Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I had engaged in all the experiences I’d yearned for. And I refused to regret any of it. Although I was starting to kick myself for not having a little more willpower.
I was fast approaching thirty. I didn’t want to have to enter a sex arrangement with a mysterious rich guy in order to secure some kind of future. I didn’t want to rely on any man. Sure, I wouldn’t mind falling in love with a man who had his life together. Who might be able to ... take care of me. It wasn’t the most progressive way for me to think, but the safety of it was nice. Ideally, I wouldn’t need him to take care of me. For that to happen, I needed to work more. Save more. Make better financial decisions. Future plans. Be prepared so that by the time I met a guy who actually measured up to my standards, I’d be able to make the choice to be with him, and not because of his paycheck or home in the Hamptons.
I scheduled a dinner date with Zoe at her place, hoping she could help me get my life sorted.
For now, all I could think about was sleep. It was nearing midnight and a Town Car had just dropped me off at my building.
I was grateful that the designer I was working with was swanky enough to afford the luxury of getting her stylist a Town Car. An Uber from across the city would’ve been expensive as all hell. I could’ve driven my crappy Honda, but I felt that it didn’t help my image if I turned up to a shoot in a car that cost less than the purse in the crook of my arm.
Parking in my building was a nightmare. Since only half the parking spots were for the tenants, and on street parking was nonexistent, I refused to give up my spot unless there was some kind of dire emergency or a once in a lifetime opportunity like a sale at Chanel.
Now that I was almost famous in L.A. as a stylist, I was getting the jobs where they sent me things like Town Cars. Things sure had improved from the beginning when I’d pulled up to some obscure warehouse for some obscure magazine, certain I was going to get murdered. Or when I’d worked for crappy catalogues that barely paid me enough to cover the gas to get there.
Now I was getting dropped off outside my apartment in some fancy car that likely cost more than a year’s rent. My apartment was nestled where Beverly Grove became Fairfax, so I was within walking distance of some of the greatest restaurants and delis in the city in addition to the Grove, shopping and a kickass Farmer’s Market.
My two bedroom was small, rent was high and my landlord was a bitch to get hold of, but I loved my little slice of what I thought was paradise. I liked my neighbors, especially the couple across the hall, Richard and Carl, who regularly had me over to watch the Bachelor and drink a lot of wine. Everley was one floor down, pushing seventy and still in her apartment that looked like Diana Vreeland had decorated it. High fashion, expensive and she always had at least five diamonds on her body at one time.
She was how I imagined myself in the future. Didn’t own a home, had no children but was incredibly fucking chic, trendy and timeless.
I didn’t hate the thought of that future.
Even though the area wasn’t exactly bad and was reasonably expensive, it was still L.A. I was always on alert. Always had a taser in my purse. My dad would’ve been much happier if I had a gun in my purse, but I couldn’t do that. With all of the people I worked with, there was no way I would be cleared to walk around with a gun in my purse. I was comfortable with guns. I was raised by a single father in the Midwest, so I knew how to handle, clean and shoot a weapon. But I’d spent almost a decade in L.A., and thankfully had not been mugged or assaulted in that time. And I’d lived in much, much worse areas.
A woman never felt completely safe, of course. Safety was an illusion. But I felt complacent. Which was bad. I was tired. And distracted. Which was worse.
It wasn’t dark on the street. We had streetlights dotted along the length of the street, and the entrance to my building was lit up all night.
But I still didn’t see him until he was on me. Until he’d pushed me up against the wall of my building. My teeth clashed together with force as my head cracked against the concrete.
Something cold hit my neck.