Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
As I got older, I naturally gravitated toward electronics, and it turns out I’m very good at it. So, when I picked IT as a specialty, my father was proud. He’s never once tried to sway me into going down the same route as him, but I really enjoyed it and the mystery behind figuring out the unknown. I dabbled in other things, even picking up a camera and pencil for a while to see if I was any good at design like my mother. But I didn’t have a knack for it in the same way that she does.
Most of the gigs I accept are above board, though I enjoy dabbling in tasks that not just anyone can complete. I’ve seen some shit and been a part of illegal activities from a distance. I always safeguard my identity and dealings in case anything goes astray. Anything is possible with a laptop or phone. But I always tread on the edge of caution and siphon my earnings from those jobs into an untraceable account. Who knows, I might use the money on a rainy day, or it might just sit there. I have everything I want, and my mainstream gigs pay for my lavish lifestyle and love for traveling. I come and go as I please, free as a bird.
Most of my friends are aware of my talents and know it’s forbidden to let their parents or mine know of their extent. I’m just not entirely sure if that’s the avenue I want to go down, and I know the moment my father finds out, he’ll act like a big old Labrador, probably wanting to work together as a father-daughter bonding experience. I love my dad, but I leave his overbearing nature to be directed at my mother, who seems to love it. And she’s not afraid to put him in his place when he gets to be too much.
“Are you sure all of these clothes are mine?” Billie yells from her room. I can’t help but laugh as I untuck my legs from underneath my ass where I’m sitting at my desk, messing around on my computer after finishing up a work project. My current employer gave me a ten-hour window to complete the task, and I finished it within the first hour, but I won’t make it live just yet. They’ve had three IT specialists fail at their expectations, so I’ll wait a while before I upload it.
My room’s covered in potted plants—some of them dying, some of them alive. There’s a pile of clothes in the corner and wrappers on my computer desk in front of the three screens that give me an exterior view of the apartment complex. I never lift the blinds to look outside.
I head over to Billie’s room and find her sitting on the floor, a pile of clothes scattered around her. I pick them up and compare them to my frame. “Well, not even my left tit will fit in half of these, so yeah, boo, they’re yours.”
“Gah, why do I have so many clothes? You did this.” She points a coat hanger at me. I chuckle because I’ve definitely been known to be a bad influence when it comes to retail therapy, but as women, we’re naturally an accessory that can be glammed up in any way we want. Why wouldn’t we want to style ourselves differently every day?
I sit on the floor with her. Multiple boxes surround her room, and the curtains are wide open, forcing my eyes to adjust to the lighting. We sit there in silence, taking in the chaos.
“I’m going to miss you,” I say glumly.
“I’m not dying,” she says, but it’s a reminder that she had almost died once. I’d just returned from Ibiza when she was kidnapped, and she hasn’t spoken to me much about it. I’d never felt so useless as a friend. I’d had no idea, and it was Hawke who contacted me to track down Ford when he realized something was amiss. It was a reminder that in this world we were born into, even if not fully associated with it, we’re at risk.
“I’ll still come around for movie nights,” she says, laying her head on my shoulder.
“You better; we have a lifetime of popcorn in the cupboard,” I joke as I rest my head against hers. We’ve been thick as thieves since we were kids. We went to college together and moved back to Manhattan together. It feels like Billie’s getting her shit together, and here I am, almost twenty-five, and all I’ve really done is party. I haven’t had to work especially hard for my lifestyle, and I haven’t had to prove myself in any way like Billie and Hope. But that doesn’t make me feel any less… lost. Shouldn’t I have found some grand purpose by now?