Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Right?
Chapter Three
Little Hollywood, located twenty minutes out of Portland, is the kind of town you'd often see travel magazines and websites describe in words such as "up and coming", "hipster", and "vibrant". Majority of the population's under forty, and all of the establishments had glamorous interiors and chichi but pseudo-serious names like Essence (a lingerie boutique) and Nourish (a farm-to-table restaurant that only served greens and more greens from morning to night). Everything here was also expensive as hell, which was why I used to avoid it like the plague, even back when I had been earning serious bucks with my old job.
But now I hadn't any choice.
My new workplace was called The Enlightenment Center, and it had been a shot in the dark, applying for the receptionist job at TEC. Although its ad had requested for someone young, energetic, and presentable, I submitted my resumé all the same and mentioned in my cover letter instead how I was extremely good at charming the socks off anybody.
And what do you know?
It actually worked, and so here I was now, being welcomed by my new boss, who was a dead ringer for Harrison Ford, except for the glossy black dye of the former's hair.
"I used to work as a customer surgeon in Beverly Hills," Dr. Robert Harris shared. "But things were getting too commercial for my taste."
I nodded and tried to look like I totally got him, even though I didn't. "What made you choose to relocate to Portland?"
"The quality of life," my new boss answered. "It's so deliciously fresh and pure."
"Right."
"I was recently diagnosed with cancer—-"
"I'm so sorry."
"But I'm getting better," Dr. Harris assured me. "From Stage IV five months ago, I'm now down to Stage II."
My eyes widened. "That's incredible! Congratulations."
"I will have to take it easy from time to time, though. I'm also undergoing treatment as an outpatient."
"You can trust me, doc," I promised him.
"That's exactly what I'm hoping you'd say," Dr. Harris said with a smile. "I could feel you brimming with confidence even with just your email, and that's what made me choose you."
"I've never worked as a receptionist before—-" I felt obliged to point this out. "But if you're willing to show me the ropes for the first few days, I'll do my best to get the hang of it."
"There's no need to worry, Ms. Sullivan. The job is mostly routine." He outlined my daily tasks, and I was relieved to hear that most of it were indeed routine, and just about everything one would expect from the standard job description for a receptionist.
"My patients can be pretty demanding at times," Dr. Harris went on to warn. "They like to be pampered and cosetted—-"
"Say no more, Dr. Harris. I'll be happy to roll out the red carpet for them anytime."
Dr. Harris beamed. "That's exactly what I want to hear."
After that, he proceeded to talk about my working hours, which I found slightly puzzling. The clinic was open Tuesday to Sunday, from 2PM to 11PM, and I was to report an hour after opening and leave an hour before closing. You'd think being Yelp's #1 therapist in Little Hollywood would rather delegate the drudgery of opening and closing shop, but...
Not my problem, I reminded myself, so I'm not going to worry about it.
That was another new mantra of mine. I just had my latest check-up at Roger Hills yesterday, and according to Dr. Jack, stress was the most likely culprit as to why my aneurysm had ruptured. It made sense, too, considering how at that time I had been feeling rather shitty by Jason's infidelity, and how everyone seemed to enjoy talking about it behind my back.
So, lesson learned.
Not my problem, not going to worry about it.
The rest of my meeting with Dr. Harris flew by quickly, and once we were done signing on our respective dotted lines, my new boss stood up to shake my hand. "I hope you'll be happy working here, Ms. Sullivan."
"I'm certain I will," I assured him with a smile, and as my new boss cheerfully waved me off, I couldn't help thinking how remarkably robust he looked, for someone with cancer. I could only hope I'd be half as healthy, once I reached his age.
I took the bus back home, and it was about ten minutes in when I felt something weird.
Like a shadow lurking in the corner of my eye, watching me.
Stalking me?
I couldn't help looking over my shoulder...and felt stupid right away since I was seated at the very back of the bus, and the only thing behind me was a wad of months-old chewing gum (oh manners, where art thou?).
Must've been imagining it, I told myself. But when I got back in the apartment, the first thing I did was tell Mary Priscilla about my episode of paranoia, almost as if I were subconsciously hoping she'd convince me I was wrong.