Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
There’s so much choice here, so many different stores offering fancy jewelery, shoes, clothing. I own the same three pairs of jeans Mom bought me from the only store in our town five years ago.
I move to the corner of the sidewalk to check the address again, frowning when there appears to be a few different places with the Leto name, one directly opposite where I’m standing.
I head inside the restaurant, hoping it’s the right place. “We’re not hiring,” a woman says as I approach the hostess stand, wet hair clinging to my forehead.
I hold up the piece of paper lamely, and her eyebrows raise. “That’s two blocks away. They’re not hiring either.”
If this is how she greets customers, it wouldn’t surprise me if her job is up for grabs by next week.
“I was told the position was already secured for me.” She looks me up and down, and I regret my basic leggings and sweater.
Why do people always have to belittle others?
“If you say so.” She shrugs, a smirk on her lips. Bitch.
“You don’t have to be an asshole.” I clench my fists until the knuckles pale, my jaw aching from my gritted teeth. Her eyes widen, mouth popping open.
Offering her a serene smile, I head in the direction she pointed moments before, coming to a stop up a couple of streets.
This place is twice as stunning as the first. What looks like solid gold wording blazes across an elegant slate colored building. Large, paneled windows give a sophisticated air.
There’s a red roped entry and a line halfway down the block, and it’s only lunch time.
I’m incredibly underdressed for this place, but there’s nothing in my wardrobe that would make me suitable, so I summon up the courage and head inside.
I make it past the doorman and through two sets of glass doors, offering a half-hearted wave to the greeter who scowls at me. “Can I help you?” he asks with a tight smile. What is with these fuckers? Can they smell the poor on me?
“Yes, I hope so. I’m Alyssa …” I don’t get my last name out before a girl behind the bar flags us down with a wave of her hand.
“Send her in, James,” she calls with a nod.
Relief brings a genuine smile to my face. I attentively make my way over to her and am greeted by a wicked smirk.
“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you for a couple days, but we appreciate your initiative. I’m Hannah, the floor manager.”
She has an accent I can’t put my finger on, but it’s pleasant. With a tight blonde ponytail and painted red lips, she looks like a runway model or an air hostess, tall, elegant.
“Alyssa.” I hold my hand out, and she chuckles as she takes it in hers, giving me a little shake.
“I know who you are,” she says, like it’s obvious despite me only arriving in the city a week ago. Everything happens at warp speed here. It’s discombobulating.
“Let’s get you the paperwork you need to fill out and we’ll arrange your starting date. Does that sound good?”
Sounds great. I can’t help but feel they have me confused with someone else. They’re so accommodating, and it’s been the same at the academy.
Maybe they have me mixed up with another student, probably someone who had a donation.
My heart flutters wildly in my chest. No, they wouldn’t need the scholarship if they were rich enough to put a donation down.
“I’ve never worked in a place like this,” I tell her, looking around at the customers in designer suits and fancy dresses sipping out of expensive cocktail glasses. “I can fake it,” I assure her and myself.
“It’s okay. We’ll train you,” she assures me, tucking a stray hair behind her ear before adding, “And supply you with a uniform.”
She’s not subtle when her eyes drop to my attire, but she’s not being a bitch either. It just is what it is. I think I’m going to like her. “Do you serve food?” I notice a couple of tables have plates on them.
“We do, but it’s a limited menu. We’re mainly a wine bar.”
She crooks her fingers for me to follow her through the back to an office where I fill out the information needed.
I jot my down what’s needed, it only takes a couple minutes to complete, “Here.” Hannah says handing me a fancy bag with a black uniform inside.
I don’t ask how she knows my size, I just enthusiastically take what I’m given. “I’ll see you in a couple of days for training.” She smiles.
I think I’m going to like it here.
As I’m leaving through the glass exit doors, a man enters. I’m struck with familiarity as he gives me a slow, confident smirk.
It’s the man from the audition day—the one who stood in the doorway watching his friend be a predatory asshole.