He smirks as he waves his phone in the air.
Motherfucker.
The humdrum of a typical New York power lunch at the new-to-us Grazie Mille was interrupted earlier today by a display of brooding testosterone. Looks like Kazimir Lindström made it to the top of the gossip meter list—and this time it had nothing to do with his drama queen of an ex—when the hockey legend stepped in like a knight in shining armor and spoke up on the behalf of a damsel in distress. Seems like things took a dramatic turn when the popo showed up.
Will the grumpy giant end up in jail? If so, those inmates are about to get schooled. No one fights on the ice like the former Number 22.
As I sign off to the tune ofBad Boys, the theme song fromCops,blaring in my head, stay tuned. I intend on doing a little more digging.
#JustSpottedNYC #SpillingTheTea
Chapter 5
Flat broke and cramping
Harley
Trying to find a job when you can’t use your last one because even though you were unjustifiably fired, you have no proof, is hell on earth.
For five days of non-stop searches, doors keep closing in my face.
I worked in restaurants, many moons ago, but those experiences don’t count. Grazie Mille is the only reference that has weight.
Thanks for nothing Étienne Leveaux. I hope you rot in hell.
As if this day wasn’t already in the toilet, I just started my period.
At least I have an excuse not to hit the pavement today since I’ll be curled up in my bed in pain. Aunt Flo had to visit today.
Even though I don’t want to get up, I have to change. I slide off the lumpy futon, and trail to the bathroom. As I reach the threshold, my eyes land on the wastebasket.
I need to open a new box of pads.
At a snail’s pace, I make my way to the storage cabinet, located next to the half-fridge. I open the cabinet, and freeze.
I don’t own a screwdriver. Why is there one inside my cabinet?
My eyes land on a tampon box, and my heart drops to my feet.
With trembling hands, I open the box.
Panic suffuses me.
The empty box drops from my hands.
Shit, shit, shit.
My stash money.
Someone stole my stash money?—
That sleazy superintendent.
It has to be him, but how did he know where I hid my stash money?
Men are allergic to tampon boxes. That was a safe bet.
I don’t have a job.
