Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I hold my breath. She’s not an evil ice queen after all. She can melt.
“Wesley,” she continues, then mimes typing on a keyboard. “The guy I met at a gallery who doesn’t want to see me again. There. Just put it into Google. Just like that.”
I feel two feet tall. Talk about a slap in the face. I’m reeling as she crosses the distance in her spiky heels, sticking out a bony hand, reaching for the plant. “The bunny ears, please.”
Briefly, I fantasize about flicking my hair, channeling the scarf power even though I’m not wearing it, and saying ever so coolly, “You can find it online. Just search for unkillable plants that even I could kill with my bitchiness.”
But I don’t. Instead, I yank the plant closer to my chest, spin on my heels, and get the hell out of there, race-walking away from her gallery, powered by my own frustration.
It was stupid of me to think that could work. Just foolish to believe I could pull off that kind of request. What’s the point anyway? Frieda’s smack back is probably a sign the one-night stand is supposed to stay a one-night stand.
As I unleash an annoyed sigh, my phone rings. I’m reaching for it when I realize too that my chest feels a little strange—a bit scratchy and uncomfortable. But before I can figure out why, I check the screen. It’s a 415 number from Johnson Properties—that’s the place I’m moving into tomorrow. The landlord probably wants to give me the passcode or something.
“This is Josie,” I answer.
The rough, gravelly voice on the other end says, “Hey, hey, hey, Ms. Winters. This is Barry Johnson. I have some good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
Probably a broken pipe. Possibly a toilet installed upside-down. I can handle either. “Bad news, of course,” I say.
“Cool. I’ll start with the good news,” he says.
Why did he even ask? “Okay.”
Barry wastes no time. “So it’s more like world’s greatest news since I just signed a sweet deal to sell this building. Ten percent above asking price.”
This is worse than I’d imagined. I feel like I was just dropped out of a plane without a parachute. My stomach bottoms out as I say weakly, “The bad news is I don’t have a place to stay?”
“You are sharp, girlie,” he says with a whistle, like he’s genuinely impressed with me adding up two plus two. “But the other good news is I have a buddy, Donny, who’s got a deal for a short-term rental, just for my referrals. He can lease a one-bedroom to you at a bargain.”
There’s hope on the horizon! “Where? When can I move in? How much?”
“Russian Hill. Sunday, and a helluva deal at $3999 a month.”
My eyes bug out. “I can’t afford that on my starting salary.” I wouldn’t be able to afford that for many years. If ever.
“No worries. He thought you might say that. More good news is this—he’s got a one-bedroom that you can share with three other people as long as he doesn’t disclose how many are on the lease. Plus, there’s a bathroom down the hall for you all to share.”
I stop, lean against the wall of Better With Pockets, and close my eyes for a beat. When I open them and look down, my chest is bleeding right above the neckline of my shirt. Great. Just great. The cactus has pricked me.
“Thanks, Barry. But I’ll have to pass,” I say, then hang up.
My throat tightens as my chest bleeds into my white shirt. Tears well behind my eyes. From Frieda’s insults to the cactus attack to the terrible news, I can’t deal anymore with my upside-down luck that seems to flip-flop by the day.
My eyes sting, but I suck back tears and stab my brother’s name. I hate doing this. I truly do. Especially now when he has his hands full.
I call my brother.
Christian’s blue eyes are tired but also pleased. The gold flecks in them almost seem to be twinkling. Which is a weird reaction to me telling him my sob story on the back deck of his spacious home on California Street, overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge, as he holds Cooper while Caleb nurses inside with Liv. But I try not to read anything into his reaction—he’s a new dad and is also in the starting lineup for tomorrow’s season opener. He has a lot on his plate. Which is why I wish I didn’t have to come to him.
“Don’t worry, Jay,” he says, reassuringly. “I’ll help you out.”
I look at him with still-wet eyes. I can’t believe I’m crying over a lost rental. But it’s not only the rental falling through. It’s how much I want this job. I’m three days in and I already love it. I don’t want to lose it simply because I have no place to stay. Jobs like this are hard to come by. Cities like San Francisco, though, are even harder to live in.