I stare out the window of the Blue Moon Café at the billboard with Dad's face plastered across it. Forget the plunger. Call Bob's Plumbing Services. 100% Satisfaction guaranteed. At least it's better than the billboard on the highway. Dad went all out for that one. I practically bludgeoned my own eyes out when I saw it. Dad posing on the toilet with his pants pulled down around his ankles, hairy legs on full display, gripping the newspaper with his mouth and eyes wide open in shock. Got a clog? Call Bob's Plumbing Services today!

I sink lower into the lime green armchair, behind the cover of my laptop, oversized cinnamon roll drowned in icing, and piping hot salted caramel latte. I punch at my keyboard, sending off another job application. It's my sixth one this afternoon, and probably my hundredth this month alone. Well...that's an exaggeration. But it's been a lot and I haven't heard anything back yet. I even checked if my computer was working right. If I was connected to Wi-Fi...

I peel a layer from my cinnamon roll and manage to fit the whole thing inside my mouth. It's not that I'm embarrassed about what Dad does or even that I don't want to work for him. I've worked for him in the past as a teenager, and I'll work for him again if this job search doesn't pan out. I'm fortunate, period, to have him offer me work in the first place. His business is wildly successful. It's what allows me to be able to live at home. It put me through college and funded my journalism degree.

Though if I knew how useless that degree would turn out to be in an economy like this, I would've studied engineering or computer science or... Oh, who am I kidding? I can't even remember my times tables and I use a calculator for any sum above ten.

My shoulders slump as I scroll through more job listings. I've put in for most of them in my area already. It seems like if you're going to make it in journalism, you need connections, and I don't have any of those unless my dad unclogged their toilet.

I wash the cinnamon roll down with a gulp of my latte and click out of the browser, opening my half-finished manuscript instead. This is what I really want to do. Write books for a living. Work from home doing what I love. Occasionally go on tour. Travel and dream up new story ideas. This book I'm working on now is a romance, and the hero may or may not be inspired by someone I know.

My fingers hover above the keyboard, my mind somewhere else. That dream. It'd felt so real. I woke up with the feeling of Nolan's lips on mine, the remnants of pain stinging my shoulder from where he drove his teeth into the skin. I start typing, hoping to recreate the scene to the best of my memory. I peek behind me, double checking no one can see my screen and read all the naughty things I'm about to write. But there's only two other people here today and they're completely absorbed in their own laptop screens that they don't even notice me staring at them. My fingers pick up their pace as I fall into a rhythm. An hour sails by, and then another. Before I know it, I've written three new chapters.

I lean back, blinking at the screen, and finish my cold latte. I'm in the middle of rereading what I wrote when the bell above the door chimes. Oh, my God.

It's Nolan.

I remain extremely still as he breezes past me and orders his drink at the counter. A cappuccino with almond milk. He's dressed in an expensive suit, his dark waves brushed sexily across his brow. His cologne is intoxicatingly delicious. I breathe him in, trying to memorize the scent. I wonder if I can find out which one it is. Order it online and spritz it onto my pillow later.

It's 3pm.

I wonder if he's taking a late lunch or if he's already finished with work. He's an investment banker at Goldman Sachs, and he earns a shit ton of money. Or at least I assume. I've been all over his LinkedIn page. And he has to be rolling in it to purchase a seven bedroom, six bathroom home in Savannah's Historic District before the age of thirty. But then again, it's easy for people like him. He comes from money. From what I've read about the Adlers online, they're a very affluent family. Attractive, too.

Another reason I'm sure I'm not his type. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging on the wall and squint at my flat brown hair, watery blue eyes, and round cheeks. He goes for women who are equally attractive and successful. Lawyers. Doctors. Instagram models and influencers. Not someone mousy and insecure like me who can't find a job on her own and still lives at home with her parents.

It's why I don't bother saying hello, why I hide behind my laptop as he strides to the parking lot with his cappuccino in hand. I breathe a sigh of relief once he's gone. Then I carry my empty plate to the counter. "Hey, are you hiring?" I ask the barista hopefully.

The barista shakes her head. "Sorry."

Figures. I put on a friendly smile and shrug. "Just thought I'd ask."

The sound of shouting draws me to the front window. I peer out the glass, raising my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. Nolan is standing beside his black Porsche, gesturing angrily at someone I can't see. My heart jumps into my throat as I load my laptop into my bag and jog out the door. The bell rings overhead and I gasp, dropping behind my car as the shouting momentarily pauses. My pulse is still hammering in my ears as I crane my neck, spying on Nolan through my window.

He's with a woman I don't recognize. Is she his girlfriend? She's not at all what I expected. Her hair is dyed two different colors. One side is electric blue, the other side is cotton candy pink. Her face is covered in piercings and there's a tattoo of a skull wrapped around her neck.

I strain my ears, trying to hear them, but I'm too far away. As carefully and quietly as possible, I maneuver around the back of the car and crouch behind the minivan parked beside me. I sink low, kneeling, the warm asphalt biting through my jeans. I swing my head down, so that I have a clear view of the woman's combat boots next to Nolan's pricey Italian leather shoes. My gaze moves upwards. Nolan jabs a finger into her chest and she furrows her brow, stumbling back. "This is the last time I'm going to tell you," he growls through clenched teeth. "Stop following me!"

"Nolan, wait!" the woman shouts as he climbs into his car and the engine purrs dangerously. She pounds a fist on his window and throws her purse at the car door. "Godammit, Nolan! Don't you run away from me!"

The Porsche tears out of the parking lot. The woman groans, stomping in place and wrestling furiously with her purse before chasing after him down the street. What the hell was that about? I push to my feet, dusting myself off, and go to the spot where the two were just arguing. There's a black wallet on the ground. I pick it up and check the ID. Emily Hayes. That's her. She must've dropped it. "Hey, wait!" I shout, rushing down the sidewalk. "You forgot your wallet!"

She doesn't hear me. There are too many people coming in and out of the boutiques and eateries that line the street. Too many tourists. "Emily!" I shout louder, waving the wallet at her when she turns around to look at me. I'm relieved that I've finally caught her attention. But there's something strange about the way she's looking at me. As if her eyes have suddenly gone vacant.

I don't notice the blood until I reach her. It pours from her throat in torrents, soaking into her black dress, the skull tattoo split, so that the jaw hangs open. Unhinged. I cover my mouth as Emily lurches toward me. I barely have time to catch her before she collapses, a spray of blood splashing across my face. I wince, surprised, the shock causing my legs to give out.

There are people gathering around us. People screaming. There's so much blood. I've never seen so much blood in my entire life. I didn't even know we had that much blood. I don't know why I'm shaking her, why I think that's going to bring her back or wake her up again, but it's like my arms have a mind of their own. My mouth, too, as I rasp hoarsely, "You're going to be okay. You're going to be okay." I'm still saying it as the ambulance arrives. The blood stopped flowing five minutes ago. I hold my breath as the EMTs surround us and police sirens sound in the distance. "You're going to be okay."

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Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to vote and comment! I'd love to know what you think :)

The next chapter is coming soon!

Liv xo