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I poke my head in, thumbing the light switch.
Light’s work.
I lean against the door, closing and bolting it behind me, plopping my bags and keys on the only table.
Puffing some air out of my cheeks as I slip out of my shoes, re-reading the eviction order.
I’ve got seven days, so I’m assuming I can come and go until then.
Hell, Kris, a week to find a place is better than no notice at all. And it’s not like you couldn’t see this coming.
“I know. I know,” I groan aloud, answering my own thoughts, “It’s just so….”
Inconvenient?
“Yes! That’s exactly what it is. And nothing, a hot shower and something to eat won’t fix either,” I tell myself.
I almost wish I was someone else who didn’t have to deal with this on top of just meeting and being torn away from the most amazing man on the planet.
My need for hot water isn’t just a comfort thing. I’m soaked to the bone, and my teeth are chattering with cold.
I’m praying I have a dry uniform ready for tomorrow. Already leapfrogging my own current worry, hoping maybe the next one I have to deal with won’t be so bad.
But a few mouthfuls of desperately needed food and a hot shower later, once I’m in my comfy at-home clothes again, I feel like I might just get through this somehow.
Finding a clean and dry uniform for tomorrow, I feel better already and figure the best thing to do with my landlord's problem is to just go talk to him.
“First thing in the morning,” I yawn, feeling the pull of my sofa bed.
Curling up under the covers, I hear the rain outside on the windows whipping itself up into a proper storm. I’m glad I’m not out in it now.
Not yet, anyway.
Oh, Ethan. If only we could’ve had another hour together….who knows where we’d be right now?
It’s a stupid thought, but the only one that stops me from bawling again.
And with Ethan at the front of my mind, I fall asleep almost instantly.
A little smile on my lips.
The half-asleep and dreaming part of me already believes that this isn’t over yet, things will get better.
That Ethan was dead serious when he said he’s ‘got me.’
Oh, you’ve got me, Ethan. Just hurry up and come get me for real.
CHAPTER SIX
Ethan
Okay, so walking away from the table that’s just won me two million dollars?
Probably the coolest looking but the dumbest thing I’ve done in a while.
Especially because I know, I just fucking know that Levinson will try to get out of paying up.
And there’s no way he was ever gonna have Krissy brought back to me.
But it’s Krissy I’m thinking about. She’s the reason for everything now, and I’m kicking my ego because of it.
You should’ve just gone right after her. Fuck Levinson and his money.
But I also figure she couldn’t have gone too far yet, either.
So, striding past the other hostesses and the two remaining suckers in the Pearl Room who stare at me mindlessly as I leave, I decide the best place to start looking for Krissy is right here in the building.
I take the elevator down to the foyer, asking reception where I might find an employee with Krissy’s name and description.
“Sir, we have over eight hundred employees. If you need to find someone you know that works here, try calling them,” is the reply.
But one of the eight hundred happens to pass by and overhears me.
“You mean Krissy from slots?” he asks me.
“I guess I do,” I shrug. Figuring there can’t be too many Krissy’s working in one place, surely?
“She’s gone home,” is all the guy says, returning my shrug and not helping me after all.
I mean, it’s good in one way that staff doesn’t just volunteer information about other staff…but Jesus Christ.
I need to find Krissy and kinda fast.
Slots it is, then.
Minutes later, I’m trying to find out where Krissy went.
Almost having to shout over the thunder of coins being emptied into hoppers, the maddening digitized sounds of a thousand slot machines in the background.
I can see why people who can afford it gamble someplace a little quieter. But I need to know where she went, and this is where she works, apparently.
Not for much longer if I have a say in it.
“I just need to speak with Krissy,” I say again through the thick security screen of the change booth.
The calm but obviously very busy supervisor looks surprised.
But not because I’m asking after someone.
“Krissy?” she asks, giving a strange look before scanning me head to toe.
“You mean Krissy Reynolds? Are you her…dad or something?” she asks. Closing a hopper door and setting a timed alarm.
Hearing someone say that, thinking I’m her dad.
It cuts me to the quick.
When I see Krissy, I don’t feel forty fucking three. I feel invincible.
And I don’t see her as either a kid or a girl.
