“Great,” he said. “You won’t regret this. And you’re really helping me out of a jam. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You’re helping me out too. Now I won’t have to get evicted. So thank you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
“And please give me those exact dates for the Caribbean. I’ll need to get them off work as soon as possible.”
“I’ll get you all the dates you’ll need off.”
“Thanks.”
Satisfied that I was satisfied, he took a step back and eyed the fire escape doubtfully. “Do you mind if I…?”
I cocked my head toward the apartment. “Yeah, why don’t you just use the stairs?”
Chapter 11
The next day, I was supposed to sleep in. I’d stayed up late into the night, staring at the sealed envelope on the table for at least an hour before I’d plucked up the courage to open it. Ten thousand dollars was staring back at me. After resisting the urge to march downstairs and use it to bitch-slap Hamburg across the face, I was seized with the sudden panic that my little roach nest in East Hollywood wasn’t a safe place for ten thousand dollars. I spent the rest of the night tearing up our apartment, frantically searching for a proper hiding spot until I could get it to my bank, drawing upon several of my favorite movies for inspiration. In the end (and after scuffing up several floorboards in my attempt to pry them loose), I ended up just putting it in a sandwich bag and stashing it in the back of the freezer behind some year-old Popsicles. Thank goodness Amanda had spent the night at Barry’s, or she might have thought I’d gone all Howard Hughes on the place. Point being, none of it mattered because I wasn’t scheduled to work so I was supposed to be able to sleep in.
Supposed, being the operative word.
I was jarred awake by a song, screeching at me. It took me a minute to realize it was coming from my phone. The song was Don't Stop the Party by Pitbull.
I bolted up in alarm.
What the fuck?! A party song?
Half-worried it was someone after my sandwich bag, I snatched it up and glanced down at Amanda’s phone number. My eyes narrowed, and I answered as menacingly as I could, considering my voice was thick with interrupted sleep.
“…Hello?”
“Morning, sunshine!”
“Mandi!” I fell back against the pillows with an exasperated sigh. Amanda. Of course. “If you could see my face right now, you would not call me Sunshine.”
She laughed brightly. “Oh, I didn’t wake you, now did I?” I could almost picture her mocking grin.
“You programmed in your own ringtone?” I asked accusingly.
“Yeah, do you like it? It’s about parties—I thought it’d make you laugh.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed my tangled hair out of my face. “Yeah, I got that. Where are you?”
“In the living room. I just came home for a minute to shower and change. And why is the living room a wreck? Did you have a party and not invite me?”
It took a few seconds for this to register. “Wait…what? You’re here? Why are you calling me then?”
My question was answered by a knock on the door as the line went dead. My face darkened like the dead.
Oh, that girl is going to pay for waking me up!
What followed was a rapid attempt to get dressed as the pounding on the door increased with persistent regularity. The sounds were soon echoed by Mrs. Wakowski’s morning Zumba.
“Come in, already!” I said.
“You’ve got a billionaire sitting on the torn and ripped up couch. A billionaire! How do we entertain one of those?” She let out a long chuckle. “And I told you we needed to invest in a couch cover. Maybe you should’ve listened to me.”
“Marcus is here? Now? This early? Shit!”