The Roommate PDF By Rosie Danan Book

chapter one

WHEN THE MAN of her dreams ran a hand across his devastatingly

handsome face and said, “I have to tell you something, and I don’t want you

to freak out,” Clara Wheaton considered, for the first time, the alarming

possibility that she could get dumped by someone she’d never managed to

date.

She cursed her wicked ancestors as she glared at the pineapple-scented air

freshener hanging from the rearview mirror of Everett Bloom’s Jeep

Wrangler.

No matter how many lines she’d fed her mother’s friends back in Greenwich

about “pursuing fresh career opportunities,” she’d moved across the country

because part of her believed she stood a chance at winning Everett’s heart

after fourteen years of pining.

“I rented my room out for the summer,” he said, the words both gentle and

firm, the way someone might confess to a child that Santa wasn’t real.

“You . . . rented your room?” Clara’s response came slowly, comprehension

dawning with each syllable. “The one you offered me two weeks ago?” If he

hadn’t been driving, and her mother hadn’t made her memorize the etiquette

of Emily Post in her adolescence, she might have lunged at him.

She’d broken the lease on her apartment in Manhattan, left behind her

friends and family, and turned down a curatorial internship at the

Guggenheim. All for . . . nothing?

Even compared to generations of storied Wheaton family scandals, surely

this nosedive into misadventure could claim a land speed record.

The palm trees they passed along the freeway mocked her, a hallmark of the

Hollywood happy ending slipping between her fingers.

She hadn’t even unpacked her suitcases . . . an undigested airport pretzel still

floated somewhere below her diaphragm. How could Everett already be

saying good-bye?

“No, hey wait, no. I didn’t rent your room.” His signature lazy smile—the

same one she’d fallen for the moment his family moved in next door all

those

years ago—dropped back into place. “I rented the master. The band got an

offer to go on tour last minute. Nothing too wild, but we’re opening for a

blues band outside Santa Fe with this crazy cool sound, and Trent bought a

sick van to haul the equipment . . .”

His careless words sent her straight back to high school. How many times

after his social standing skyrocketed in tenth grade had Everett canceled

plans with her in favor of band practice? How many times since then had he

looked over her shoulder instead of into her eyes when she tried to talk to

him?

No one would believe she’d earned two advanced degrees from Ivy League

institutions only to end up this stupid.

“Who rented the room?” Clara interrupted his detailed description of the tour

van’s vintage fenders.

“What? Oh, the room. Don’t worry. He’s this super nice guy. Josh

something. Found him on the Internet a few days ago. Very chill.” He waved

a hand in her general direction. “You’re gonna love him.”

She closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see them roll toward the sunroof. No

matter how many times she considered the lengths she would go to in her

quest to finally win Everett Bloom’s affection, she’d never imagined this.

He turned the car onto a street proudly sporting a rainbow crosswalk.

“Listen, I’ll drop you off and give you my keys and stuff, but then I gotta

head right out.

We’re supposed to be in New Mexico by Friday.” The last traces of apology

ebbed with his words.