The Write Off (LOVE IN 2C #3) by K.M. Gillis EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: K.M. Gillis
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 5.7 MB
- Price: Free
Rilla
“You’re going to be late.” Betty looks positively stricken at the thought. Her
green eyes plead with me as she bustles around the kitchen, tidying up the
mess I made making my lunch.
“According to whom?” I ask before returning my gaze to my phone. “Time
is a human-made construct. Einstein once said, ‘The past, present, and future
are only illusions, even if stubborn ones.’ At any given moment I could be
considered on time, late, or even early.”
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I watch my friend approach out of the corner of my eye. She drops my
leather messenger bag in front of where I’m sitting and leans down so she’s at
eye-level. Her stare is intense and I focus on her freckled nose instead. “Well,
Einstein also said ‘If you don’t move your ass, you’ll be late for your first
meeting with your editor.’”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “I’m pretty sure Albert Einstein never said that.”
“Well, it’s too bad he’s dead.” Her smile is equal parts maniacal and angelic.
“Guess we’ll never know. Move. Your. Ass.”
“Okay, okay.” I offer no resistance as she hauls me to my feet. She’s several
inches shorter than me, but deceptively strong. “I don’t remember you being
this scary before you started sleeping with my brother.”
“It must just be a positive side effect.”
I take my winter coat from the closet and shrug it on, then sling my bag
over my left shoulder. Grabbing my scarf I head for the door. “Wish me luck.”
The bright red scarf feels constricting, more like a noose as I wrap it around
my neck.
My oldest, dearest friend throws her arms around my waist and hugs me
tightly. I typically only hug people when I’m drunk and respond by awkwardly
patting her on the head.
“You don’t need luck, you just need to—”
“Move my ass. Yeah, I got it, St. Claire.” I head down the hallway feeling
suffocated by the wool scarf and the meeting that looms above me.
“You’re sure you remember how to get to the publishers?”
“I’ve lived here for six weeks; I’m not a tourist anymore. His office is four
blocks that way.” I confidently point both my index fingers in the direction of
the elevator doors as I walk away from her.
“It’s four blocks that way,” she corrects me, motioning in the opposite
direction.
“That’s what I meant.” It’s not what I meant, but I’m sure I would have
figured it out. Eventually.
I give her a final wave and disappear into the stairwell. I let my feet hit
each stair heavily, like I’m marching to my doom as I stomp my way down to
the main level of my building. I’ve already started to sweat in my wool coat
and I speed walk through the lobby and out into the brisk February air. I
inhale deeply, enjoying the burning sensation that spreads through my lungs,
before exhaling through pursed lips. The white air curls around my face like a
1920s starlet.
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