Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
The sofa was small because the space was small. I had a cranberry-colored wing chair I found at a vintage store. My coffee table was an old trunk. The gallery wall above the sofa was an assortment of original art from local artists I’d bought off the walls of coffee shops or at street fairs. And every lamp I owned came from flea markets.
Hale didn’t take any of this in. He’d pulled out his phone, stabbed the screen with his finger, and was now putting it to his ear.
I knew I should go to my room and finish getting ready, but curious, I stood there and watched him.
“Yeah,” he said into the phone. “I just got to Elsa’s. I want you to contact the property management company I’m paying to look after this place and tell them I want a representative at the office whenever you can fit them in my schedule for Monday. I don’t give a fuck if it’s nine at night. Since they’re coming so I can fire them in person, with urgency, I need you to source another management company as well as a project manager that can assess repairs to the intercom system, the elevator and anything else in this wreck of a place that might need fixing. At the very least, I want the intercom and elevator fully functioning by the end of next week.”
Short pause.
And then, “Yes. Thanks.” He dropped his phone hand and scowled at me. “Why didn’t you tell me this shit?”
“Sorry, somehow it slipped my mind I had a direct line to The Man.”
“There’s a brick sitting on the ground to block the front door from closing.”
“That’s because not only is the intercom on the fritz, it’s touch and go if the code works to unlock the front door. Therefore, we just keep it open so we can actually get into the building. Obviously not optimal, but I’d rather be able to access my home, rather than standing outside of it calling everyone I know who lives inside to see if they’ll come open the door for me. And my neighbors feel the same.”
“Elsa, you don’t live on a farm in the middle of nowhere in Nebraska,” he stated.
“No kidding?” I asked with eyes wide in faux surprise. “Now, how did I miss that?”
He ignored me and declared, “You pay rent. When shit like this happens, you report it.”
“Trust me, I have. Maria, my next-door neighbor, has. Yolanda, the chick who lives below me, has. Salim, the gent who lives on the first floor, definitely has. That company just sucks.”
“And you’ve had my phone number for a year.”
Again, was he serious?
“So this is my fault?” I demanded.
“You’re not safe. No one in this building is safe.”
“Excuse me, but I didn’t think reporting on the functionality of our intercom would be something of interest to a man who manages the width and breadth of your vast empire. I can’t say it crossed my mind, but if it did, my guess would be you’d tell me to report it to the management company.”
“No,” he refuted. “I would have done something about it.”
“Consider me educated as to the new reporting structure.”
He continued to scowl at me a beat, unimpressed by my sarcasm, before he noted, “You live on the fourth floor. Without an elevator, do you lug groceries up three flights of stairs?”
Like I had time to cook.
I didn’t tell him that. I said, “Yes.”
“Christ,” he clipped.
“Are we going to talk about this for the next hour, or can I get dressed, seeing as I’m not ready because you came early?” I asked. “And just to say, I’m perfectly willing to talk about this for the next hour. My mother will harangue me for being so late, but it’ll be less time I’ll have to listen to her haranguing me about anything at all.”
This time, he didn’t scowl at me, he studied me.
And then his eyes roamed over me.
Finally, he said, “As much as it hurts to lose you in that robe, since it’s burned on my brain, and we have a family dinner to attend, you better change.”
I gave him a salute, saying, “Righty ho, bossman. I’ll be out in a jiffy.” Then, as I moved to the bedroom, I offered, “There’s filtered water in the fridge and an opened bottle of red on the counter, help yourself if you want.”
I closed the door behind me.
I finished with my mascara, did some highlighting, spritzed with setting spray, perfumed with Versace Dylan Blue and decided against jeans and for a satin skirt in a salmon color to complement the peach tones of the slouchy sweater. This meant I pulled on a pair of nude tights to keep things smooth and offer another layer of protection against the cold. I did a messy partial tuck of the sweater into the skirt, put on some wide gold hoops, an array of slender rings, a few bangles that competed in a way I liked with the long sleeves of the sweater and pulled on my Veronica Beard, chestnut suede, spike-heeled booties.