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Chapter Seven
Holly
Istepped out of the shower in the bathroom of my conservative, yet chic, loft-style apartment. Quickly grabbing the cheetah print wrap that hangs near the shower door, I wrapped up my soaking wet hair and then grabbed a towel to wrap around my body.
Why can’t historic old buildings have decent heating?
I swear, I chose this particular loft in this exact building because of the primo location and the history attached to it, but the heating in this place leaves a bit to be desired. I lost feeling in two of my toes last winter, and it took almost three months to get it back. I thought for sure they were going to turn black and fall off, and what would I do then? None of my shoes would fit anymore, and that would be a damn travesty.
I live in the art district of Carlton. When I moved back from New York, my mother offered up their pool house as an option for possible living accommodations. I considered sleeping in the same bed my mother screwed the pool boy in for all of, um, yeah zero seconds before I rented a hotel room and went in search of the perfect apartment. I mean, I’m sure the sheets and mattress were replaced at some point, but still, the argument remains valid – that’s just nasty.
My internship in New York was paid and included a small studio apartment. Capital P.A.I.D, a rarity in my field of study. Most design internships are experience only - resume builders. Having that extra source of income allowed me to put any additional money I made back into my savings account.
I worked my ass off to score an internship with none other than Ritchi Cavali, world renowned architect and designer. His studio headquarters was located in New York City, a place where, up until that point, I had only dreamt of living.
I knew if I played my cards right, I could complete my internship and apply for the program of studies I was drooling over at the New York Institute of Design. I know at that time, my particular field of study was far more popular and easily accessible overseas, mostly Europe. The New York Institute of Design was the only college in the United States that was offering the course studies I needed to complete my degree.
I had to apply for the program over twenty times before a slot opened and the stars miraculously aligned, allowing me to complete my degree simultaneously with my internship. Don’t get me wrong, it was hell. I survived solely on five-hour energy shots and cheap coffee, but I survived. Now, I’m one of the only females in this part of the country that’s qualified to complete the type of work I specialize in.
I look cute, I’m tiny and petite. My mother loved showing me off as her little Barbie doll when I was a little girl, but I’m no princess. The Adkins, my parents, they have money. They’re pretentious and haughty. Their noses are so far stuck up in the damn air it’s miraculous they can even see to walk. I thank the good Lord above that I was the last ; the forgotten, mostly.
I was able to slip by with the occasional comment here or there and a couple of forced etiquette courses, but my life wasn’t controlled. Not the way they controlled Tilly and tried – and failed – to control Noel. Maybe that’s why they just gave the hell up when they finally got to me.
All of my accomplishments are my own, and I dare someone to say otherwise. I’m a fighter, and I’m sneaky because I’m so damn adorable. You don’t even know I've got you until it’s too late, and I’ve already kicked your ass – hypothetically speaking, of course. I’m not really one for violence…unless it’s in the bedroom.
Now that, well, that’s another story entirely.
I dropped my towel at the foot of my queen-sized bed and picked up a pair of hot pink silk boy shorts. It may be freezing ass cold in here, but I just can’t sleep with clothes touching my body.
Picking the towel back up, I walked back to the bathroom to brush out my hair and blow it out before bed, because kinky hair isn’t as sexy as it sounds like it should be. I will flatten it out in the morning to bring the shine out.
I filled up my glass with water and walked it back out to the nightstand, now sufficiently warmed from the heat of my hair dryer. I glanced down to make sure my cell phone was already plugged up and walked over to the light switch to flip it off for the night.
I’m a night owl, sometimes I work well into the early morning hours. It’s nearly two a.m., and I’m just now sliding into my sheets and cocooning myself under the fifteen blankets I keep on top of my duvet to keep me warm through the night.
Snuggling in as far under the sheets as I could possibly go, I was just closing my eyes when my phone rang and a string of curse words left my mouth, sure it was Noel calling again without checking the time difference. Noel is notorious for calling whenever she damn well pleases, who cares if it’s the middle of the night and my brain was finally going to let me rest. In Noel’s mind, this is her world, and we’re just living in it. She came here like that, but it still doesn’t make me want to whisper sweet nothings to her over the phone when I answer.
I didn’t even bother to duck my head out from under the covers as I reached my hand blindly over to the nightstand and felt around for my cell phone praying, I didn’t accidentally knock my glass of water over in the process.
Success!
Locating my phone, I slid my finger over the screen to answer as I pulled it into my warm igloo.
“Two in the morning. Noel, it is fucking two in the morning. Where are you? Australia? The other side of planet Earth? A time zone so far away that you obviously think it’s mid-day and not the middle of the night? This better be good. If you’re calling to tell me about your newfound love for threesomes or how much Pablo’s abilities in the bedroom have inspired your new novel, well…proceed. I mean, I could totally use a bedtime story now that I think about it. What is it, Noel? And make it good, woman. Good, not weird, turn on your audible voice and let me forget we’re related. Remember that.” I finished my rant, the warm air from my breath only warming my little cocoon even more as I spoke.
“I’m not sure how audible worthy my voice is, but fuck woman, I’ll talk dirty to you while you touch yourself. Are you sleeping naked? Let me guess…boy shorts? I don’t know why but you just seem like the type that sleeps in boy shorts.” I froze as a deep gravelly voice slid through my phone, not at all the voice I was anticipating.
Slowly, without saying a word, I turned my phone around so that I could see the screen. Squinting my eyes to focus as the space in my tiny bubble lit up, I read off a series of numbers that were unfamiliar to me.
I gave myself two deep breaths to consider my current options and then pulled the phone to my ear again.
“Wrong number?” My voice cracked with embarrassment as I squeaked out the words, not at all the witty response I played out in my mind just two seconds before during my two breath deep breathing exercise that apparently failed.
“On the contrary, you’re the exact person I was calling to speak with, but I was expecting a sleepy hello. Maybe a fuck off. But threesomes and sexy bedtime stories? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you took me by surprise, Holly.”
Holly. Oh God, he knows my name?
Client. Client. Client.
