Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Monroe elbows me.
“Every time I so much as moved, she told me to sit still. If I started to talk, she shooshed me. No music. No using my phone. It was the worst kind of torture, and I was ready to quit, go to jail … whatever. But then I found an envelope with this check in it, shoved into my shoe by the door when I went to leave.”
After he cuts his pizza, he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Is that for one week?”
“I think so.”
“Eight-hour days?”
I shake my head. “Closer to ten.”
“Do you get paid during your lunch hour?”
I shrug. “Lunch hour? I don’t take lunch. We eat lunch, but I eat with her. There is no time clock. I don’t know who’s tracking my hours. I’m just following orders so I don’t go to jail.”
“Well, fuck you, Flynn. You steal some rich dude’s car, and he hires you to take a nap beside his wife to the sum of a hundred bucks an hour. That’s what you’re getting paid to be a dumb-ass muse! You’re moving out.”
“Because I lucked out?” I laugh.
“Because you’re making six figures.”
I collapse onto the sofa and stare at the check. “This is not six figures. It’s four.”
“It will be six if you work for them for like … six months. Probably less. And my weekly paycheck is three figures. And I’m paying sixty percent of the rent. You’re only paying forty.” He sits in the recliner with his pizza.
“You get the bedroom and closet. I have the sofa and an old chest. That’s why I’m paying forty.”
“Flynn,” he mumbles, carefully chewing the hot pizza, “you’re holding a check for five grand. You can afford your own apartment. You can afford your own fucking house.”
I twist my lips, nodding slowly. “True. But I don’t have job security. Hell, for all I know, this is my first and last check from them.”
“You gotta go. Naomi is itching for a ring. It’s time.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “Give me a bit to figure something else out. I floated the idea of living with them, but Mrs. Rawlings ignored me. Granted, she wasn’t having the best morning, but …”
“I don’t think they’re going to pay you this kind of money and let you live with them. That check isn’t a living wage, it’s a thriving wage. Hell, in our corner of the world, it’s rent plus a little FU money.”
I internally laugh at his FU money reference after hearing Rupert’s speech.
“I’m talking two-ply toilet paper and fancy coffee drinks every morning,” Monroe continues. “You can have literally any streaming service your heart desires. NFL ticket? Don’t even give it a second thought. Boom! It’s yours.”
I shake my head and chuckle. “I might even start taking my own bags to the grocery store.”
“Put money in the red bucket at Christmas,” he says.
“Tell people to keep the change.” I lace my fingers behind my head. Sure, we joke. But I really don’t know what this check means or if I’ll see another. In fact, having this money is already making me uneasy. I hate how it’s giving me an unexpected high, which feels like the first step to being out of touch with the morals I swore I’d never compromise.
The next morning, I sleep in until my roommates wake me with their extracurricular activities. It’s Saturday, my day off, so I don’t have to rush my shower. In fact, I use some of Naomi’s fancy bath gel to shave my face to match the rest of my cool, rich man’s vibe. Then I head straight to the bank to cash the check before Rupert changes his mind. I still don’t want to be wealthy, but I’m okay with not being dirt poor for a few seconds.
With two fancy coffees stacked on top of each other, I ring the buzzer to June’s building.
“Yeah?” her roommate answers.
“It’s Flynn,” I say.
“Juju’s at work. Sorry.”
My momentum for the day dies, even though the “Juju” part makes me smile. “When will she be back?”
“I’m not sure. She had a few errands to run after work, so it depends on how long it takes to get a ride.”
“K,” I mumble before heading back to my car, realizing what must be done. Time to shop.
After four stops, a few negotiations that turn into arguments, and a little frustration, I get what I need. Then I head back to June’s apartment and hit the buzzer. No one answers this time, so I wait on the bench across the street in front of the gallery.
I wait over two hours.
Could I text her? Of course. But I want this to be a total surprise.
When she steps out of the black SUV and heads to her door with her arms full of grocery bags, I jog across the street.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” I say.