Chapter 2
ISABELLA
“Idon’t know. He seems sketchy. I’d be careful with him,” Becky, my friend and coworker says as we walk towards my office.
I’ve known Becky since I first started here, which was less than a year ago. I got signed with this publishing house after I got attention for my books online. This publishing house is known for taking in a lot of indie authors and somehow I got noticed for my mystery thriller books.
If it wasn’t for them, I probably wouldn’t have been able to move to New York or survive here.
I make a pretty okay income here as a top writer but not enough for me to drive a nice car or be super rich.
Becky is also a writer and she loves writing romance books, mostly dark romance since that’s her thing. I’ve read a few of her books and they are pretty good.
“He is just super quiet. That’s really the only sketchy thing about him. Along with the price I’m paying for such a nice sky rise apartment.”
“Do you have a picture of him?”
“Yea, I did my digging before I met up with him. I wanted to make sure that he’s not a serial killer or a drug dealer.”
“Ooo, let me see,” Becky says as we walk into my office.
I pull up the picture I found of Slade and turn the phone to show her.
She grabs it. “He looks like he will kill you in your sleep. Don’t know if I’m jealous of you or scared for you.”
“He’s quiet but I mean I don’t mind. At least I’ll get a lot of work done.” I take the phone back from her and set it on my desk.
“Well, call me if you ever need to escape. We can have a girls night and I can kick my boyfriend out.”
I smile at her. “I’ll take you up on that one of these days. He doesn’t like people coming over, so I guess no more sleepovers.”
“It’s fine.” Becky shrugs
“But I can’t believe I got so lucky with this place.”
“Have you slept over yet or officially moved in?” Becky asks.
“Yesterday was my first night. He wasn’t there when I was moving in, only when he gave me a key. That’s the last time I saw him. I didn’t hear him come in last night, and when I left this morning, I didn’t see his keys or any sign that he’d come home.”
“Maybe he is a serial killer. Watch out, Isabella.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. He just keeps to himself is all.” I turn my computer on. “I would love to continue chatting with you but I have a book to write and our lunch ended like ten minutes ago. I know Bentley will be wondering why we're here talking rather than typing.”
“Okay, I’ll leave you alone.” She stands up with her bag. “Drinks after work?” she asks, as if I’m twenty-one.
I have less than a month until I turn twenty-on, but she is getting impatient.
“I wish, but I still have to unpack. Next time.”
Becky smiles at me before leaving, and I look at my computer, at the last words I typed.
This current book I’m working on is about a serial killer who is targeting a human trafficking organization, and the traffickers end up kidnapping the love of his life.
I don’t usually write romances, but Bentley, the head of Bentley Publishing House, decided he wanted me to challenge myself and have me try something I don’t usually write, which is romance. He favors romance books over all other genres.
I mean who doesn’t?
I love reading romance, but writing it is hard since I’ve never experienced my own romance before.
I don’t know what it’s like to fall in love or be in a relationship. The closest thing I had to a relationship was a talking stage over Snapchat that lasted two weeks.
I usually stick to myself and focus on my work because relationships make you think too much.
I spend the next four hours just writing, taking some breaks to either talk to other people on the floor, chat with Becky, or go on Instagram.
The day passes pretty quickly, and when it hits five-thirty, I start packing up my things and leave.
It’s only a fifteen-minute walk to the apartment, which is very convenient. The last place I was living was an hour walk so I usually had to take the subway to make it to work on time.
I never liked taking the subway.
A lot of weird people coming and going in the subways.
When I walk inside, the apartment is empty, not that I’m really surprised.
I lock the door behind me and go to my room.
I still have some boxes of clothes that I need to unpack.
My bed and dresser are here. I got some professional movers to help me.
I would have asked Slade, but he wasn’t around.
I also have my bookshelf with all of my books and other people's books. My big bookshelf is at Grams’ house since she let me turn one of her spare rooms into an office/library.
I love writing at Grams’ house. It’s where I feel most comfortable writing and I enjoy being surrounded by books.
I change out of my work clothes and get into sweatpants and a tank top.
Slade showed me how to use the TV, but I don’t feel comfortable enough to sit in the living room. He just has everything so neat and clean.
Even the couch is perfectly made with the blanket folded and the pillows fluffed.
After unpacking my clothes, I go into the living room and look at what he has on his bookshelf.
He has a lot of books from authors I know. Most of them are thrillers, dystopias, and biographies, or about criminal psychology.
He has an interesting selection of books, and it makes me wonder what he does for work.
Especially with how he can afford an apartment like this.
It’s around 11 p.m. when a yawn comes out and Slade still isn’t home.
I mean I don’t think I should complain, but I wish I was able to at least see Slade once and a while since he does live here.
I don’t want him to think just because he has a roommate, he can’t be comfortable in his own home anymore.
Maybe he doesn’t like me.
I try to not think much about it as I fall asleep.