Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 32776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
The cops…
The footsteps sounded again, and then Marie’s doorbell rang once more—somehow even louder this time.
“You better not tell them I’m here.” I rushed to her makeshift closet and pulled the curtain shut.
Marie sighed and walked to the door.
Looking as nervous as I felt, she took a deep breath.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“The police.”
She gasped.
“I’m not here!” I whispered harshly. “I. Am. Not. Here.”
“Stop fucking around, Marie!” A deep and familiar voice laughed. “Open the damn door.”
She obliged and came face-to-face with her boyfriend, Simon.
“Why does it look like you’ve just seen a ghost?” He smiled at her. “I thought you liked being surprised with random flowers.”
“I do.”
“Good.” He kissed her forehead. “Has Chloe been released yet?”
“For now, yeah…”
“Ugh. Get inside and shut the door, Simon!” I stepped out. “The feds might be listening.”
He looked between us, placed the flowers in Marie’s hand, and pressed a kiss on her lips.
“Call me when you’re both sane,” he said. “I don’t want to know anything about it.”
He left before she could say another word, and Marie pointed to her table.
“Get to checking the commissary items, so I’ll know what you like and don’t like.”
“You’re not being serious.”
“What would you tell me if this situation was reversed?”
I walked over to the table and took a seat. “I need a better pen…”
Sometime around midnight
My heart couldn’t stop pounding in my chest, and my mind spun “what if” stories faster than I could process them.
Unable to sleep, I was pacing my bedroom in hopes of forcing myself into exhaustion.
With every step, I realized that the dimensions of my upcoming prison cell might actually be an upgrade from my bedroom.
As I considered just how long it would take me to create a shank out of toilet paper, my phone buzzed with a text.
Unknown Number
Miss Sterling, this is Christy Holmes from Hudson International.
My apologies for texting you so late, but I wanted to let you know that the bank transfer was complete.
You can log into your new account with the card you were given.
Gasping, I grabbed the card and followed the log-in directions before flopping onto my bed.
The screen served me a short flashy video of the sun setting over Manhattan, and then my name appeared.
Then came my balance.
1,400,000.00
I stared at the number in complete disbelief.
Mr. Hudson had added an additional four hundred thousand with a deposit note.
I would’ve paid you five million…
THE AGENT
CHLOE
Hours later
Inever want to wake up from this life…
I was stretched out in a first-class seat on a flight to Hawaii while my friends and family laughed a few rows away, champagne flowing like I actually belonged in this tax bracket.
“Another mimosa, Miss?” The flight attendant held out a tray of sparkling flute glasses.
“Yes, please.”
“Someone is calling your phone.” She pointed at my lap. “Want to get that?”
“There’s no way I’m getting service at this altitude.”
“Answer it.” She smiled and served me an hors d’oeuvre.
“Okay.” I shrugged and held the phone up to my ear.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hello, Miss Sterling.” Mr. Hudson’s deep voice instantly ripped the first-class cabin away from me. “Where the hell are you?”
“I’m in bed.”
“Well, I’m not,” he said. “I haven’t been in bed since two this morning.”
“Oh, well, sorry…” I wasn’t sure why he was telling me that. “Are you having problems sleeping or something?”
“The resident leaders who don’t want to let me buy The Holden are hosting an early meeting at a Sweet Seasons café in Brooklyn.” His voice was terse. “That’s where you’re supposed to be, correct?”
“I…Maybe.” I paused. “But you just hired me yesterday.”
“Which means you start today.”
“Uh…no, it means—”
“Do I need to withdraw the payment?”
“No, no.” I flipped off the covers. “I’ll get there.”
“Good.”
“Um, by chance, would you know which Sweet Seasons café? There are like six in Brooklyn, so—”
He hung up in my face.
I stared at the phone for a full five seconds before groaning into my pillow.
Then I rolled out of bed and checked my bank account.
More than worth it, Chloe. More than worth it.
Changing into an olive-colored dress and heels, I made a few calls to locate the meeting.
Then I headed downstairs and to the subway, wondering how long it would take before I regretted every single penny from my new job.
THE CEO
DANTE
The words “New Yorkers Hate Dante Hudson” hung on a sparkling red banner inside the café.
From my car, I could see the same fifteen community leaders who seemed determined to block me every chance they could.
I refused to admit it, but I could stomach what they wrote about me online and wave off the nonsense they posted in my buildings’ lobbies. Seeing their hatred in person, though, made my blood boil in a way I couldn’t explain.
They’d cast me as a villain in every chapter of their story, and no matter how many times I tried to show that we actually shared a few common ideals, they refused to adjust my character.