Page 13 of Total Abandon

Logan laughs at that, his head tipped back to the cavernous, vaulted ceiling. “My brother, marrying a hooker, nowthatwould be funny. But my guess? Our father could pick out an escort a mile away.”

I hum in agreement, sucking air through my teeth in annoyance. “I’ll have to find someone willing. Someone who knows the score and won’t be affected negatively when it ends. Someone who can hold their own.”

“And what does this person get out of it? Other than your sparkling company?”

I smile, genuinely this time as I meet his eyes. “I’m one of the richest men in the city, brother. I’ll let you do the math.” I pull out my phone and punch out a text to Chase. If anyone knows women in New York, it’s him.

Chapter 7

Bigfoot(dick):Asking for forgiveness rather than permission.

Chloe:Should I be concerned that Sasquatch has finally decided to confirm his existence by texting me?

Bigfoot(dick):Me Neanderthal. You woman. We make babies?

Chloe:Sorry, I don’t do the no pants dance with ten-foot neanderthals that have overly large feet. Unless you’re that guy from the bar, because he has a shot!

Bigfoot(dick):Wait, really??? It’s me, guy from the bar, otherwise known as Chase.

Chloe:No, not really. It’s rude to program your number into someone’s phone without their permission. Did you know this?

Bigfoot(dick):Can’t understand all those big words, can you communicate in grunt noises only? But listen, I have a wild proposition for you.

Bigfoot(dick):And no, it doesn’t involve my enormous dick. Sadly.

CHLOE

My fingers shake as I smooth out the thick manilla paper over my kitchen counter. This is rapidly turning into the day from hell. My eyes whizz over the words on the page, having to retrace some because the faint ringing in my ears is preventing them from absorbing into my brain.

The big, shiny brochure in my mailbox announcing that my building is going condo—but I can get a great rate if I buy, news flash, can’t afford that—I can just about take. But this? This is too much. I pull in a sharp breath as I read the summary total at the end of the letter.One hundred and eleven thousand dollars and seventy-three cents.

My ex-boyfriend's attorney had kindly highlighted the sum in red ink, just in case I was inclined to skip over it. Like I wouldever be able to do that. I flip the page, but the other side is blank except for an embossed logo for Landau Barnes Law Firm.

I cast the letter down into my junk drawer—you know, the one that everyone has but doesn’t like to admit—and slam it shut as if that could wipe it from existence. And what’s worse? I can’t even say this bill isn’t justified. Because I absolutely did sneak into Anthony’s two-story swanky apartment and take a baseball bat to everything I could lay purchase on. And I didn’t regret a single second of it. Until now, that is. I re-open the drawer and take out the pre-action notice. My cat chooses this moment to jump up on the counter. I don’t even tell him off, I just watch as he rubs his janky jaw along the edge of the letter to get his scratch fix.

Pussy Galore, PG for short, is fifteen years old, with one eye and maybe three teeth last time I checked. He’s scraggly and he stinks, but I love him regardless. I sigh, tracing my free hand over the bony, black fur-covered ridges of his spine. My phone chirps from my purse and I drop the offending letter, walking numbly over to answer it.

“Hello?” My voice is glum, and I don’t even bother checking the caller ID.

“Hey Red, you didn’t answer my text.” It takes me a minute to place the laid-back drawl.

“Oh hey, Chase. Yeah, really not a good time, I—” I suck in a sharp breath, the end of my disjointed sentence hanging in the air as my throat burns. I start to blink in rapid fire, fighting the onslaught of panic I can feel trying to claw its way up my windpipe.

“Everything okay?” He sounds concerned now, less teasing.

“Um yeah, everything’s fine, totally fine.” My voice is unnaturally high pitched and strangled, which makes me wince.

“Really? Because you sound kind of…” He trails off, and I can almost see his brow creasing in my mind's eye.

“Yeah, I’m fine. All good. Just my apartment is going condo and…and…” I choke on the words, cursing myself. “Anyway, I’m all good. I'm a big girl. I have my big girl pants on. You, big dick. Me, big girl pants. Anyway, gotta go, bye!” I hang up and almost laugh at how insane I sound. The legs of my dining room chair scrape across thelinoleum floor before I sink into it, folding myself in two and burying my head in my hands.

I am so royally fucked.

***

I throw myself into work for the next couple of days, because my life might be a burning chariot on a runaway track, but this I can do. I’ve visited every bank in the city to confirm that I am in fact not eligible for a loan of any size due to my lack of assets. I’ve viewed a dozen apartments for rent and found nothing nicer than a broom closet for anything remotely close to what I pay now. All in all, I’m pretty much a sitting duck waiting for the guillotine to fall and chop off my proverbial head.

It’s because of this that I’m more amped up than usual when I step off the elevator into Dr. Pierce’s plush office on the Upper East Side. The thick beige carpet muffles my steps as I cross the room to severe Barbie and report my attendance. There is a fresh white vase of lilies on the desk and my fingers itch to give them a good shake so that the vivid amber pollen stains the carpet. White. Everything is too white. Like the designer took one look at the inside of a straitjacket and thought, “Ah yes, that’s the aesthetic I’m going for.”