What’s worse, the photo’s attached to a nasty, salacious article about how my rich ass lover finally scraped me off, kicking me to the curb to live in squalor.
I snap the laptop shut before I can read another word. They’re great at their jobs, aren’t they?Scraped,kicked, squalor.It’s really poetic, twisting the knife tighter and tighter into my chest.
Funny thing is, the article’s more believable than the truth. It makes sense that someone like Roger might toss me out on my ass, kicking and screaming. Who would believe I’d give up living like the Queen of Manhattan to go it alone in this dump by choice?
I wonder what something like this will do to Roger. Should I text him to warn him? Would he even care? The city believes him to be a playboy billionaire, so I can’t imagine finding out he shakes off women would be shocking.
No, this won’t hurt his image. But will it hurthim?
I can picture him, reading this trash and getting steamed on my behalf. The thought is almost comforting. Until I realize it’s all in my head.
Roger is trouble, and I’m the idiot who thought this time would be different. I have no one to blame but myself, and whoever fuckface keeps taking these goddamn photos!
“Can things get any worse?” I shout to the popcorn ceiling. Can they? Because I can’t imagine how. I feel bad for thinking it, and wait to see if I get struck by lightning or if the roof breaks open to reveal a biblical flood.
No luck.
When nothing comes to claim me, the shock wears off and the horror sets in. That photo.How?I look around at my windows and hug myself tightly. I feel violated.Again.
I feel watched, I feel stalked, I feel… alone. What I need is some air. In my suite, I could have escaped to the balcony, inhaling the sweet summer air with a drink in my hand. Or at work, I could have ducked down for a moment to stroll through my park.
What do I have here? I think there’s some dog run where tenants take their pets to piss. It’s not real grass or anything, but itlooksgreen. They say if you hang photos of nature in your home you feel better, even if it’s not real.
I’d have to move a fucking jungle in here for that to work. I peek out the window and try to see if there are any cameras pointed my way. There are none that I can see from over here, but I snap the blinds shut just in case.
The blind gets stuck at the top, and as I’m fussing with the string, the double-sided tape holding it in place peels off and it comes crashing down. I scream in a rage and throw it to the floor.
“I’ve got to get out of here!” I hiss and rush to get my coat and purse. I don’t care where I go, but I have to go somewhere. Maybe I can spend what little I have on something nice. A little pick-me-up treat?
There’s a lot nearby that sort of resembles a park. Maybe I could fluster the pigeons enough to reclaim one of the benches. I grab a trash bag to throw in my purse. If I’m lucky enough to snag a bench, it will undoubtedly be covered in bird shit.
No sense making this day worse by ruining my outfit, and some fresh air and carbs could cheer me up. Brandi promised a free Dino meal every day I’m working, so at least I won’t go hungry. I’ll have an ulcer, kidney failure, and a heart attack, but I won’t be hungry!
Rushing out the door, I’m already feeling better about leaving it behind me. But, as I turn to do so, I see a notice stuck to the frame.The building will be undergoing renovations in the coming week, and everybody needs to get out.
Oh, Christ, are they prorating my rent then? That would be a crime. Renovations are great, sure, but I can’t afford them! Not now. Dertainly not on my “Dino Manager” salary.
I rip the note off the door and continue to read.
Oh God. It looks like the building has a new owner, although it’s very cryptic, and makes no mention who that may be. There’s no name or logo or anything, but I have a sinking feeling I know exactly who bought this place.