Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“Leave it,” I said, waving my hand. I stood up and stepped to my floor-to-ceiling window, frowning at Los Angeles. The city was like lust. Ugly and raw and filthy, yet somehow utterly irresistible. She lacked all the things people love. Structure, sophistication, beauty. Yet she attracted everyone and everything. Sucking in and spitting out people with pockets full of dreams and money. That’s why I’d decided to stay in Todos Santos, even though a single biracial man was not the best candidate to live in ultra-white, obnoxiously high-class Todos Santos. I didn’t want Luna to know ugliness. She deserved more than life had given her so far.
“Are you sure?” Amanda asked, her Jamaican accent slightly thicker than before. It happened to her when she was thrown off-balance. My answer was definitely surprising. I nodded, turning around, my hands clasped behind my back.
“Luna’s in a good place right now. I don’t wanna throw her off-kilter. I’d rather focus on making her better.” Making her speak. “Then if all goes according to plan, I can contact Val discreetly and have her sign her rights over.”
Amanda bobbed her head, already clasping her purse. It was the end of an era. I’d worked with Amanda for too long, fucked her for months, and now it was all over. She stood up, and I walked over, feeling the need to do something civilized. I wasn’t a shithead. Not most of the time, anyway. And definitely not to people who weren’t shitheads to me.
“Thank you.” I squeezed her upper arm. “For everything. For helping me with the Val situation, for everything on that flash drive…”
“If you ever need anything else”—she returned my embrace, getting closer now—“you know where to find me.” Her lips brushed my ear, and I moved away, capturing her chin, dragging my thumb over her lower lip as I shook my head.
“Not anymore,” I spoke softly.
“Lucky girl.” She raised one eyebrow.
“Not at all. Trust me.”
She moved away from me, all business now, one hand on her hip. “Should I proceed with the Jordan Van Der Zee case, or close everything and send it to you?”
I didn’t need time to think. “Continue relentlessly, and don’t stop until I have the bastard’s head speared.”
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday seemed unbearably long and boring. The only things notable were my father was blissfully out of the office, probably taking a long vacation with one of his mistresses or planning the next step of his world domination, and I couldn’t stomach eating or looking at my mother. The latter was still oblivious to her husband planning to leave her. She was spending her days staring at her bathroom mirror, waiting for her locks to miraculously grow ten inches longer. I made food for her. She ate it without complaining. There was no Trent, and no Trent meant no hope. I was walking the hallways of the fifteenth floor with my heart in my stomach, veins, chest, legs, everywhere. It was swollen, diseased, infected. Tuesday, I spent the day helping Luna find pictures of seahorses online and painting them with water colors. I gave her the necklace I’d made for her, of a seashell, one that looked exactly like mine, but also different.
Hers was chipped, broken, imperfect.
I used the second black lace in the pack to make it, so I guess it was like one of those friendship bracelets. I’d never made one for anyone else. When I told her this, puzzled delight shone from her eyes. She didn’t understand me.
Neither could I.
I hovered and loitered everywhere on the floor, desperate to catch a glimpse of Trent. I needed that flash drive.
And on Friday, my wishes finally came true.
I was at my desk outside my father’s office. It was a smaller, sadder version of Max’s oak L-shaped desk. My head was between the pages of a surfing magazine I’d brought from home with me, and I was just about to flip a page when someone threw something at it. Two somethings. A Snickers bar and a Nature Valley. My head snapped up. I arched an eyebrow. Trent stood in front of me. Tall, dapper, and irresistible. He was silent, as I expected him to be, so I picked one of the bars without even examining the label, tearing the wrapper open and taking a bite. The hunger of the week slammed to me all at once, like I’d been waiting to see his face to know that it was okay to consume food.
“We haven’t played this game in a while,” I commented.
He shrugged. “I found better games to play with you.” Only he could say it so quietly no one would hear. My soul was a balloon losing air, and fast. I’d yearned for him, but for him it was just another spontaneous encounter. Maybe screwing him over was a blessing in disguise. There’d be nothing left to hold us together once I blew us apart. My mind drifted from my original goal when he was around. He obviously didn’t share the sentiment.