Page 2

I smile and wrap my arms around her. Since my return, she’s taken on the role of a mother bird, trying to shoo me out of my nest. Carlee wants to see me fly. Hell, I do too.
Recently, I’ve asked myself why I should even bother anymore. I’m tired of auditioning and not getting callbacks, but quitting isn’t an option. The truth is, I have too much to prove, so I’ll keep going. I’m either resilient or stubborn. However you’d like to spin it.
“Thank you,” I tell her, wanting to be excited.
“Remember, when you’re rich and fam?—”
“I know; I know. Private jet to Paris with expensive champagne and strawberries.”
“Damn straight. Something good is coming,” she says, waggling her brows. “Hopefully, it will be me.”
I snort. “For your sake, I hope so too.”
Carlee can find the bright side in anything. It’s something wehadin common before the shit with my ex changed me. Now, I’m more of a realist and no longer see the world through rose-colored glasses. When someone shows me who they are, I believe them.
She pushes the cart forward. “How was your date last night?”
“Awful.” I follow beside her. “He talked about Bitcoin for three hours straight. I barely said a word.”
She makes a face. “Oh, Bitcoin bros are the worst. They love the sound of their own voice.”
“Yeah, and he asked the server to split the bill to show how alpha he was.”
“Eww,” Carlee says with a snicker.
Since I’ve forced myself back into the dating scene, not one of the thirty-seven men I’ve gone on a first date with has gotten a kiss good night or a second chance. Everyone is so … boring or self-centered or has too much baggage for me to handle.
“I’m officially giving up. I’m broken. The hopeless romantic who’s anti-love. Ironic, isn’t it?”
She snickers. “You just haven’t found the perfect man yet.”
“Oh, I have, but he only exists between the pages.”
“Maybe the books you’ve been reading are creating unrealistic expectations?”
Laughter bursts out of me. “Maybe men should do better.”
“Okay, you have a point.” She shoots me a wink.
When we reach the end of the hall, I realize how much we have to do, especially if I’m leaving early. “Want to divide and conquer?”
“Let’s do it.”
She wheels the cart out of the way, and we get to it. I handle the beds and restock everything while she wipes flat surfaces and vacuums. We might talk a lot, but we’re efficient, so our boss pairs us together often. I’m lucky to have her as a friend.
I snatch the dirty towels from the bathroom floor and remove the linens, wondering how I missed that open-call notice. But after I learned Beau is now public with his side chick, my head has been in the clouds. Oh, and she’s pregnant. Forgot about that one.The big one.
I let the intrusive thoughts settle deep inside me, allowing them to fuel my determination.
When Carlee enters behind me and sprays the mirrors, I move to the next suite, trashed with wine bottles and takeout containers from the five-star restaurant downstairs. Empty oyster shells and caviar spoons are scattered across the table, along with shards of broken glass. I shake my head.
“Rich people,” I mutter.
After two hours, we ride the elevator to the Tower Penthouse, and excitement rushes through me. It’s twenty thousand dollars a night; it spans over two stories, four thousand square feet, and has two private bedrooms, an office, and a bathroom with a waterfall shower and Jacuzzi tub. This place for a weekend costs more than I get paid to scrub the porcelain sides of the golden-handled toilets for a year.
“One last spot check beforeMr. Callowayarrives later today,” Carlee says, grabbing a rag and a bottle of cleaner.
She said his name like he’s important because those who stay at the Tower Penthouse are. It’s not only their ego that tells them that though; it’s reality. I couldn’t pick out one of them from alineup and explain what they do. That’s how much Idon’tcare about their lives. I’ve got my own problems.