Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
As quickly as the commotion began, it ends.
Although it shouldn’t, the lack of attention from the media sinks my shoulders. Only three years ago, I was hounded as relentlessly as the superstars who call Ravenshoe home. It might have been from the more sophisticated journalists who love Broadway as much as I do, but the light they shone on me was bright enough to feel its warmth.
Now it’s as cold as the wind whipping off the coast.
After a big exhale to slacken the heaviness on my chest, I adjust my box from my stomach to my hip before breaking through the guarded door Willow and Presley were forced through moments ago.
The elevator takes longer to return to the foyer since it had to go to the penthouse floor to drop off its last riders. I don’t mind the delay. It gives me plenty of time to think. Should I put the funds of my latest money-making scheme toward my alleged rental arrears or the legal debt threatening to snowball me at any moment?
Mrs. Richler’s scurry for her office when I spot her entering the foyer should answer my question on my behalf; however, life isn’t that simple.
I’m only behind on rent because the building supervisor is refusing to uphold the rental agreement my parents had in place for decades before their untimely deaths. I’m being railroaded out of the only place I’ve ever called home because while studying at Juilliard, a businessman threw a ton of money into Ravenshoe. It surged house prices to astronomical highs and turned once honest landlords into underworld peddlers.
I’ve faced every trick in the book over the past three years. It is lucky I know my rights, or I would have been homeless by now.
I’m snapped from my thoughts when a deep yet somewhat feminine voice says, “Ladies first.”
A man with blonde hair and way too much style to be straight waves his hand in front of his body, signaling me to enter the idling elevator before him.
“Thank you,” I murmur before accepting his offer, which seems more expected than natural.
I groan when an annoying Christmas jingle trickles into my ears upon entry. We’re only days out from the big day, but still, they’ve been playing this track on repeat since late October. Pumpkin spice hadn’t even gone on sale when this blasted song began torturing me.
My co-rider keeps his chuckles low, but I don’t need to hear them to know of their arrival.
I can’t miss the rumblings they cause his chest.
“N. O. Say it isn’t so. How are you not a fan of Christmas?” After selecting the floor that my fumble with the box didn’t allow me to pick, he spins to face me. “Christmas is—”
“A sham like every other holiday festivity or celebration? You were born on this day twenty-five years ago? Whoopee. Who cares? If anyone should get a gift for that, it should be your mother. It was her hoo-ha that got destroyed by pushing out your fat head.”
The blonde doesn’t take my I-hate-life rant as seriously as everyone else subjected to it does. After fanning his hand across his chest, his mouth falls open. “You think I’m only twenty-five?” He steals my chance to answer. “Girl, you just got yourself a new best friend.” He bands his arm around my back, his hold doing little to lessen the weight of the box on my hip. “Lucky. Elvis, Willow, and I come as a package deal. You can’t have them without me.” He checks the vanish on his nails. “Just don’t tell E that. He still hasn’t forgiven me for the note in the pharmacy bag. How was I to know that he didn’t want it included in the package? There were thirteen Willows on the dorm register alone.”
I’m completely lost and out of time to seek answers.
The elevator has arrived at my floor.
After another eye roll announcing he hates being forced to act gentlemanly, the unnamed man signals for me to exit first.
As we begin a slow trek down the hallway, he asks, “Have you lived here long?”
“You could say that.” I am not eager to dig those bones out of the closet so soon into our forming friendship, so I ask, “You?”
“I’m a newbie. Not from a lack of trying. I’ve been endeavoring to purchase an apartment here since Elvis moved Syndi and Emerick into the penthouse a few years ago. The procurement took forever. I thought it was because E wasn’t eager for me to interrupt Movie Marathon Sundays.” He shrugs off the idea. “But then I remembered they’d still have their heads stuck in vomit buckets if it weren’t for me.” He snaps his fingers together and does a sassy head move I’ve never witnessed before. “So I dug a little deeper.” He twists to face me, somehow still walking straight. “Turns out, not all the apartments in the building are owner-occupied. The handful of tenants left are digging their heels into the carpet.” He misses my O-formed mouth since he is too busy drinking in the expensive interior of the hallways. “Can’t say I blame them.” He tilts in close to a painting near my head. “Is that a Monet?” He loses interest as quickly as I do when I’m forced to attend an art show. “Anyhoo, supposedly the tenant helming the campaign is a witch with a pointy nose, a heart as black as Satan, and a wobbly chin hair. She lives in apartment 17B,” he announces just as we stop at apartment 17B. “Oh…” He drops his eyes to my chin as fast as I lowered mine to Presley’s crotch. Disappointment crosses his face when there isn’t a thick black hair for him to pluck, but he doesn’t seem the type to let the chance to be sassy fly by. “Must have wiggled its way to your brows.” He brushes away my bangs. “You’ve heard of tweezers, right?”