Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
My career and Brooke’s next big success are counting on it.
Friday, May 5th
Chase
Today, I can honestly say, I’m scared.
Scared of the possibilities ahead of me in today’s editors’ meeting and all that entails for the future and, more urgently, scared that Glenn, evidently, does not appear to have a job.
I’ve been home for three extra hours this morning, trying to lessen the tense time in the office before one of the most important meetings of my life, and Glenn has shown absolutely no signs of leaving.
I haven’t actually seen him, of course, but I’ve heard him moving around, and the pitcher of unknown liquid—it’s blue today—I found outside my door first thing this morning was gone by the time I made it back to my room with my first cup of coffee.
The first time he left liquid outside my door, I feared it was a gift for me or some kind of bad omen of what’s to come. But after a few more odd-colored carafes of mystery fluid, I’ve learned that they never stay there for long. Eventually, he takes it away and does… Well, I don’t know what he does with it. I don’t even know what it is. I’m also pretty sure I probably don’t want to know. Some things are truly better left unsaid.
I grab my tan canvas bag—one that’s reminiscent of Peter McCallister’s bag in Home Alone: Lost in New York and a complete manifestation of my generational influences—swig the last drops of my third cup of coffee from my mug, and put in the sink. I fill the mug with water to make sure the coffee doesn’t stain, but I’ll have to wash it later. The editors’ meeting at Longstrand waits for no one—especially not me—and between how long I’ve waited to head into the office and the commute itself, I’m going to be cutting it close.
A little too close for my punctual taste, to be honest.
Music starts to play from Glenn’s room, loud and aggressive and slightly on the edge of what might be satanic in nature, and I move even quicker to get the hell out of here. I grab my phone and keys and head for the door.
I pull it closed behind myself and ready my keys at the lock to secure the dead bolt, but before I can even stick it inside, I hear the mechanism turn, just like always.
Glenn, the bizarre bastard. How the hell did he even know I was leaving with his music playing that loud?
I need my place in Nolita to get done like I need my next breath.
And I should probably consider checking the apartment—and my room—again for hidden cameras. Yes, again, because I’ve already been down this road three times before, and every time, I’ve come up empty-handed.
But I’ll save that dilemma for another time.
Right now, I need to focus like I’m Jason Bourne on the run from the CIA and trying to figure out my father’s true identity.
I glance down at my phone as I step onto the elevator and hit the button for the ground floor. The screen showcases two missed calls—one occurred while I was sleeping last night, and the other came in this morning while I was getting ready. The first one makes me roll my eyes—there’s not a chance in hell I’m calling Mo back right now—and the other one can wait until I get into the office.
My assistant Dawn knows I don’t want her working outside of business hours anyway, and I don’t want to encourage the behavior. This industry is stressful enough. I might work at all hours of the night, but Dawn doesn’t get paid enough to do the same. She works hard during the day, and quite frankly, that’s enough.
I’m out of my building and down the block to the D train before I know it, headed toward my stop at 7th Avenue and West 53rd.
The subway is relatively quiet this morning, and that’s mostly because I’m a good four hours behind the normal morning rush commute. Most people in New York need to bleed as many hours into their work as humanly possible to afford their rent, so they head for the office by seven a.m. at the latest.
I can’t say my life is entirely different on any normal day, but today, I knew my stomach was going to be playing host to several very energetic butterflies who require as much breathing room as possible. I need to get in there and go straight for the meat and potatoes of the day to keep my visitors from trashing the place and from turning over its contents in the upheaval.
I use the quiet to pull my paper version of Accidental Attachment from my bag so I can scan through it and feed off the scenes to drive my campaign.