Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
But why? She refused my numerous requests for a bucket, which forced me to stick my head into a toilet I’d desecrated only minutes earlier, so why act like she cares?
My words trail off when I unearth a cause for her backflip. Baring a handful of necessities, her apartment is bare. I’m not talking a little light with ornaments and knickknacks. I mean bare bare.
“You don’t have a bucket, do you?”
Angel sighs so profoundly that it rattles through my chest as well. “No. While I was attending a funeral, they took everything but the bulky furniture.” Her chest rises and falls three times, mimicking mine. “I doubt it would still be here… if they could have moved it themselves.”
“They?” My interrogation could wait, but the lack of pause between each of her words clears my conscience enough for a bit of prying.
She speaks slowly, as if it hurts to talk. “Mrs. Richler and her”—a half-yawn, half-gag separates her reply—“husband.”
“The building supervisor removed your belongings without your permission while you were attending a funeral?” I thought something was off with Mrs. Richler’s story when she updated me on her efforts to remove the non-paying lodger from the apartment I wanted to purchase, but I would have never suspected this.
Nodding, Angel snuggles deeper into her pillow. “Uh-huh.”
“You know that’s illegal, right?”
Even if Angel hasn’t paid a dime in rent in years, they can’t touch her belongings. Laws that protect occupants are why landlords bring in companies like Jimmy’s. He moves them on in a “legal” manner by making them believe it is their choice to leave.
“Yep.” Angel breathes out slowly before her chest’s subtle rises and falls slacken. “But that can of worms can wait until after karma has finished kicking my ass.”
Within seconds of hugging her pillow, she is out cold.
I scroll to a recent contact I made at Florida’s residency and tenancy agency just as fast.
9
ANGEL
Eventually, everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences.
I should have remembered my father’s favorite saying before executing my ruse. Nothing good comes from an attempt at revenge. I was too angry at another one of Mrs. Richler’s scheming tactics to remove me from the tenant ledger that I took it out on Christian instead of her.
She will get her just desserts. It won’t be in the form of several abdominal cramps, though. I called the reception desk earlier to tell the concierge not to pick up the supplies I repackaged early this morning when Christian only consumed half the dish before racing for the bathroom.
I barely survived a finger lick. I don’t see Mrs. Richler being as lucky. She is as old as dirt and just as flakey, but I don’t want to kill her. Murder won’t look good on my resume. It is barely a step above “Broadway Star.”
I blow a wayward hair off my ashen face before slowly rising to a standing position. I couldn’t garner the strength to make my call out of bed. That’s how exhausted my muscles are from the endless cramps and spasms of the lower half of my body. I struggled to walk to my room.
Thank god Christian accepted the wave of my invisible white flag, or I may have camped out in the tub as he had for the prior four hours.
Remembrance of how he came to my aid early this morning should lower my suspicions when I enter the kitchen and watch him serve an oversized omelet on a paper plate.
When he senses my presence, his eyes drop to my bare legs before they shoot up to my face. I’m showing as much skin as him, but we’ve gone tops for tails. He’s naked from the waist up. Whereas I’m wearing a shirt minus the shorts I lost somewhere between flopping off the toilet and climbing into the bathtub.
“Morning.”
I remind my heart that he’s the enemy before returning his greeting. “Hi.”
As I plop my backside onto one of the stools I salvaged from the skip bin when the apartment beside mine was renovated, I peer out the window to validate his greeting.
The sun is high, but not high enough to correct him. Instead, I act like I’m not mentally packing his bags. “I’m glad you skipped the ‘good’ part of your greeting.”
His laugh is as sexy as his panty-wetting body. “It was a close call.” He places down a takeaway cup of coffee in front of me before winking. “I wouldn’t have issued anything but a grunt if I didn’t have a handful of them in my system.” He nudges his head to a half-consumed coffee next to mine during the “them” part of his statement.
I love coffee. So much so that I almost fall for his trick. Instead, I wait for him to turn his back to me before drizzling a quarter of my coffee into his almost fully consumed one.