Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
This meant that the clock was ticking, and I was busting ass these days to make every minute of it count.
Hence, the shitshow that was the job the night before.
Were I still twenty years old with all the time in the world ahead of me, I wouldn’t have taken one on such short notice with the small amount of planning I had. But I was trying not to turn away good money when a job did fall in my lap.
My job was pretty in-demand, since not many people thought to open up a practice like mine, but that didn’t mean that I had clients coming out of my ears every day.
I used to be okay with doing some thumb-twiddling between clients, but now I just wanted as full a calendar as possible.
I mean, sure, I had a nice apartment. And I even had a good savings going. Even if I invested that money wisely, though, I doubted my ability to make it until my timely death at one-hundred-and-one years old, after just having given an interview to the local news station telling them that tequila, coffee, soda, and junk food were the secret to my longevity, with just what I had stored away now.
And I didn’t want to struggle, to pinch pennies and cut coupons. I wanted a long and easy retirement from the age of thirty-five on. Which meant hustling hard now.
“That was too close of a call last night,” I admitted to Josie. Since she was the only person I ever confessed that sort of thing to.
“Yeah, it sounds like it could have ended really badly.”
It could have.
I’d been lucky.
I mean, to be fair, I was skilled and adaptive, so I would have found another way if the biker hadn’t just been sitting there like an open invitation to hop on.
But it would have been harder to get away under a different circumstance. I’d have managed, but still.
It was too close.
I had to be smarter.
“You know, I could—“ Josie started to offer.
“Absolutely not,” I cut her off, knowing what she was going to offer to do. Be a wheelman for me on iffy jobs.
But this was Josie we were talking about here. The girl who had a granny tap on her accelerator. The one who signaled way ahead of her turns. Who allowed everyone to cut into traffic ahead of her. She was careful and courteous. Which was great for society, but shit for a wheelman.
“You are my office princess, and I refuse to have it any other way.”
“There’s almost never anything to do here,” she insisted, waving around the empty space.
I had an official office space.
I had a registered business name.
Black Cat Consulting.
Named, of course, after my love of all things Halloweeny. Including my three black dumpster cats. One of whom was our office mascot since he hated his siblings back at home. Josie took Binx home with her most nights, but he was just as happy to stay in the office, and would sometimes scratch the shit out of her when she tried to grab him and put him in the crate to leave.
The office itself was on a strip that featured several other small businesses. A dentist, an eye doctor, a shoe store, and a nail salon.
It wasn’t a huge space, but it was more than big enough to feature a desk for Josie, a couple of seats on the other side of it, a couch near the back for me since I wasn’t a desk sort of chick, and a bathroom to the right, and a tiny kitchenette/break room to the left.
More than enough for our needs.
Since, like Josie said, we weren’t exactly a busy office.
But we had to keep up appearances.
Taxes and all that crap.
The picture window had mirrored film on it, so we could see out, but no one could see in. But it also allowed in a teensy bit of light without letting the place bake when the sun was beating on the strip.
I didn’t want anyone knowing our business. And I also didn’t like anyone being able to notice that Josie was alone in the office most of the time. It was also why I insisted she keep a taser in her desk, just in case.
I’d decorated the inside of the office to suit my personal tastes. To hell with the clients.
The walls were a slate gray, save for the one brick wall across from Josie’s desk. Her desk itself was intricately carved and antique. The chair I was perched in—and the one beside it—was a royal high-back velvet chair in a deep, blood-red shade.
In the back, the couch was a black tufted thing with antique end tables. One had a golden human skeleton lamp; the other was a big raven lamp.
Every one of Josie’s desk supplies were in bright colors, putting a bit of herself in the office that in no way suited her tastes. Neon pink sticky notes. A baby blue pen holder. A canary yellow notebook. Even her coffee cup was a floral print in shades of purple, pink, and blue.