel on earth. No one can possibly convince me you aren’t the best person I have ever had the honor to meet, much less call my friend. I’m inspired by you every day, to write better, be more, be better. I love you so much. You are grace and generosity and talent personified.

Eileen Rothschild took a chance on us that I could never have imagined, and then turned out to be the most badass editor ever. Bob Diforio sold her that chance, and Natalie Lakosil was so charmed by my Dream Dr. Who Team (I assume) that she looked past my horribly awkward weirdness to become my agent. I am so lucky to have the best people in the business on my team.

My mom taught me that reading is more important than anything, and without that I would never have become a writer. Dad, Kerry, Laura, and Dann backed that up. McGrigsbys!

My friends—Sara, my bestie—my first reader and still the prettiest. M. Pierce, you redefined what friendship is for me. I’m so proud to be pub-siblings with such an incredible author and friend. Thank you for everything. The WrAHM girls, the Order, the Dirty Laundresses, Melanie Harlow, Gennifer Albin, Tamara Mataya, my guy Tyler, my lunch buddy Jen, my late-night buddy Leah. I couldn’t live without our constant contact. I have to especially mention Bethany Hagen’s perfect edits, and Lisa Otto’s perfect idea. You truly made this all happen, and for that, no thanks can be enough.

Chapter One

Personal Concierge, to start ASAP (Boston Area)

I am a successful businessman looking for a wife. Due to a busy career and lack of energy or interest to devote to the process, I am seeking someone to assist me in my search. I am outsourcing the entire process, job to start immediately.

The perfect candidate will be assertive, with excellent computer skills and a knack for reading people. She—I am only seeking women to fill this position—will be expected to:

• Meet me, get to know me. Spend a week or so in my company to find out my interests, what makes me tick. During this time she will come to understand the type of woman I expect to fall in love with;

• Do all searching activities on my behalf, including online, in real life, on social media, networking, and so on;

• Once possible matches are identified, provide me with pictures and, upon my approval, arrange dates for us to meet.

I am attractive and financially secure. I do not have trouble finding women who are interested in me. It is finding women that I deem interesting beyond the physical that is the challenge.

While this job can be done at home, I’d prefer that several hours a week be spent in my company in order to keep a firm handle on what I expect in a love interest. I will have private space available in both my home and office for the right person to work.

Income will be determined initially by the experiences the candidate brings to this project. Additional income will depend on the quality of women found to date me as well as how far the relationship(s) progresses—both emotionally and physically. We can discuss a specific payment schedule during the interview process.

Serious inquiries only.

Andrea Dawson held the iPad and read the want ad three times before registering exactly what it was Lacy was suggesting by pointing it out. “No way.”

Lacy put on her best puppy-dog eyes—the ones that always seemed to get her out of speeding tickets. “Come on, it’s totally up your alley.”

“No, it’s not.” Dear God, please, let it not. “What’s this listed under anyway?” Andy looked at the top of the page for the heading. “Marketing? That’s a laugh. I’ll stick to the Administrative section, thank you.”

“Yeah, and that’s working out so well for you.” Bitterness dripped in Lacy’s tone.

Andy sighed inwardly. Sure, her job search hadn’t led to anything—yet—but she wasn’t about to settle for matchmaker. It would all be so much easier if she’d finished her degree. Or if she’d managed to get references from her last job.

No use moping about what she hadn’t done now. Now was the time to look forward. “I’ll find something. Eventually.” Hopefully. She pushed the tablet away from her. “I’m not applying for this. Thanks anyway.”

“Why not?”

She lifted her eyes to see Lacy’s jaw thrust forward.

Uh-oh. Andy was well familiar with her baby sister’s determined look, and that was it.

Well, Andy could be determined, too. “Because this whole Personal Concierge is fancy talk for pimp. You get that, right? And I may be down and out, but, dammit”—she pointed at the iPad where the ad still filled the screen—“I’m better than this.”

“Yes. You are.” Lacy sat in the chair across the table from Andy. “But you have to get a job.”

“I’m working on it.” She ran a hand through her auburn hair, sweeping it off her nape. She felt bad enough living off her sister as it was. She didn’t need the lecture.

“No, I mean, you have to.”

Lacy’s serious tone drew Andy’s attention. Shit. It wasn’t just her sister’s determined look—it was her desperate look.

Lacy took a deep breath. “I got my hours cut at the studio.”

Andy’s stomach dropped. “Oh, Lacy, no! When? Why?” As a struggling singer-songwriter, Lacy had been lucky to get a job helping out in a recording studio. It brought steady income when she was between gigs.

“Not enough work coming in. Darrin cut me two weeks ago.”

Two weeks ago? And not a word until now? “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know.” Lacy kept her focus on her hands. Andy knew she’d never been comfortable with expressing her feelings. Unless she was singing about them. “You’re having such a miserable time, and I guess I didn’t want to add to it.”

“That’s a laugh. You’re the only reason I haven’t thrown myself under a bus.” Andy immediately regretted her euphemism. It was callous to joke about suicide to someone whose boyfriend had died from a handful of pills only a year before.

But the words were already out. “Don’t talk like that.”

Well, it was a better reaction than Andy deserved. “I’m overdramatizing. I’m sorry. But seriously, Lace, you have been my touchstone through all this mess and it breaks my heart that you’ve been the one taking care of me when I should be taking care of you.”

When Andy had first become destitute and homeless, she’d considered not even telling her sister. Then, besides having no other choice, she realized that moving in would give her a chance to help Lacy cope with Lance’s death. Not that Andy had been very helpful. She’d been present, at least. That was something.

“I don’t need taking care of.” Ever-independent Lacy actually thought people bought the idea that she was all right. Maybe most people did. Not Andy.

Yet Andy would let her believe it if that’s what her sister wanted. “I know you don’t need anyone. But I’m supposed to be the older, more responsible, got-my-life-together one while you’re the misfit musician. Instead I’ve been living off you for nearly eight months.”

“Nine,” Lacy corrected. “But who’s counting?”

The gloom of the situation began to settle on Andy. Dammit. With Lacy’s hours cut, Andy did have to get a job. Like, yesterday. She tugged on her lower lip with her thumb and forefinger. “God, I’m such an awful sister.”

Lacy smacked her on the shoulder a little too hard to be called just a playful hit. “Shut up, will you? This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you would make this a reason to shame-spiral. That’s not what I wanted.”

Wow, the role reversal of older and younger sister went farther than Andy had realized. She lowered her hand and drummed her fingers on the table, needing to fidget while she brainstormed. Her savings account was depleted. She’d used it up in her worthless attempt at suing her previous employer. “Maybe I can dig into my retirement account—”

“Not an option. I’m counting on you to care for me when we retire. Unless I hit it big time, which, at this rate, does not look like it is happening. We’ll need that money when we’re old.”

If it had been a typical conversation, Andy would have resented the fact that her sister assumed there would be no men in their lives in the future. It was understandable that Lacy thought she’d never love again, but what was wrong with Andy? Just because she hadn’t had a date in …

Okay, that was just depressing. It had been too long for her to even recall. Coupled with their financial situation, it made for a really dreary morning.

Putting thoughts of her lonely bed aside, she concentrated on the matter at hand. “So how bad are we right now?”

Lacy frowned. “Bad. I thought I could manage the shortage by picking up a few extra gigs, but I haven’t landed anything that pays very much. I barely have enough right now to cover rent, and it’s almost time to renew my T pass or CharlieCard, whatever they’re calling the subway now. And have you noticed our fridge is pretty fucking bare?”

They’d had dry cereal for breakfast and lunch the last three days. “Yeah, I did notice that.”

“You paid the Internet bill so we’re good for a month there.”

Andy kept her eyes down. “Uh-huh.” She hadn’t paid the Internet bill. It had been the last of her savings and she’d spent it instead on a new suit for a job interview she’d had the week before. A job she hadn’t gotten. Not enough experience, no references. Same story every time. She hadn’t even told Lacy about it, afraid to get her hopes up.

“And I paid all the other monthly bills already, but it’s almost the fifteenth and that doesn’t give us long before they’re all due again.”

“God, Lace, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” Maybe a general apology would cover all her faults, including the missed Internet bill.

“Stop apologizing and get a job!”

“I’m trying!” Except she really wasn’t trying that hard. Not anymore. She’d tried in the beginning, but the interview the week before had been her first in almost a month. No one wanted a twenty-eight-year-old who hadn’t finished college and had a mostly blank résumé. The only job she’d held for the past eight years was certainly not going on there, not after the way it ended. The search had begun to feel pointless. “I’ve tried,” she corrected. “You know I’ve tried. I send out résumés every single day. Just because I haven’t gotten any other invites to interview yet doesn’t mean I won’t.” She hoped Lacy didn’t recognize her lack of conviction.

“Yeah, I do know you’re looking. But without a single callback? I also know the probability of you getting a job anytime soon is pretty slim. At least the kind of job you want. So it’s time to start looking elsewhere.”

“All right. You’re right. I need to lower my expectations. But this is really low, Lace. I…” She reached for the tablet, drawing it closer to read it once more. There were so many other options—she could try retail or be a hostess somewhere. “Why this job?”

Lacy held up a finger. “Because, number one, it’s hiring right now. And we need money right now. Unless you want to flip burgers, this is the best chance I see at having another paycheck in our hands within the next two weeks.” She added a second finger. “And number two, this job was made for you.”

“Thanks. I’m glad to know what you really think of my skills.” Truthfully, Andy had no skills. At least not the kind that could be quantified or labeled. She wasn’t great at computers, still used two fingers to type. The very thought of attempting Excel made her queasy. Her talents were unique and her previous employer had recognized them, shaping her job to suit her. Then she’d gone and screwed it all up. But only after he’d tried to screw her, literally. Her retaliation had felt worth it at the time. Now, with pennies in her pockets, she wasn’t so sure.

“I think your skills are pretty damn rare. Not many people have the kind of talents you do. You know that, right?”

Andy shrugged.

“You just have to get some work under your belt so you can get an awesome referral and take those abilities to somewhere fantastic. This is that stepping-stone, Andy. You know you would rock it. You nail anything that has to do with people’s personalities. And this”—she pointed at the iPad—“matching-people-up crap? That’s exactly what you’re best at.”

Actually, when Lacy put it that way, it was what Andy was best at. “I suppose so. Only—”

“Look, you can still keep trying. Keep sending applications out, but in the meantime, will you please, please, just interview?” She laced her hands together in a pleading pose.

Lacy was good. Really good. When did she get this good?

Oh, who was Andy kidding? She’d always been easily wrapped around her baby sister’s finger.

Andy rubbed her hands over her eyes, aware that she was going to give in but not quite ready to admit it. “Just an interview?”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Lacy’s tone was relieved. Excited, even, and Andy had yet to agree. “Go and find out what it all is, how much you’d get paid. When you’ll get paid. Maybe the guy’s a total hottie and easy to work for.”

“Not likely. From his ad, he’s an obvious douchecanoe. Much like the last one.” Andy could picture him now—a stiff-collared, self-centered workaholic who found time to get a weekly manicure but couldn’t bother putting in the effort to find a date. He might even be attractive, but no one was good-looking enough to make up for being the total ass-hat that the ad portrayed.

“I don’t know. Some people don’t know how to express themselves in writing. He could be a prince in frog’s clothing.” They looked at each other for a minute and burst out laughing. “Okay, he’s probably a douche, but we need the money.”

“You don’t even know if I’ll get the job.” Please, God, let me not get the job.

“You will.”

“You don’t know that.” Though Lacy’s faith in her was sort of cute.

“I do. But all I’m asking is for you to check it out. Go to an interview.” The puppy-dog eyes were out again. Even bigger now.

It was time to give in. Andy had nothing left to argue. “All right, all right. I’ll go.” She put a hand up to halt Lacy’s victory dance. “Just to feel it out, though. I’m not promising anything else.” And maybe it wouldn’t be as terrible as she guessed.

“Thank God!” Lacy whipped out a folded piece of paper from her back jeans pocket and handed it to Andy. “I already set it up for you. Your appointment’s at three. Here’s where you’re going.”

“What?” Andy peered at her sister’s pencil scratch. It was an address downtown. “You set something up without knowing I’d agree?”

Lacy offered an innocent one-shoulder shrug. “I knew I’d talk you into it. Eventually.” She grinned. “And I didn’t want you to drag your feet and find the opportunity gone. We need the money.”

“Okay, I get it. Now. I should have realized before, I’m sor—”

“Stop! I don’t want to hear that word from you again today, okay?”

“Fine. Fine.” Andy laced her fingers and stretched them out over her head. Why did she feel like she’d just been manipulated by a master con artist?

Oh, yeah. Because being coerced by her sister was pretty much the same thing.

Andy ran a hand through her hair. “Guess I better figure out what I’m going to wear.” Her new suit would be perfect. But how to sneak it on without Lacy discovering she’d bought it instead of paying the web bill …

“Thank the Lord you’re finally changing out of those TARDIS PJs. You’re starting to smell.” Lacy reached for the tablet. “Now I’m taking back my iPad. I have some Internet stalking to do. Darrin said there’s a new sound coming out of Cambridge. I need to check it out. See if it’s competition.” Lacy swiped at the screen. “What the hell?”

“What’s wrong now?”

“It says we have no Internet connection. I don’t get it. It was just working.”

Andy was up out of her seat before her sister had finished talking. “I’m just going to jump in the shower.”

She’d made it halfway to the bathroom when Lacy screamed after her. “Dammit, Andy!”

At least Andy didn’t have to figure out how to break the Internet news. Now to get a job.

Chapter Two

Andy read the letters on the gold nameplate of the office door for the millionth time since she had arrived. BLAKE DONOVAN, PRESIDENT. Even his name sounded pompous, old-moneyed, and Republican. And if he hadn’t been born with money, he certainly had it now. His waiting room looked like it should be featured in an HGTV special—the leather couch she was sitting on had to cost Lacy’s whole year’s rent. What a waste.

She leaned into the cool material and swung her crossed leg back and forth while she bit the inside of her cheek. She was nervous. Which was ridiculous. Yes, she needed a job and Lacy was counting on her to land this job, but Andy had already decided this was not the job for her. She was only here out of consideration to her sister, to show that she was determined to get employment. She’d sit through the silly interview, then tomorrow she’d stop by one of those temp agencies she’d been avoiding.

Besides, even if this job as personal matchmaker was up her alley, she could tell from looking around the waiting room of Donovan’s office that she did not fit in with the surroundings, and she didn’t mean the environment. It was the other employees that made her feel frumpy, underqualified.

The glass walls gave her a perfect view of his staff outside. They all looked like they walked out of a commercial—good-looking, perfectly dressed, put-together, gliding around as if on rails. That was definitely a count against her.

Strike one: not a model.

The office door opened and Andy looked up from the book she was reading on her phone. A leggy blonde exited, her eyes downcast. She was gorgeous—tall, model-thin. Her cheekbones could cut someone they were so sharp, which somehow added to her beauty. She fit in with the rest of the runway-ready girls that it seemed Blake Donovan liked to employ.

In fact … Andy glanced around the staff’s desks again, this time looking only at the women. Yep, she wasn’t imagining things. There wasn’t a single brunette among them.

Strike two: not a blonde. Two strikes and she hadn’t even made it into the interview yet.

Andy pretended to keep reading, but her eyes followed the blonde as she passed through the waiting room and out to the main work area before they darted back to her book. She was starting to feel more than a little insecure, despite the sharp new outfit. As proud as she’d always been of her auburn locks, it didn’t feel good to think they were a liability.

A rustle in front of her drew her glance back to the office door. A man had stepped out to speak to the secretary. Ah, this must be the illustrious Mr. Donovan. His back was to Andy so she couldn’t see his face, but from behind he was pretty good looking. Stunning, actually. His shoulders were wide and defined. Even though the jacket covered his butt, she was certain it was equally sculpted.

Then he turned around and her mouth opened in a silent gasp. Stunning didn’t do him justice. He was gorgeous. Like knees-knocking, panty-soaking gorgeous. His jaw was strong, his cheeks high. His broad forehead and short dark-blond hair accentuated his blue eyes. Piercing blue eyes. Eyes that left a person feeling dazed and confused. Eyes that made a woman do silly things like forget her name or her reason for being in his office or her predetermination to hate him. Those kinds of eyes.

Strike three: Mr. Donovan is hot.

Too hot. There was no possible way she’d get through an interview with a man that smoking. How would she even be able to speak? She might as well lock her phone, grab her bag, and leave right now.

Except she was frozen, caught up in staring at the man who couldn’t not be stared at.

“Definitely not that last one,” Mr. Donovan said to his secretary. “She has man-calves.”

And with that, Andy was back to reality. The guy was a chauvinistic ass-wad, and that made everything about him look downright ugly.

As long as she focused on that, this interview would go fine. She hoped.

“Andrea Dawson.” He pronounced it AND-ree-uh, which made her skin crawl. She followed Blake Donovan into the richly appointed office. It was masculine and modern at once, all clean lines and neutral shades. At least his taste in art and furniture wasn’t as tacky as his Craigslist ad.

“It’s Andrea,” she said to his back. “It rhymes with Leia. Like Princess Leia. You know, Star Wars? That’s how I tell people to remember it.” Jesus, she sounded like a moron. Star Wars references; way to land that job at the pizza place, Andy! And he hadn’t even looked at her yet. Even as he called her name he’d been studying her application rather than focusing any attention on her. Ass with a capital A.

“Andrea. Drea. Drea.” He tapped his finger against his desk as he seemed to be committing the correct pronunciation to memory. That was something at least. “You have sufficient computer skills, it appears.” Mr. Donovan unbuttoned his Armani jacket and sat down in a gray wingback chair without inviting her to do the same. He began running one finger down her résumé. One long, strong finger.

“I do.” She sat in a matching chair and tried not to stare. He continued perusing her résumé, and she continued ogling his body. It was long, and very fit. His chest muscles strained against his dress shirt and, wow, did he have pecs.

Perhaps it was better that he didn’t look at her. Then he wouldn’t notice her ogling.

And why was she ogling? He was inside-ugly. Total inside-ugly. She had to remember that.

Without glancing up, he asked, “Do you know your way around social media?”

“Yes.” Who didn’t these days?

He didn’t even process her answer before moving on. “Ah, I see you worked for Max Ellis as a personnel consultant.”

Andy tensed. “I did.” Her voice sounded meeker than it should. Maybe she should clear her throat? No. She’d sound awkward and awkward didn’t bode well when trying to appear attractive. Attractive as in a job candidate, not as in the sexual sense, though everything about the man did make her want to check herself in the mirror one more time.

God, why was she still so nervous? She didn’t even want the job. It had to be because Donovan was asking about Max. Yeah, that was it. This was the part of the interview she’d been dreading. She didn’t want to talk about her past employment. But it was inevitable. The faster she got it over with, the faster she could walk back through those pristine glass doors and forget this ever happened.

“Hmm.” Donovan continued staring at her résumé, though Andy was sure he must have read it over three times by now. “What did you do for him exactly?”

Just keep it simple, she told herself. And vague. “I helped him pick personnel for his key positions.” Well, that was true enough.

“You worked in human resources then?” Donovan flipped the page.

“Not exactly.” Ah, fuck simple. She’d go for the truth. What did she have to lose? “I went with him to business dinners and events where he was seeking potential candidates, and I’d mingle with them. With the people he was interested in hiring, I mean. Afterward, I’d give Max my opinion.”

His forehead wrinkled. His mouth may have twisted, too, but she couldn’t see it with his head still down. “Your opinion? On their job-worthiness?”

“Well, sort of. More like on their personality and social skills. Whether they were married or not. Whether they were the type to cheat on their girlfriend. Stuff like that. Max wanted a complete picture of every candidate.” She glanced around the room as she spoke, taking in the stark details of his office. There was nothing warm about it. No family pics, no personal mementos. Closed off. She wondered how he thought someone could possibly make a love-match for him given how sterile he was.

He cleared his throat and she guessed it was a cue to say more. “Max would use that to help determine whether he wanted to hire them.”

“In other words, you manipulated them.”

Andy grimaced. “I wouldn’t call it that…” Although it was kind of accurate.

“What would you call it then?” He paused, but not long enough for her to fill the space with an answer. “Did the candidates know that you were working for Ellis?”

She hesitated, still stuck on the question he hadn’t let her answer. What would she call the work she’d done for Max? Practical, smart, maybe borderline unethical. Actually, spying did seem to be the most correct term.

Donovan cleared his throat again.

Right; he’d been asking her something. “Excuse me, could you repeat the question?”

“Were the candidates that you spied on aware of your position?” He said it slowly, enunciating each word as if she had a hearing problem. Or was just stupid. And at this point she was feeling very much like the latter.

This time she had to clear her throat, awkward or not. “Some of them. Or at least they knew I was with him. Sometimes. Maybe not. I don’t know.” She felt flustered. That was his intent, she was sure of it. She really hated men like that—confirming their own power by intimidating women.

Donovan scratched a note on her résumé. Andy imagined what he’d written. Flusters easily, no ethics, total spy.

“And how did you get to know them, so to speak? Were these candidates always men?”

Uses her feminine wiles to obtain information from otherwise unaware men. She was sure that was what he was thinking even if he didn’t write it down. It’s what she’d be thinking. Might as well just own it. “Mostly. Yes.”

Donovan’s head rose, and he looked at her for the first time since she’d arrived in his office. His shockingly blue eyes squinted slightly as he tilted his head at her. She stared back, caught up in his penetrating gaze.

“I see.”

“What? What do you see?” What the hell was he implying? His voice was judgmental, but his expression showed almost … attraction? No, that couldn’t be right. Maybe she had something in her teeth? That wasn’t exactly the image she had hoped to project, even if this was just a practice interview.

Andy felt unbalanced. Normally she’d have a read on someone by now. Instead, all she had were her own reactions. This guy must be great at poker.

He went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “Why you? Why did he care about your opinion? I don’t see anything listed on your résumé that even remotely qualifies you to choose experts in banking.”

Oh, God. This was the part that was always hard to explain, difficult to sell to a new employer who hadn’t seen her in action. Or who, as Donovan obviously did, read sexual undertones into the job. She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I worked a temp job for Max as an administrative assistant one summer while I was in college, and—”

“Pursuing a degree in psychology?” he asked, looking again at her résumé.

“Yes. He noticed that I had a ‘unique talent for discerning people’s true motives’—his words, not mine.” Though they were words that always made her smile. She was proud of what she could do, even if it was unusual in terms of job employment.

She swallowed then went on. “He started taking me with him to business functions out of curiosity, and we sort of developed this working relationship. At the end of the summer he offered me a generous amount to continue working for him in the way I described before. He basically created a position for me. So I dropped out—left college and kept the job.”