Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
To be fair, it was more coital reverie than, you know, plot.
We’d spent almost the entire book club discussion ranking the various sex scenes in order of both sexiness and believability.
We were shocked to realize there were twenty such scenes.
In a two-hundred-fifty-page book.
So, yeah, it didn’t leave much room for actual business. “You also need to get an appointment to dye your hair,” Bass said, dragging a grumble out of me.
I’d almost forgotten about the hair.
Fine, I wanted to forget about the hair.
And now I was short on time to remedy the situation.
“Fine. I gotta go then,” I said, tucking my phones away.
“I’ll pick you up at two.”
“For what?”
“To go to the meeting. I’m your assistant now, it seems. I guess Serano can be your driver.”
The last thing I wanted was for Bass to be a witness when I likely fell on my face a time or two in the meeting. But I also couldn’t openly defy Renzo.
“Fine.”
“Try to contain your enthusiasm, babe,” Bass said as I made my way to the door.
I had nothing to say to that. He was right; I wasn’t exactly looking forward to a meeting at some upper-crust office building where they served cucumber water and used country-club speak.
I made my way across town, coming up to the building that had been abandoned for as long as I could remember.
The windows were boarded and had long since been the recipients of various forms of graffiti—some much more imaginative than others. Like anyone cares that Brandon was here. Though it almost seemed a shame to pull down the one that featured slashes of bright pinks and reds that was vaguely vaginal-looking.
I stuck the key in the lock, only mildly surprised that someone hadn’t broken it yet. Then again, if anyone got wind that it was in any way associated with the family, they’d know to stay far away from it.
It made a metallic groan as I moved inside. I was met with the scent of dust and dampness, making my nose crinkle as I wished there was one window to crack to air it out.
Using my phone’s flashlight as a torch, I made my way through the surprisingly spacious building.
There was a small entry room with a podium and some old wooden benches, making me think that this had perhaps been the waiting area of a restaurant in its former life.
Through the doorway, the building opened up into one long space with a bar to the left and a stage to the back, as well as staircases on each side that led up to a balcony overlooking the lower floor.
To the right was a small hallway that led to both bathrooms, a supply closet—a year’s worth of yellowed paper towels were included with the sale, it seemed—and, finally an office, empty save for the wrap-around desk and a printer that was straight out of the ‘90s.
I made my way back out, hearing a scuttling.
Rats.
You couldn’t avoid them.
Not even when the whole building felt airless.
I made my way up the steps that I thought were possibly the dumbest thing you could put in a place that served liquor. Save for maybe a chapel.
I mean, the liability alone of allowing drunk people to stumble up and then potentially fall to their deaths or disfigurement sounded like a headache I’d rather avoid entirely.
That said, it was kind of a great view.
I leaned on the railing, looking down at the floor below, picturing a sought-after DJ on the stage, hands dancing back and forth on the turntables as the crowd threw up their hands and moved their bodies against strangers.
Honestly, it was a shame Renzo sat on this place as long as he had. The neighborhood could use a decent club.
Once I was sure I’d seen all there was to see, I made my way back out and walked down to the closest pharmacy, grumbling at the hair dye aisle.
Until I found it.
Semi-permanent dye.
I could just… dye it each time I needed to see this Soren guy, then shampoo it out right after.
I could keep my promise to Renzo while not compromising my identity.
Feeling lighter, I made my way back to my apartment in one of the largest buildings in the area. I liked the hustle and bustle. The more neighbors you had, the less I found they gave a shit about what you did or when you came and went.
I didn’t have to water anybody’s plants or sign for their packages. And I didn’t have to feel one iota of embarrassment sitting in the laundry room reading a book with a shirtless man on the cover with a title like Railed by the Rival Warlord while eating my spicy chips and drinking a chocolate milk. Because I didn’t give a damn who saw me and what they thought.
That said, my apartment was absolutely my little slice of paradise in a loud, busy, often ugly and dirty city.