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Read on for an excerpt from
Walk of Shame
A Love Unexpectedly Novel
by Lauren Layne
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
Five a.m.
Also known as the most heinous hour of the day, am I right? Because if you’re awake to see five a.m., it means one of a few things.
You’re on your way to the airport for an early-morning flight.
Heinous.
It means you’ve been out all night, but last call was more than an hour ago, and now you’re at that oh-shit moment where your buzz is fading and you’re realizing that the rest of your day will likely involve Excedrin, carbs, and indoor voices.
Heinous.
It means you’ve got a crap-ton on your mind, and you’re lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, hating your life. Maybe hating yourself a little bit, I dunno, who am I to judge?
Heinous.
Or…and now brace yourself, because this is the most heinous of them all…
You could be up at five a.m. because you’re an uptight prick whose schedule is even more rigid than your posture, and your life is an endless string of working out, the corner office. You’re the type of person who subsists on protein shakes and kale smoothies and has been known to utter the phrase The body is a temple, thus solidifying what we already knew: you have no friends.
But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.
The point is, it’s almost five a.m. and not only am I still awake, I’m actually kind of…
Excited a
bout it.
I know. I know. Four months ago, I’d have bet my favorite vintage Chanel bag that there was no chance I’d actually look forward to the ghoul hour of five in the morning.
And yet, here we are.
“Good morning, Ramon,” I sing, pushing through the revolving doors of the luxury high-rise on Fifty-sixth and Park.
The concierge/security guard/all-around good guy glances up and gives me a friendly smile. “Ms. Watkins. Welcome home.”
Usually the massive front desk has a bit more going on, with an army of concierges in black suits calling wealthy residents to let them know their impatient guests have arrived; those same residents stopping by the front desk demanding to know why FedEx hasn’t arrived yet. There’s dry cleaning being dropped off, mail being collected, and designer-purse dogs letting out sharp, high-pitched barks of greetings from their Louis Vuitton carriers.
And so on.
