Chapter 19 #2
Camille pauses and I study her getting lost in her train of thought. I have half a mind to ask if she has a thing for Archer, but I don't imagine that will help my chances of securing her apartment. Instead, I let her simmer in her daydream and wait for her to return.
She blinks and her eyes meet mine. "You two would make a cute couple."
Her statement catches me so off guard I nearly choke on my coffee. I wipe my mouth and nervously chuckle.
"He seems to like you," Camille says.
"I'd say like is a massive overstatement. Archer tolerates me."
"How long have you two been hooking up?"
I almost lose it again but maintain my composure. Camille is nothing if not direct and I sort of love that about her. There's no beating around the bush, no leaving any thought unsaid. "We aren't hooking up," I confess, although it's not entirely the truth.
Archer and I have fooled around, but it was in a heated moment of frustration. It didn't mean anything. Not to him. Not to me. If anything, it was a careless mistake that shouldn't happen again. It would only complicate an already complicated situation.
Camille's eyebrows rise ever so slightly. "Could have fooled me. The tension between you two is palpable."
I nervously sip my coffee and beg my mind to settle on anything other than the feeling of Archer's hands on my body, his mouth on mine, his tattooed fingers buried inside of me, hitting me in all the right spots like he has a secret blueprint of my body.
"Sorry, I'm being nosy." Camille puts her hands up.
"That's your business. We're here to talk about the apartment.
So, it's a two-bedroom, eighteen-hundred-square-foot space.
You'd get access to the on-site gym and an assigned parking space downstairs.
I'm fairly certain I'll be gone for two years but guaranteed for a year.
It's four thousand a month, which is a steal because the other units rent for closer to ten grand.
My dad pulled some strings, that's why I want to sublease it to keep the contract in place.
Otherwise, it would bump up to the full price. Hmm, what else?"
I take in all the information, skipping over the parking garage where Archer explored my body, and get caught on the four thousand dollars a month.
The old me wouldn't have even blinked an eye, but considering I'm down to a little over a thousand and I don't have any money coming in, the realization that I might be too broke to live on my own hits me.
When have I ever given up that easily, though?
"It all sounds so amazing," I tell her.
She reaches across the table and places her hand on mine, giving it a gentle but firm squeeze. "I think we should do this, what do you say?"
My eyes light up, unable to conceal my excitement. "Are you serious?"
"One hundred percent." Her phone buzzes on the table and she glances down at it, her arm gliding across the table to swipe the screen open.
"Go figure, I have to run. Duty calls." She stands without taking her eyes off her phone, rapidly typing something and practically slamming the send button.
"We'll be in touch, okay?" She focuses on me, reaching out to give me a brisk hug.
"Of course. Thank you, Camille. I appreciate this more than you know. I promise you made the right decision."
"I feel good about it." Camille touches my shoulder before turning on her heel and bolting out of the coffee shop, leaving me and our coffees behind.
I settle back into the seat, the gravity of things pulling me down. On the one hand, this is great news—in a few short weeks I'll have a place of my own—but on the other, I have no idea how I'm going to pay for it.
Four thousand dollars a month is forty-eight thousand a year. I'll have to find something that brings that in at the very least, otherwise, I'll have no money to pay for anything else.
Resentment builds at having left everything behind because of my father. If I had access to any of my accounts, or hell, any of his, none of this would be a problem. I'd have the funds to cover rent for years and years to come.
The fact that I had to endure a lifetime of his wrath and ended up with nothing other than the scars is enough to make me want to bring him back from the dead just to inflict a little pain on him for a change.
But I wouldn't risk it, even if it were possible, because that man would claw his way into the living and make damn sure I was punished for his demise.
I study the customers that come and go, sipping the coffee Camille bought me.
Workers move gracefully behind the counter, taking orders, fulfilling them, and communicating well despite the unpredictable rush that comes and goes.
A bit farther away, a giant window gives us access to the kitchen area where a woman with tightly curled hair darts from one end to the other, a bowl in one hand and a measuring cup in the other.
She stops in front of the counter, dumps the cup into the bowl, and frantically looks around, latching onto a wooden spoon near her, her expression softening but only subtly.
Leaving both mugs of coffee on the table, I move closer to the register, waiting in line patiently but keeping my sights on the glass. Once I'm at the front, the cashier smiles politely at me.
"Another vanilla latte?" she asks.
I point in the direction of the kitchen. "Does she need help?"
The cashier stares at me blankly. "What?"
"The woman in the kitchen. Does she need help?"
"Oh." She glances over her shoulder at the lady darting around the kitchen. "Actually, yeah, probably. Do you have baking experience?"
"Yes," I blurt out without giving it any thought. I've baked before, that counts as experience, right?
"Sasha, take over for a second," the cashier tells another worker. "Come here," she says to me.
I follow her over and she taps on the door before opening it. "Andrea, do you have a minute?"
The woman stops in her tracks, flour on her face and her hair bouncing on her brow. She blows it out of the way. "Not really. What's up?"
"London was inquiring about a job."
Andrea gives me that same blank look that the cashier had just moments prior. "Seriously?"
"I'm sorry," I speak up. "I saw you through the window. You looked like you needed help."
"Can you follow directions?" Andrea asks me from her spot still standing there.
"As long as a man isn't the one giving them."
Andrea cracks a smile. "Men don't do directions."
"Then I don't see the problem."
She slides her gaze to the casts on my body.
"Don't worry, I can keep up," I reassure.
"How much longer until they're off?"
"Hopefully only a few more days." The whole point of today was to leave and find something sharp enough to cut them off, and here I am, committed to an apartment and trying to get a job.
"When can you start?"
"Immediately," I tell her.
"The pay is twenty-two an hour. The hours are shit. Wash your hands and come on."
The cashier gently taps my back and says, "Good luck," before returning to her post near the register.
I stifle the smile that creeps across my face and comply, going over to the sink to wash my hands.
Getting a job and an apartment in one fell swoop is pretty awesome, but it will be nothing compared to the satisfaction of proving Archer wrong.