“Not much to say about me.” She shrugged in the dark then realized Corgan was watching the road, not her. “I'm twenty-three. I studied business in college before I dropped out. My parents didn’t support my decision. They thought they could change my mind. When I stuck to my guns, they, well, they disowned me. I worked for a newspaper, but I hated it there, so I quit my job and started writing novels.”
“Your parents hurt you.”
Marisa stared out the window. “Yes.”
“Despite what they said, they are still proud of you.”
“I don’t think so, Corgan.”
Trust me. “Leaving your job was out of character for you.”
“Definitely. My friends didn't understand. They thought I’d completely lost it. In their minds, I left a decent paying job to chase a pipe dream.”
“You needed to find your own way.”
“You get it.” Marisa bit her lip, thoughtfully. Corgan understood her. She didn’t know how, but it seemed like he’d known her longer than a few days.
“Sometimes your own way isn't the easy way.”
Trust me. “Leaving your job was out of character for you.”
“Definitely. My friends didn't understand. They thought I’d completely lost it. In their minds, I left a decent paying job to chase a pipe dream.”
“You needed to find your own way.”
“You get it.” Marisa bit her lip, thoughtfully. Corgan understood her. She didn’t know how, but it seemed like he’d known her longer than a few days.
“Sometimes your own way isn't the easy way.”
“Damn straight! The term 'starving artist' comes to mind.”
“Do you go without, love?” The alarm was evident in his voice.
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