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She has no idea because she barely works. She has no ambition other than to meet a rich man and have him take care of her. So far, that’s not working out too well for her.
The last guy kicked her out for reasons unknown—at least to me, which is how I prefer to keep it—and she ended up on my sofa, again, for the second time this year.
“Where’d you get this? It was in my room,” I snap. I don’t mean to be a bitch, but really?
She pulls a throw blanket from the sofa back and wraps herself in it, as if that will protect her from my ire. “I… I was in your bedroom. Looking for clean panties. I found this and figured I’d take a look.”
“And why don’t you have any clean underwear of your own?”
Why did I ask that? Do I really want to know?
She waves her hand at the inconvenience of it all. “Most of my stuff is still over at Charles-Philippe’s place.”
Oh, that guy. The one named after some French king from three hundred years ago.
“Are you gonna get your stuff from him? Or just use mine until we both run out?”
She looks undecided. “I do need to get my stuff. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You know?”
I don’t know how getting your belongings from an ex’s place gives him any satisfaction, aside from emptying out the one drawer he cleared for your crap, but that’s Daisy’s business.
Wrapped in the throw, Daisy heads to the kitchen to pour two glasses of wine.
“Wow. This is good stuff,” I say after I take a sip from the glass she hands me.
She nods. “I know. I took it from Charles-Philippe.”
She took wine when she left but no panties?
“So, are you going to say anything about the manuscript, since you helped yourself to it?” I ask.
She leans forward, one boob popping out of the throw blanket. “All I can say is, girl, that is some hot shit. I mean, if you hadn’t come home, I would have started to, you know… service myself.”
Great. All over my sofa.
“You won’t believe this, Dais, but I found it in my desk at work. I think it was left there by someone no longer with the company. It was stuffed way in the back. I almost missed it.”
“No way. What will you do with it?”
“Well, that’s the challenge.IfI can find out who wrote it, andifI can get them to sell it to us, I might have a chance at saving my job.”
She grimaces. “Oh God, they’re still threatening layoffs?”
I nod and look around my little apartment. It’s not much, but it’s the first place all my own and I’d be lying if I don’t admit I really, really enjoy it. I mean, sure, the streetlights glare into my bedroom window all night long, and the pipes rattle when my neighbor flushes the toilet, but I can deal with that. New York is a great place to be. It’s exciting and there’s always something to do.
The neighbors next door, the ones who have supersonic sex, don’t even bother me anymore, especially after I found the world’s best earplugs.
“I know!” Daisy says, holding up one finger like she’s got a great idea. “Tell themIwrote it. I’ve always wanted to be an author.”
I think for a moment, and even in my desperation I have to admit that’s a terrible idea. “Don’t think we could pull that off, Dais, but thank you for offering.”
God, how bad off am I that I’d actually toy with the idea of having my ne’er-do-well BFF and roomie claim credit for a book when the only thing she’s ever written are Facebook posts?
10
WYATT
“This is not good.Not good at all.” Levi paces through my living room, his stocking feet sliding on my polished concrete floors.
