Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
She’s my fucking queen.
“I just need to talk to her for a minute. If she’s done for the day, would you happen to have her…?”
But her head is already shaking long before the cautionary wagging finger comes up.
“Uh-uh. Unless you’ve got a badge and a gun? Go ask security, better yet. How ‘bout I call security…? I’m not giving out anyone’s anything. Now, if you don’t mind?” she clips, narrowing her eyes and motioning her hands to the million other things she’s supposed to be doing.
I like her style, and it makes me feel a little better knowing that even though the owner of this place is an asshole, Krissy’s co-workers have definitely got her back.
But her dad?
Shaking my head, I walk away.
I wonder how much of a chance I stand with someone as amazing as Krissy.
Catching a glimpse of myself in one of the million mirrored walls in the place, I see a tall, dark, and dare I say it?
A very handsome man.
But am I old? Am I too old for a girl like Krissy?
I suddenly feel self-conscious. But only of the small herd of little old ladies that have spotted me, mistaking me for someone else.
A celebrity of some kind, I imagine. And in moments, I’m knee-deep in aging fans, all wanting their picture taken.
It’s a good fifteen minutes before I can shake them off. And another reminder of why most people just don’t want to be recognized or found so easily.
But yeah, they’re old. I’m not. And if Krissy doesn’t want an older, more mature, and very successful guy in her life?
Then I’ll hear it from her mouth, not my imagination.
But I saw how she looked at me. And I know how I feel about her, even though we’ve just met.
I just need to find her.
No luck with her supervisor, but at least I got her name.
Doubling back to where I started, if only to get away from maybe being ‘recognized’ by someone else, I try again.
But Krissy’s boss wasn’t kidding about calling security, and when I ask after Krissy a second time at the bar area, she’s on the phone in a second.
But I am able to see the roster she’s punching into her computer from where I stand, which is head and shoulders plus more above most people.
I can see Krissy’s name and street address in tiny font next to her name.
Looks like she has a full week of work booked too.
Shame I’m gonna have to take her away from all this.
A damned shame.
Knowing I got what I needed, I don’t hang around to wait and have to explain myself to security.
I duck out a side exit, and in no time, I’ve hailed a cab and am on my way to her house.
“You wanna go out there?” The cab driver asks me, noticing my suit, my Rolex.
“Uh, yeah. And snappy too,” I retort, feeling my patience about to wear thin.
But the driver just shrugs, laughing to himself.
“Okay, buddy, you look big enough to look after yourself,” he quips, giving me the impression that Krissy’s neighborhood mightn’t be the go-to address in this town.
The thought makes me crazy, and the cab can’t get me there quick enough, even though it’s just a few miles.
I slip the driver a fifty as we pull up at her building, and once I see he has no change, I tell him to keep it.
It’s raining hard, but I manage to duck under an awning opposite her building.
It’s not a house, Sherlock…it’s a fucking apartment block.
I feel my hands ball into fists again, but only from sheer frustration.
Taking some deep breaths, I face the downpour and get a little more than just wet as I scale the huge steps out front.
No names on the letterboxes. Awesome.
The ground floor has just one apartment, the word ‘Manager’ in faded old letters on the door. The rest of the entryway is stairways that lead up to the floors above.
And, by the feel and smell of dampness inside, the front doors are probably being left open in a storm for a good reason.
I know people need a place to live, but it turns my stomach every time I see places like this.
And to think Krissy actually lives here?
It’s way past business hours, but I give a firm rap on the door marked Manager.
Silence at first, so I knock again, summoning the stirring sounds of someone muttering profanity and taking short but heavy steps to open up.
“Yes?” the older, shorter, and probably even heavier than me man asks. Not even trying to hide his annoyance but keeping the chain on the door and a foot against it.
“Uh…Hi.” I try to smile, suddenly tongue-tied. Taking a step back from the door once I recognize a possible source of the smell.
Or maybe the whole place is like that.
“I’m looking for Krissy Reynolds. I just need to…,” I start to say, but he’s shaking his head.