Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“I got it,” I agreed. “Anything else?”
“Talk to your ma,” he demanded.
“Already saw her,” I said.
“Then no,” he said, waving me away.
I didn’t expect a warm welcome.
And in the grand scheme of things, I’d gotten off easy.
I guess I could thank a busy schedule and Lorenzo’s overfilled plate for that.
“That was quick,” Ant said as I moved outside again.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “You get your ass Made yet?” I asked.
“Working on it,” he said, but there was a muscle ticking in his jaw that suggested there was some sort of roadblock in his way.
It didn’t take much thought to figure out that the roadblock was his older brother, Emilio. Who probably thought he was protecting his brother. Or that he was too young for this shit. Forgetting that we’d all been Made when we were younger than Ant was now.
“You’ll get there,” I said, giving him a nod then starting to walk.
It was a lot of fucking blocks to my apartment, but after being inside for so long with nothing but a goddamn walking pad to get some steps in my day, the movement was welcome.
I needed to uncover the guns I’d been smart enough to stash outside of my place before the cops came with warrants and gleeful eyes, thinking they were going to find the murder weapon.
Then I needed to do exactly what Lorenzo said.
Get my house in order.
I didn’t like the idea that shit had fallen apart without me.
I’d thought I had run a tight ship, that it would stay on course even without me there to direct them.
Clearly, that faith had been misplaced.
And I would have to show everyone what I thought of that.
It was time to get my life back.
CHAPTER THREE
Halle
“Ugh,” I grumbled as I walked around the corner where all the antique, ornate, gold-framed mirrors were located, catching a look at myself for the first time since I’d rushed through brushing my teeth this morning before getting to the shop.
It was not pretty.
Apparently, working sixteen hours in a dark, dusty shop, hauling boxes and items all over the place, so there was actually walking space, didn’t do wonders for your appearance.
My brown hair was barely staying inside its jaw clip that I’d twisted it into that morning. My bangs were looking sweaty and lifeless, falling to the sides of my face.
Smudges of dirt and grime, the origins of such were best not thought about, given that damn near everything in this shop was seventy-plus years old, were on my cheeks, and one was obscuring the cleft in my chin.
I didn’t put on makeup, but the mascara from the day before that I hadn’t taken off before bed was smudged all under my eyes, making the light blue bluer, sure, but also highlighting my paleness and bags from little-to-no sleep.
From a hidden corner, perched on an ancient rose-colored Captain’s chair, I could hear my grandfather’s loud snores reverberating through the store.
I’d tried to send him home at five.
He’d insisted that the store was open until seven, and he’d only closed early five times in all his years working here, so he would not be going home until after closing time.
I hated that I thought it, but I couldn’t help but wonder how many customers possibly came in before I started working here and found him sleeping.
Did they take their money and leave?
Did they take items with them?
That was why this damn inventory was so necessary.
Every single picture frame, every ring, every old book, I wanted to make sure I knew it existed, where it was, and what it was worth.
I was getting better at being able to recognize something’s worth and things like that, but I was still leagues behind my grandfather on it.
What he lacked in organization and the ability to sell items, he made up for in knowledge about them.
I prayed that someday, I could be as informed as he was.
I had a coffee table full of books about antiques that I’d purchased secondhand or borrowed from the library, in the hopes of expanding my knowledge base. But I simply hadn’t had any free time to read.
A jingle signaled a potential shopper.
I quickly tried to scrub at the smudges as I emerged from one of the cramped rows.
“Welcome to… oh,” I said, my customer service smile falling from my face.
“I’ll try not to be offended by that,” Lauren, my best friend—my only friend—said, holding up a cardboard drink tray with two extra large coffees nestled in it. “I brought coffee, and it looks like you need it,” she said, grimacing at my face.
“It’s not that bad,” I insisted, taking the coffee.
“Oh, honey, it is,” she said, laughing a bit as she reached out toward my ponytail, and pulling a whole damn cobweb out of it, flicking it into the garbage. “How go things in the world’s stuffiest store known to mankind? What is that smell anyway?” she asked. “The hands of a million people touching everything in here?”