Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Her face flushes. “I wish it didn’t have to end like this.”
I feel tears spark. “Me either.”
I turn and leave that part of my life behind. It’s time to build again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I have an iced latte in my hand as I walk up the street toward my apartment building. It might be my last for a while because that sucker cost seven bucks, and I’m about to beg my mom for a job baking cookies while I regroup. It’s going to be a while before I find another job in production. If I ever get another. I should be more upset about that, but I’m honestly feeling okay. It’s a little like Galadriel in the Lord of the Rings movies. I got tempted by something evil and turned away, and now I can go with the other elves to the western lands and do whatever they do in the western lands. Probably not work as a production assistant. The point is, I was tested and I feel like I passed.
Righteousness, though, won’t keep me in lattes. I’ve got some money saved up, but I suspect Joe’s going to clobber me in edits. He’ll start making promos where I’m the good girl gone bad, and soon I’ll have an invite to House of Villains or something. Reality TV is about to come seriously calling, and I’m planning on ignoring it all.
I’m likely going to lose my tiny apartment and I’ll be back at my mom’s, but there are worse things that can happen. She could live in Jersey, for example. She could still be married to my dad. I decide I can handle being cooed over by two women who know how to cook for a while until I find my feet again. Harper and Ivy will be there, too. I’m not alone.
Maybe I’ll ask CeCe for suggestions. She’s been the bad girl of the finance world for a long time, and she seems to love it. Of course I suspect the whole bad-girl rep is easier when you’re a billionaire and a competent woman of whatever age CeCe claims to be. I would never argue with her. If she says she’s thirty-five, I’m going with it.
I turn down my block and notice there’s a limo outside the door and a man in uniform rummaging around the trunk. Huh. I didn’t know there was anyone in my building who could afford a limo ride, but good for whoever.
My cell trills and I glance down at it. Harper. I’ve got my hands full of purse and latte and treats to go along with the latte, so I decide to call her back when I get upstairs. As soon as I start to slip the phone back in my pocket it rings again.
I stop and check the screen. This time it’s Ivy.
Okay, so something’s happening. Or they want to know how my meeting with Jessica went. I gingerly balance the latte and my bag of snacks from the bakery—Danishes are the best breakup food—and manage to answer the phone with one hand. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“Thank god,” she says in a rush. “Anika, you need to get down to Times Square. Something’s happening.”
Like I’m buying that. “We don’t go to Times Square. We avoid it like the plague.”
I’m serious about that. I skip right past midtown whenever I can. It’s a mob of tourists and ticky-tack shops, and yes, all the mega screens are super cool at night, but it’s not worth the forced intimacy with three thousand people I do not know. Although the world’s largest Olive Garden is tempting.
Don’t judge me. My ancestral food is salted fish.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the limo driver stepping onto the sidewalk, though he’s left the trunk open, so I guess he’s waiting on his client. I hope the poor dude doesn’t get stiffed. It would be exactly like one of my neighbors to pull a prank. I want to tell him this neighborhood isn’t the place for limos, but Ivy’s talking again.
“I’m serious, Ani. Get down here. One of the networks is about to run something on the big boards. Some kind of story about Luca. I got a text from a guy Heath knows in the newsroom,” Ivy says.
I sigh. “Well, I’m sure I’ll hear about it. I’ll check their website.”
The last thing I need is to watch some promo story about Luca’s final four on the big screens, my humiliation shining bright for all the tourists to see. I can be humiliated in the comfort of my own home, thank you very much.
“Ani, you have to come down here.” Harper seems to have taken the phone. “I’m serious.”
“And I’m serious about drinking my last latte,” I shoot back. This is some kind of prank to get me in a better mood. “Guys, I’m fine. I don’t need a pick-me-up. Though if you want to grab some breadsticks and come over and watch TV, I would be up for that.” There is one person in our community who hasn’t yet had the chance to console me. “Or I can cry a lot and ask Lydia to make us some ziti.”