Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Kinsley
The workday finally ended, and I hopped into my car, typed the address to the apartment into my phone, and found my way to Santa Monica.
As soon as I pulled into a parking space in front of the white buildings, an older woman, whom I presumed was Mrs. Graham, was standing on the sidewalk waiting for me.
“You must be Kinsley.” She smiled as she extended her hand.
“And you must be Mrs. Graham.” I smiled back as I lightly shook it.
“Follow me, dear, and I’ll show you the apartment.”
I was a little surprised when I arrived because I was under the impression it was a traditional apartment building.
But it wasn’t. Two house-styled buildings stood next to one another, each building with black wrought iron stairs going up to the second level and each apartment having its own private entrance.
I followed her up the stairs to apartment 2A, where she unlocked the door and invited me to step inside.
The living room was quite large, with walls painted light gray.
Inside the space sat a dark gray sectional with a round glass coffee table in front of it, a matching glass end table on one side, and an entertainment center with a 55-inch television that sat on top.
The kitchen was on the smaller side with white cabinets, black granite countertops, and a small round table that sat four.
“So, Kinsley, where are you living now?” Mrs. Graham asked as we toured the bedroom.
“A motel.”
“Oh, dear.” She looked at me in confusion.
“I just moved to Los Angeles on Friday. It was an unexpected kind of move. I came out here to start my life over.”
“Are you running from someone or something?” she asked.
“Sort of. This has been a dream of mine since I was a kid. I would have been here a couple of years ago, but then I met my ex-boyfriend, Henry.”
“Ah. So, you pushed it all aside for him.” She smiled.
“Pretty much. I went over to his apartment Friday morning to surprise him for his birthday, and I found him in bed with my best friend, Krista.”
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.” She placed her hand on my arm.
I had no clue why I told Mrs. Graham something so personal. Maybe it was because she reminded me of Mrs. Buckley, and she was very easy to talk to.
“Thank you, but that was the push I needed to leave Indiana and move here finally. I’ve been saving every dime I’ve made since I was sixteen years old for this.”
“Are you looking for work?”
“I have a job. Today was my first day. I’m a temp for Dean Calloway at Calloway Tech. I’ll be working there for at least eight weeks. But I’m still looking for something permanent.”
“So, what do you think about the apartment?” she asked.
“I love it. I think it’s absolutely perfect. How much for the rent?”
“What is your budget?” she asked.
“I really can only afford a thousand dollars a month until I start making more money.”
“What a coincidence.” She smiled. “That’s exactly what the rent is. But you are responsible for all utilities except water.”
“Are you serious? There’s no way this apartment is a thousand dollars a month.”
“It is for you, dear. If you want it, it’s yours.”
“Mrs. Graham. I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much.”
“I’m very selective about whom I rent my apartments to.
I’ve already turned down four people for this place because I felt they weren’t the right fit.
But you, you’re the right fit. My husband passed away a couple of years ago and left me set for the rest of my life.
So, I’m not worried about the money. You need a nice place to live, and I have one available. ” She smiled.
“Thank you.” I hugged her.
“You’re welcome. You can move in tomorrow or even tonight.
I’ll need you to sign the lease, and the keys are yours.
The kitchen has dishes, glasses, silverware, bakeware, and pots and pans.
There are some cleaning products under the cabinet, but not many.
The bathroom is fully stocked with towels and washcloths, and two sets of extra sheets are in the linen closet.
All you have to do is bring in your clothes. ” She smiled.
After signing the lease, I drove to the motel, gathered all my things, and checked out.
I wasn’t spending another night there when I had a beautiful apartment waiting for me.
I dragged my suitcase up the steps, into my apartment, and straight to my room, where I began to hang my clothes in the closet.
When I was finished, I walked over to the window and stared at the ocean view across the street.
A sense of peace filled me. My new life had officially started. I had a car, a job, and a home.
I lay in the bubble-filled tub, taking in the relaxing scent of lavender as I unwound from the long day. For some reason, I was thinking about Chase Calloway, so I grabbed my phone and decided to google him.
“L.A.’s sexiest and most eligible bachelor?” I laughed. Of course, he was.
I scrolled through the pictures of him at parties and bars surrounded by several women.
Women who looked like prostitutes and strippers.
Was I surprised? Not at all. Even though today was my first day, I saw how women looked at him like a dog salivating at a piece of meat.
Chase Calloway was simply nothing but a manwhore—a manwhore whom I would keep my distance from.