The mansion, the untouchable coffee maker, the fake project for some weird mistress. It just wasn’t for me. “Look,” I said, hoping this would kill it for Charlie. “I live in a crappy apartment with my half-paralyzed father. I work all the time. I don’t have money, and I don’t have friends, and I haven’t even made eye contact with anyone attractive in over a year. All I’ve got is my writing and my love of rom-coms and my basic human dignity—and I’m not sacrificing any of those things for this weird, sad project. I am needed at home. I was willing to leave for something big and inspiring. But I
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