Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Good times with Mom?” Tegan snarked, setting a mug on the coffee table.
“The usual.” I thanked him for the coffee, then tossed my phone at him. “Read that text.”
“Whoa. What do you think that’s all about?” he asked, dropping my phone into my lap.
“No idea.”
“You can’t trust him.”
“No one knows that better than me,” I huffed. When Tegan narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, I added, “And you.”
I wanted to chuckle because he didn’t look nearly as fierce as he thought. Then again, I was probably the only person on the planet who wasn’t intimidated by him. Further proof, if needed, that I might not be dealing with a full deck, ’cause Tegan was anyone’s idea of a badass. He was also a good friend who got a little more than he bargained for when he offered me his sofa for the night…a few months ago. I was currently renting the right to be there until I could afford a place of my own, which I hoped would be soon. I sighed when a fresh wave of despair hit me out of the blue.
I’d been in a serious funk during the two weeks since my set at Carmine’s. I hadn’t expected much from the gig. The invitation to play in the first place was cool, but everything that happened after I stepped outside was even better. Well, after my run-in with Declan. That part sucked. But meeting a hot stranger, talking under a starlit sky on a fancy rooftop overlooking the city before having incredibly hot bathroom sex…had been worth the flood of doubt and misgivings that set in when I returned to my real world.
So yeah, I wasn’t sure what to think when I received an email offering a job interview for clerical work out of the fucking blue and now a cryptic message from Declan. I’d add the conversation with my mom to the mix, but her worried calls were a biweekly occurrence, if not more.
I was tempted to call the newest addition to my contact list if only to hear a friendly voice. I’d stared at his number more often than I’d ever admit, but I didn’t call. I studied the word “Boyfriend” and conjured his face before turning my cell facedown on the coffee table. What the hell was wrong with me?
Tegan perched on the corner of the sofa and sipped his coffee. “Did you text him back?”
“No. I’ll do it later. Maybe. I need to get through this interview first.”
“You’ll be awesome. Just wear something nice-ish. At least something that’s not a T-shirt. Take deep breaths when you need to and try to relax. And after you nail it, text Declan and see what the fuck he’s up to.”
I raised my coffee mug in a toast with what I hoped passed for enthusiasm. I didn’t feel particularly hopeful or enthusiastic though. I felt restless and weary, and a little concerned for my own sanity. Obsessing over a stranger wasn’t healthy. I had to either call him or delete his number. Neutrality didn’t suit me. I had too many worries and too much going on in my brain. It was time to get my life on track. Or try anyway.
After this interview.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, I parked my crappy old Toyota behind a sleek Range Rover at the end of a long driveway, then pulled out my cell to confirm the Hollywood Hills address. While I was at it, I decided to read the initial email one more time to make sure I wasn’t about to make a fool of myself.
Dear Justin Cuevas,
I have a unique job opportunity to offer you. It involves the organization of a large collection of. You were highly recommended by a mutual friend. Please let me know if you’re interested.
Sincerly,
Charles Robertson
Right off the bat, I noted a couple of weird things. First of all, he addressed the letter “Dear Justin Cuevas.” “Dear” was reserved for family members and close friends. And then there were a few missing words…a collection of what? Highly recommended by whom? And he spelled “sincerely” wrong. For some reason, that last one really bugged me. Everyone had spellcheck on their fuckin’ computer.
I’d replied, thinking whoever was behind this would give himself up and admit the whole thing was a hoax.
Hello Mr. Robertson,
Thank you for your offer. I have a few questions regarding your collection. I’m interested in learning more about the scope of the job, the compensation scale, and how soon you’d need me to start. Also, I’m curious about who might have recommended me for the position.
I look forward to meeting with you soon.
Sincerely,
Justin Cuevas
Mr. Robertson replied immediately and suggested meeting at his home to work out the details. We went back and forth before agreeing to this date and time. Nothing seemed overly suspicious and yet, something didn’t compute. Like who in their right mind would recommend me to organize anything?