Swiping the pad of my index finger over the touchpad, I reawaken my sleeping laptop monitor. I need to leave Blake in the past where he belongs and focus on making sure tomorrow’s hotshot client – Mr M – is as pleased as punch with the first apartment I’ve selected to show him.
Otherwise, I’m pretty sure I can be kissing my fantasies of navy-blue suit wearing businessmen, and my job, goodbye.
“Shush shush,” I mumble into my feather down pillow, throwing an arm out to shut off the dreaded blaring sound of my alarm.
Buzz. Buzz. Bu—
I pull the blanket back up around my chin, smiling, when quietness shrouds my small apartment once again, the endless sea of sleep dragging me back under its tide.
Just five more minutes and then I’ll—
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
“Shush shush.”
Buzz. Buzz.
Sighing in annoyance, I whack my palm against the screen of my phone, desperately trying to shut off the grating noise of my alarm.
“Calla? Calla, you there?”
I sit bolt upright, the world spinning with me on its axis, as Carmen’s voice drums through my bedroom.
Yanking my phone from the charger cable, I shove the device between my ear and the ball of my shoulder while I throw myself out of bed, my legs getting tangled in the clothes decorating my floor.
“Car, what the fuck—”
“Mr McAvoy is losing his mind. He’s had a call from your client to ask where you are. So, where are you?”
I scrub at the crust lining my lower lash line. “What time is it?”
“10:50.”
“Fuck! I’m supposed to be there at eleven… Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Where are you, Calla?” Carmen repeats.
“I’ve slept in,” I mutter, yanking down my sleep shorts to pee. “Shit. I’ll have to go. Please, please, please stall Mr McAvoy for as long as you can.”
“How am I supposed too—”
“Whip off your bra for all I care! Bye!”
Jabbing my thumb into the bright red end-call button, I load my toothbrush up with paste, shoving it into my mouth while I run back to my bedroom.
I get dressed in a blur, pulling on the first skirt, blouse and clean set of underwear I find, spraying a liberal amount of deodorant and perfume across my skin seeing as how I have no time for a morning shower and unceremoniously yanking out the knots in my long blonde hair. I wanted to style it with a slight curl, but there’s no time, so I make do with a shit ton of dry shampoo and a prayer.
Slinging my handbag over my shoulder, I shove my makeup bag amongst my paperwork and my keys, hook my heels on my fingertips, and sprint, barefooted, into the bustling streets of London. Sticking my hand out into the road, I flag down a black cab with practised ease, hopping into the airconditioned backseat as I rattle off the address of the apartment I’m supposed to be at.
“Slept in?” asks the cabbie, glancing at me through the rearview mirror before fixing his eyes back on the road beyond.
“Is it that obvious?” I reply, sliding my feet into my heels and flicking open my compact to see exactly where I need to apply my concealer. The answer is everywhere and liberally.
The cabbie simply guffaws, pressing on the accelerator. “I’ll get you there as fast as I can.”
I’ve barely finished coating my lashes with mascara, hoping it’ll make me look more awake than I feel, when the taxi pulls up outside of the apartment block.
Peering out of the slightly grimy window, I’m just able to make out a group of people – two men and a woman – standing around outside. One of the men, a tall brunette,looks up from his phone to, craning his head to glance up and down the street, as if he’s searching for someone.
