Billionaire Romance Boxed Set 2(116)

I sipped at my drink, letting the hot, warmth of it trickle down my throat and leave a pleasant burn. Asher raised his cup in a toast. I wasn’t used to this, to toasting, or customs, or anything at all like what he was treating me to, but I didn’t feel as awkward as I’d first felt. Lifting my cup, I waited for him to speak.

“To your answer,” he said. “Whatever it may be. I hope it leads us both to a revelation.”

I laughed and tapped my cup against his when he tipped it towards mine. The sake rippled in our cups, and when I went to drink, it seemed more like a pond than a cup of spirits. Some infinite, endless, bottomless cup, where if I tossed something into it, that something would never come out again. But then, what if I tossed it into me? I drank the contents of my cup in one large, unladylike gulp.

I guess I’d find out? Philosophy wasn’t my inherent strong suit, but I loved literature, and there was a certain amount of depth required to understand much of it, so I liked to think I had a knack for thought-provoking topics. Granted, sake was sake, no matter how I looked at it, but maybe it would change my life some day? It already had, in a way. I would never have gotten as drunk as I had before, fallen asleep on a park bench with a friend, if it weren’t for sake. Not a lot of people could say the same.

I don’t think a lot of people would want to, either.

“So, Jessika,” Asher said, conversationally. With a pair of chopsticks he found wrapped in a napkin near his plate, he plucked up a few pieces of sushi from our platter. “What do you do?”

“I… what?” I asked, stalling. To possibly give me more time, I snatched up some sushi for myself, too. If need be, I could eat one and use the excuse of chewing? Not a very good excuse, as I probably shouldn’t put something in my mouth right as I needed to answer a question, but the option was there.

“You work for a temp agency, but do you clean offices often? Are you looking for a more steady job? A career? You strike me as someone who has potential.”

I smiled, though I felt faint. “You sound like a hiring manager,” I said. I wanted that to come across as witty and a joke, but my voice cracked when I talked.

I didn’t want to tell him. I wanted to retain some mystery about myself, safeguard any potentially disruptive information. If he knew I had no idea, that I worked as a temp because there just weren’t a lot of “good” jobs requiring an English Language and Literature degree, would he dislike me for it?

“I…” I started to say. He refused to respond, merely sitting and watching me while he chewed an unagi roll. “I don’t… well, I don’t have anything lined up right now. I sort of…”

I stumbled, hoping he might catch me and go with it. Maybe he would see my anxiety and relieve me from having to continue? But, no, no he didn’t. The only thing he did that was somewhat helpful was pour me another cup of sake. I sipped at it, plopped a cucumber roll into my mouth, chewed, and figured out where to go from there.#p#分页标题#e#

“The thing is,” I said, thinking I could soften this if I used the right angle. “I graduated with a BA in English and Literature. It’s not the most lucrative career option, I know, but reading and the English language have always been my passion. There’s just so much more that you can describe in English that isn’t in any other language. We have so many words for so many things, and multiple words for the same things that give entirely different impressions or contexts, and…”

I drank some more sake. I definitely felt like I needed it. “I don’t know what to do with it, though. No one tells you when you’re in school, but some degrees are worthless. I have a degree to have a degree, basically. I can’t really do anything with it, except get a few jobs that require a general BA with no real focus. I could go into a writing related field, but the most surefire one is a technical writer, and I…”

“You’d rather clean offices and do menial labor than ruin your passion for the language by reducing it to a base, technical thing?” he offered.

“Yes,” I said, letting out a sigh of relief. No one else had really understood that before.

And, sure, technical writing paid decently. It wasn’t a bad job in the least, and I imagine a lot of people enjoyed it. But I couldn’t make myself do it, no matter how hard I tried. If I could hold out hope, give myself a chance towards something else, then at least my dreams would survive, no matter what else died. If not for dreams, what did we have?

“What do you do, though?” he asked, pointedly. “You don’t want to be a technical writer, but what do you want?”