Annihilate Me (Vol. 1) (The Annihilate Me Series) (5 page)

“You’ve
got the experience.
 
Lord knows
you’ve got the looks.
 
I think after
your feet are better, your best marketing campaign is going to be your
appearance in person.
 
You present
well.
 
In this profession, your
looks will matter to them.
 
That,
and your ability to serve their clients.
 
This line of work will be profitable for you, and it’s a good option
until you find what you’re looking for.”

To
my surprise, when Lisa said that, it wasn’t a job that flashed before her eyes,
but Alex’s face.

CHA
PTER SIX

In
the morning, after an overnight treatment of antibiotic ointments that Lisa
bought for me at the pharmacy down the street, my feet looked better.
 
Much better, which was a relief.
 
The blisters were still in full bloody
bloom and they looked like a horror show, but the swelling was way down, and
that meant that any infection was in check.

So,
no hospitals for me.
 
I couldn’t
afford to visit one anyway, and I also couldn’t afford to lose time.
 
I needed to get up, make a pot of coffee
for each of us, and give Lisa a hug for helping to apply the ointment and wrap
my foot with gauze.
 
Then, I needed
to start searching the Web for the best restaurants in the city.
 
I certainly wasn’t going to shuck food
at something like Tubby’s Diner.
 
I
needed a top restaurant where I could pull in enough cash to replenish my
anemic bank account, which now had the distinct whiff of the pathetic.

And
I was willing to work my ass off for that.

If
I was going to survive in this city—and not go home, where my parents
would either ridicule or reject me—I needed money.
 
Quick money, as in tip money.
 
If I could get into the best place
possible, I knew things would turn around for me because it would give me a
chance to find the job I wanted during the day.
 
It wouldn’t be easy, but it sure as hell
would keep me here, which is where I wanted to stay.
 

And thank you again, Lisa, for the
idea.

I
wanted to treat her.
 
I slid out of
bed and stepped quietly into the kitchen.
 
My feet hurt like hell, but not as bad as they had yesterday.
 
I found her sleeping on the pullout, and
I felt guilty about it.
 
Here she
was making the most money between us, and she didn’t have the bedroom.
 
Looking at her sleeping, her blonde hair
swept like a net across her pretty face, I decided that I’d give her the
bedroom.
 
She deserved it.
 
When we first arrived in Manhattan, she
just assumed that I was the one who’d get the well-paying job, and that she’d
hope for the best with her book.

“You
take the bedroom,” she had said.
 
“I
don’t know how this book will do.
 
You’ll be making more money than me in no time.
 
It’s only fair.”

Only,
that wasn’t the case now.
 
As far as
I was concerned, the bedroom was hers, and I’d sleep on the pullout.
 
And frankly, who cared?
 
What mattered was our friendship.
 
One day, we’d be beyond this ridiculousness,
and would laugh about it over martinis at the Ritz.

You keep dreaming, girl.

I’m going to.

Then dream big.

I plan to.
 
I didn’t save up for years to come here
for nothing.
 
I came here to make
it.

When
the coffee started to brew, the aroma was enough to wake Lisa.
 

“That
smells amazing,” she said.

“And
it’s only Folgers.
 
Imagine if it
was Starbucks.”

A
dreamy look came over her face.
 
“Starbucks,” she said.
 
“If I
were a zombie—which I might be after the chapter I wrote last
night—that’s the first place I’d go.
 
I’d have a Java Chip Frappuccino, a cookie, and obviously a side of
brains, because, you know, I’d be a zombie.
 
So, let’s imagine that it’s Starbucks.”

“You’re
the creative one,” I said.
 
“It’ll
be a snap for you.
 
For me, not so
much.
 
But, hey, at least we have
coffee!”

She
started to get up.

“No,”
I said.
 
“Stay there.
 
I’ll bring you a cup.
 
You’ve been a lifesaver these past
couple of weeks.
 
Or months.
 
Mostly months.
 
Enjoy your last few moments on the
pullout, because tonight the bedroom is yours.”

She
sat up in bed and looked at me.
 
“What are you talking about?”

“The
bedroom is yours.
 
It’s only
right.
 
I’ll move my stuff into your
closet, and you can move everything of yours into the bedroom closet.
 
Decorate the room, enjoy a real bed for
once, and sleep like the princess you are.”

“Jennifer,
you don’t have to do that.
 
I don’t
mind sleeping here.
 
Actually,
because of the bar that cuts across the mattress, it actually makes me get up
and start writing earlier than I would have otherwise.
 
That bar is pure motivation.”

I
nodded toward the bedroom.
 
“I
believe there’s an alarm clock in there.”

“With
a snooze button.”

I
rolled my eyes, poured us two cups of coffee, and added some sugar and then
some creamer.
 
After a brisk stir, I
brought her a cup, and kissed her on the forehead.
 
“Seriously.
 
I’ve been a handful lately.
 
More than usual, which means you’ve had
a mountain on your hands.
 
I
appreciate all you’ve done for me—more than you know—and I
especially appreciate your patience.
 
I’ve been a mess.”

She
screwed up her face at me.
 
“You
don’t have to thank me.
 
I think you
listened to me for weeks when Kevin dumped me.
  
Remember what that was like?
 
Let me remind you, because it was
epic.
 
‘Why would he ever want to
leave a hot piece of ass like this?
 
What a fool.
 
What an
idiot.
 
Who is he kidding?
 
I mean, right?
 
Right?
 
This is bullshit.
 
Ughhhh.
 
Why do I still love him?
 
Why do I wish he’d call me right
now?
 
I’m going to kill him.
 
Help me slash the tires on that fucking
car of his.
 
I’ll get a knife.’
 
And on and on.
 
I was a drunk psycho bitch without a
filter that night.
 
This friendship
isn’t exactly one-sided, and you know it never has been.”

I
sat down on the chair at the end of her bed.
 
“When you’re ready to switch rooms, let
me know, OK?
 
But it has to be
today.
 
It’s my turn on the
sofa.”
 
She was about to speak, but
I raised a hand.
 
“Please
don’t.
 
You deserve it.
 
I insist.
 
That’s the end of it.
 
Now, let me tell you about my day.”
 
I told her about my plans to narrow down
the best restaurants in the city and—when my feet were able to handle a
pair of shoes—to start visiting them ASAP for a job.

“I
think you’re making the right move.”

“It
was your idea.
 
And it is the right
move.
 
Hell, I’ll probably make more
waitressing than I would have if I wound up working for the evil Ms.
Blackwell.
 
And if I do get a job,
I’m
buying the air conditioner.
 
Can you believe this heat?
 
Even this early in the morning?
 
I should open some windows.
 
Get some air moving.”

“Maybe
for an hour.”

“Cool
it off before it becomes too much.”

“It’s
supposed to be over ninety again today.”

I
smiled at her.
 
“Then I suggest we
both double up on the deodorant. Otherwise, we’re both screwed.”

My
cell phone rang as I was opening the living room window.

“Who’s
calling me at this hour?”

“Maybe
it’s for a job.
 
Maybe you’re
getting a call back.”

I
got up and crossed into the kitchen where my phone was on the counter.
 
“Don’t make me nervous.”

“Who
is it?”

I
just stared at the screen.
 
“Wenn
Enterprises,” I said.
 
“Holy shit,
you’re right.
 
It’s Blackwell.”

CHAPT
ER SEVEN

“Hello?”

“Jennifer
Kent?”

I
looked over at Lisa and nodded.
 
It
was Blackwell, all right.
 
The
clipped tone of her voice was immediately recognizable.
 
“This is she.”

“This
is Ms. Blackwell.”

“Who?”

“Ms.
Blackwell.”

“I’m
sorry, I’m drawing a blank.”

“Really?
 
I can’t imagine.”
 
She cleared her throat, likely out of
anger and frustration.
 
“A position
has recently opened.
 
I was asked to
call to see if you were interested in coming in for an interview.”

“I’m
sorry.
 
Where is this interview?”

“Wenn
Enterprises.”

“Oh,
you’re
that
Ms
.
Blackwell.”

“That’s
right.”

“How
could I forget?
 
The one who
threatened me?
 
The one who used her
divorce against me?
 
I’m afraid I’m
busy, Ms. Blackwell.”

“I’d
think twice about that, Ms. Kent.”

“And
why is that?”

“Because
this job is special.
 
It’s a
high-paying job.
 
It’s the sort of
job that will help you get noticed at Wenn Enterprises, which I believe you
said you wanted when we first met.”

“You
mean, when we first exchanged words?”

“Ms.
Kent, I apologize for the way I treated you.”
 
It was as if she was reading a
script.
 
Her voice was cold and
tight.
 
Nothing in her tone
suggested that she was sorry at all, but damned if she wasn’t going through the
motions.
 
Why?
 
“It was an unfortunate exchange that we had the other day.
 
That’s all.
 
I’ve been under some pressure lately.”

“So,
I noted.
 
And that affects me how?”

“It
shouldn’t have affected you at all, thus my apology.”

Whatever.
 
“Why are you calling me
about this job again?”

“I
was asked to.”

“By
whom?”

“By
Mr. Wenn himself.
 
He saw your
resume.
 
He’d like you to come in
for an interview.”

“How
did Mr. Wenn, of all people, see my resume?”

“I
can’t disclose that.”

“Is
this for the secretarial position?”

“No.
 
He’s in need of an executive assistant.”

“Doesn’t
he already have one?”

“He
did, but he promoted her this morning.”

“To
what?”

“Senior
director of something or other.”

“That’s
specific.”

“Ms.
Kent, I didn’t order the promotion.
 
Mr. Wenn did.
 
I was recently
told about it, and then I was instructed to call you.
 
That’s all I know.”

“But
why didn’t you warn him against me?
 
This doesn’t make sense.
 
You
cast me out of your office.
 
You
said I wasn’t worth your time.
 
You
must have told Mr. Wenn that.
 
You
said—I believe—‘toodles’ to me.”