Maybe not so much for her.
For Carmen, it was just another night. When the sun rose the next day, she continued on as normal. Unlike me, she probably didn’t question her life’s choices and fall into a deep existential crisis.
Because unlike me, Carmen was never an arrogant, stuck-up fool.
Not yet, anyway…
I look at the embroidered Isabel Marant logo stitched into the collar of her jacket and see the past repeating itself all over again.
“Don’t let the money get into your head.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s dangerous and not worth it.”
“Is that why you had a drastic change of lifestyle?” Carmen hitches her arms up to her chest. “Because you started to become a walking dollar bill?”
“Exactly that. It’s why I sold Milton’s Milkshakes. I was so hyperfocused on numbers, on making more money, that I forgot what mattered most in life. I don’t want the same to happen to you.”
“Then rest assured,” Carmen says. “You put me off that lifestyle the second you started talking about online courses and business revenue.” Her stare deepens. “What happened to you? Why did you abandon everything for Harleys and leather?”
Most people are asleep at five a.m.
But I’m not most people.
I jump out of the cab when it pulls up outside of my apartment block, and elevator up to my penthouse. The block was only built last year, so everything’s brand spanking new.
The views are even more unbeatable than the furniture. The apartment offers a perfect view of the Strip. I have my desk looking out onto it for that reason—while I’m making money, I’m also looking at it.
Milton’s Milkshakes is one of the USA’s favorite milkshake brands. Next month, I’m hoping to expand the company and distribute stock into Europe.
I sit back in my chair and watch the Strip dazzle below. Only unsuccessful people choose to sleep at night. The real winners of this world take strategic power naps throughout the day.
I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
Although I must admit, after the night I had with Carmen, I’m pretty fucking exhausted. If I hadn’t left her place quickly, I wouldn’t have left at all.
I would’ve stayed for another hour.
God forbid, another day.
While waiting for my computer to log in, I crack open the mini fridge and help myself to an energy drink. I have two hours of deep, focused work to get through, and this is what’s going to see me through to the end.
Until the intercom buzzes two minutes in.
I abandon my computer and head over, ready to tell the person on the other side to leave a message and come back later this afternoon.
But I don’t get to speak.
I’m cut off by a policeman who demands to be let in this instant.
“I’m in the middle of something.”
“Sir, I’m afraid we have some urgent news.”
Begrudgingly, I buzz him in and hope he’s not gonna take up too much of my time.
Just when I think this is about to be a hoax—two kids messing around trying to photograph my place, the police officer strides in with a grave look on his face.
