The False Flat by Melissa R. Collings EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Melissa R. Collings
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 6.9 MB
- Price: Free
Life was easier when you pretended people were numbers. I didn’t mean
it in the typical way people mean this, like a faceless corporation with
too many employees. Not a rating system either. I meant literal numbers:
hard-edged, perfectly sequenced, constant, definable números. People
had too many crevices, too many preferences, too many irritating
qualities. People couldn’t be easily divided, added, or subtracted.
Numbers were straightforward, uncomplicated—at least for me—even
the decimal points: especially the decimal points.
That’s why I assigned nearly everyone I met a number. It had
nothing to do with how attractive they were, their socioeconomic status,
or their age. It was mostly decided based on their personality or the
feeling they elicited when I was around them, occasionally their shape. It
was a coping mechanism that had started at fifteen, when I saw a little
girl conversing with the numbers she’d drawn on a piece of paper in a
therapist’s office. My robotic mother had ripped me from the waiting
room, insisting I didn’t need therapy. So, I hadn’t had it, but I’d kept the
numbers.
I rubbed my hands together to warm them, then secured my bicycle
to the rack located in front of the law firm next door to Twin Cities
Financial, my office building in downtown Minneapolis. Several people
used the rack, but I felt particularly entitled because my boyfriend was
an aspiring partner at Simon, Crusler, and Bach. I pulled my high heels
out of my backpack and clipped down the sidewalk, past the goldhandled front doors where thousands—no, millions—of dollars walked
through every single day. More numbers. The best kind of numbers, the
kind with decimal points. Money.
I slipped into the elevator and turned in time to see Lynn, a perky
number eight from the marketing department in my office, running for
the door, way too excited to see me. I eyed the gleaming side panel and
contemplated pushing the “Door Close” button, but the smile under her
expertly applied lipstick made me feel guilty. She meant well. I jabbed
my finger into “Door Open” and forced my lips upward, a maneuver that
made me feel plastic.
Smiling was ridiculous. It looked nice on Lynn, the perfect
complement to the pencil skirt currently hugging the lower circle of her
eight-ness, but a smile always seemed wrong on my face. If the corners
of my mouth stretched too far, it was entirely possible my cheeks would
crack and fall onto the elevator floor.
“Penelope! Hi!” Lynn cooed, shifting into the elevator, her red coat
slung over her arm. Everyone—except my mother, and apparently Lynn
—called me Pen. That sweet-as-sugar tone . . . I knew exactly what
she’d talk about next—her most recent email. I could feel it. The polite
request that would be posed as a question but really was a demand for
me to do something utterly outrageous.
I should’ve pressed “Door Close.”
I pulled my wind-resistant trench coat around me like a shield. “Hi,
Lynn.” This elevator was too slow and too small. I should’ve called
maintenance, had a discussion about how slow and small the elevator
was, which was surely a code violation.
“How has your week been?” She drew out the words, practically
singing them.
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