Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Dates For Hire: 9 o’clock tomorrow night. Are you available?
I take a minute. Okay, fine, I take a few minutes trying to figure out if I should pinch myself, ignore the text, or reply. I go through the gamut of emotions swirling in my stomach—hopefulness, worry, and finally acknowledgement that it’s now or never if I ever want to get my own business off the ground and running. In my infinite amount of spare time, I’ve been going to the flea markets near and far away, looking for vintage jewelry sellers are trying to get rid of for a song. My goal is to get my website started, social media on point, be successful enough that I won’t have to work two jobs and do what I love. That’s why I’m taking the chance, responding before I can second-guess myself yet again.
Me: I am available.
Not even a minute later, all the details come rolling through.
Dates for Hire: Henry will meet you at your door. The dress will be sent to you earlier in the day. You’ll be going to the Martinez and Associates Real Estate building, 12th floor. Everything else will be inside the box. Should you have any questions, please feel free to reach out. Your payout will be ten thousand dollars after our portion.
I blink my eyes, screaming internally because if I did it out loud, my neighbors would either bang on the floor below me, the wall beside me, my front door, or call the cops, thinking the worst. Instead, I keep it in and go in the next direction, knowing now that sleep will not be happening, especially being worried that I could screw this whole thing up. Plus, if I can make even half of that a few times a month, it won’t be long until my dreams can finally come true. No more Doctor Manning or Leah being weird. I won’t have to be an employee of Dates for Hire. I’ll be my own boss, and I love the sound of that, even if it means a shit ton of sleepless nights.
FIVE
Santiago
The motto Live to work, not work to live comes to mind, seeing as how I’m here on a Saturday night much like I am every weekend that requires my attention. I should have left hours ago for the charity event my company puts on yearly. I didn’t, though, because that fucking fool of a brother I have didn’t control the diva, known to the world as Skye Alonzo, an up and coming singer. My associate called me, begging to be relinquished from her, saying she wouldn’t heed his advice, didn’t put up the full asking price, and was adamant she would get the place. I took over. It wasn’t fair that my brother, who refuses to come work for me, instead is in public relations himself. A conundrum of sorts seeing as how he fucks everything he works with or works for. It’s another problem for another day, one that will eventually have him screwing himself. This afternoon, I took it upon myself to personally escort Miss Alonzo to a place I found, within her price range, that would include going full price. She liked it. The offer was placed. The only issue was the timeline in which Skye needed to be living at the residence in order to adhere to her contract. The biggest issue and one I’m trying to smooth over with the seller’s real estate agent. The owners are currently residing in the house and wanted to stay until their house is built. Skye needs the home in two weeks. It’s been a clusterfuck, one I’ve been trying to negotiate all afternoon and well into the evening, missing out on the charity event that’s currently being held across town. Where I should be. Not that I love to deal with the comings and goings of any holiday event, especially Christmas. People thinking they need to buy love spend every fucking minute celebrating, singing bullshit songs, eating till their heart’s content. Then there’s after Christmas, making New Year resolutions you know won’t last but more than a few days. It’s all too much. I’d rather work than deal with any of that.
“Hello,” I answer my desk phone with annoyance. Everyone surrounding me is bright and chipper, excited over Christmas this and Christmas that when all I want is a bit of fucking peace, something this damn phone is not giving me.
“Hello, Mr. Martinez. You have a gift downstairs that was sent by your brother.” Mario sounds hesitant at best. Knowing my brother, he pushed his way through this whole gift giving thing. Did I mention that not only do I loathe this holiday spirit everyone is so delighted over and birthdays, at this age what’s the big fucking deal.
“I don’t want to know, do I?” I ask Mario, taking a deep breath, unsure of how this is going to play out. Knowing my brother, I’m going to want to wring his fucking neck, maybe even break a bone or two. If that were to happen, though, our mother would still grab the nearest thing she could and whip us both up the side of the head. We may be ten years apart in age, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t have our fair share of fights, especially when Alejandro was in his later teen years, full of testosterone, raging hormones, and behaved like a bull in a China shop. My father would stay seated in his recliner, telling Mom to leave the boys be, never getting between the two of us when one of his escapades would come knocking on the door, tears streaming down their face. Then there was the one girl who had me pissed as fuck at my brother. She claimed she was pregnant. The idiot didn’t use a damn condom when he knows our family name comes from money. That’s when I broke his nose. Mom was swearing up and down in our native language, Dad came out of his recliner faster than I’d ever seen, and I’m pretty sure if it weren’t for Alejandro being on the floor, blood gushing from where I punched him, he would have done more damage as well. Thankfully, the girl wasn’t pregnant with Alejandro’s child, or pregnant at all. It was a valuable lesson for my brother, but it didn’t teach him to quit sticking his dick in any woman who would allow it. He did keep his junk wrapped, stopped using his charms on them or dropping the “L” word, and made sure they knew the score before anything happened.