Alessio’s food was amazing—salty, fatty, melt-in-your-mouth bombs of deliciousness.
“I don’t know why anyone would want to be a billionaire if they can order food like this every week—shoot every day—but be so desensitized to the joys of life that they can’t even appreciate it,” I mused. “What kind of way is that to live?”
“I don’t mind being desensitized if I get to live in a fancy-schmancy penthouse and have people bring me anything I want when I snap my fingers,” Grenadine argued.
“I would just be glad not to have to wear business casual clothes ever again.” McKenna sighed.
“You’d think if Mr. Richmond wanted us to look like cute little Barbie dolls, he’d give us a clothing allowance,” I complained.
I ate my last potato then scraped the gravy off the plate with my fork.
“I can’t believe Anthym had the nerve to call me out about repeating outfits. I wash them—well, sometimes,” I said to McKenna’s expression. “And it’s cold right now anyway, so that means you don’t sweat as much.”
“Maybe you could buy a few more outfits,” McKenna said delicately.
“I have clothes.”
And I did.
“That was how this whole mess started. I could be flying under the radar right now repeating outfits and leaving anonymous notes in my boss’s underwear drawer. But oh no, I needed to try to tempt fate and buy pants a size too small.”
“Pants especially,” Grenadine said sagely. “That’s just asking for trouble.”
“Not that Anthym would allow us to wear them,” McKenna complained.
“Instead I have Grayson Richmond convinced I’m going to single-handedly destroy the sanctity of Richmond Electric and Anthym convinced that all the ovaries on Manhattan are going to implode if I don’t do my feminine duty and pay more attention to my appearance.”
“This is why body positivity is so important,” McKenna said, tapping her fork on her empty plate for emphasis. “If you loved the skin you were in, you wouldn’t have been out there running at the butt crack of dawn.”
I checked my Minnie Mouse watch.
“Hot date?” Grenadine waggled her eyebrows.
“As if. I need to not lose my job, and that means I need a shirt that stays closed.”
While Manhattan was no Florida,and especially no Disney World, I firmly believed that anywhere you went had something special to offer; you just had to find the inherent good in the place. Then you were home.
Colonial Street was where I felt at home. It wasn’t just that you could buy anything there at a price that would make Dollar General blush, and I do mean anything. That’s where I got my laundry detergent and toys for Gizzy, not to mention work clothes. If you went at a certain time, locals would be selling homemade snacks for a little extra income. Tamales, Jamaican patties, lángos, any street food that was served quick and piping hot could be had on Colonial Street for a fraction of restaurant prices.
“You can’t really count Alessio as dinner,” I told myself as I bit into a piping-hot roll filled with smoked brisket. “We all split a meal, so it was more of an appetizer. Besides, you’re not supposed to go shopping on an empty stomach.”
I bought a hot spiced chai from a couple of teenage girls out with their mom and sipped it as I wandered down the street. Cars crawled by, sometimes stopping to call out to a vendor to make a purchase.
This was pure New York City. Everyone in my small Florida town had been aghast when I’d announced I was moving to Manhattan, but this here was community. It didn’t feel like being in a big anonymous city at all.
It was unbelievable that Grayson Richmond was missing all of this sitting in his fancy penthouse.
I suddenly felt guilty.
This wasn’t who I was. Mr. Richmond clearly needed someone to help bolster his spirit. I shouldn’t leave him to wallow in his grumpiness. I needed to bring him out of his shell. That was the type of good deed Lexi Collins liked to pride herself in.
But he was just such a drag.
I’ll just leave him some extra motivational notes, I decided.
Then thought,And I’ll buy him samosas.
One samosa. Uno. Even if he didn’t deserve it.
