Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 160782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
“Get out!” I reply with my back to her. “I’m done.”
Natasha
“So, what did they say then?” Abbie frowns and I shrug. “Apparently he has done this before. He reads the police reports and tries to scare people.”
“Get a new job, this shit is too weird,” Bridget gasps. I nod. “I know.”
We are at Milson’s, a bar in Pitt Street. We can’t go to any of our normal hangouts because Abbie is hiding from army guy, the man Abbie is sort of dating. Apparently, he’s getting all possessive and jealous and she’s not coping, it was only a matter of time. The music has a distinct R&B feel, very different to our normal dance kind of places.
The walls are painted gold and it has big brass pendant lights that hang over huge wooden benches, and you sit on what could possibly be the most uncomfortable stools in the history of the world.
“So, the police think he has read the police report about the robbery and then has purposely tried to scare you,” Bridget sips her margarita as she listens.
“Aha, they accessed his computer, and he was looking up some illegal website of local crime and he had also googled me,” I shiver at the thought.
“Shit. Thank God you don’t have any social media.”
“This is why I don’t. Do you think he really does have my vibrator? What if he was telling the truth?” I sip my drink again. “He’s in maximum security, he doesn’t have your damn vibrator.” Abbie pulls a disgusted face.
I blow out a breath as I scull my margarita and Bridget bubbles up a giggle.
“What?” I say deadpan.
“This is actually funny, this last week you have been having. Just how many black cats have you run over?” Bridget asks.
I smile and shrug. “I don’t know…maybe a huge one. Like a fucking Jaguar or something.” We all giggle and our next round of drinks arrive. I hand over my credit card.
“I would like to propose a toast.” Bridget smiles and we all raise our glasses.
“To no more sadness.” Their eyes meet mine.
I smile sheepishly. “Sorry girls, I know I have been a night- mare lately.”
“Not to mention fucking boring,” Abbie snaps.
I nod and smile as I lick the salt from my glass. “I will endeavor to be more fun, just for you, Abbie.” I raise my glass to her.
She does an exaggerated nod. “Good…about time. I would hate to have to trade you in.”
The waitress returns. “Excuse me, your credit card has been declined.” She hands me the card.
“Oh God,” I stammer. “I will have to transfer money, I’m so broke.”
Bridget hands over her credit card and I start to log into my internet banking on my phone.
“It’s good to have a phone again,” I remark as I concentrate on the screen. I’m having trouble reading it without my glasses, so I hand my phone to Bridget.
“Here, can you transfer $300 for me onto my credit card?” She takes the phone off me and I take a sip of my drink. “Check out the fabulous shoulders on that guy at the bar,” Abbie smirks.
I turn and look. “Hmm, not bad. Seven.”
“No way, nine,” she replies.
I smile as my eyes flick back to Bridget who is frowning at my phone.
“What?” I frown.
“How much is seven zeros?”
“Huh, what do you mean?” I ask.
“I think you have three million dollars in your account.”
I frown as I snatch my phone from her, and I look at the screen. “Huh.”
Abbie snatches the phone from me. “Fuck off. No way.
That’s thirty million.”
I look at the screen
$30 000 000.00.
What the hell is that?
“How many drinks have we had?” I stammer. I scroll through to transactions:
Deposit - $30 000 000.00 - Stanton
“Fuck off, what’s that?” Abbie asks, wide-eyed.
I scull my drink and Abbie immediately puts her hand in the air to order another round.
My heart drops. “I’m guessing it’s my divorce settlement,” I whisper as my eyes fill with tears, and the finality of the situation sinks in. I don’t want his money, I want him.
“How long were you with him?” Abbie snaps.
“Three months,” I whisper as I stare at the screen.
“That’s ten million a month, that’s two and a half million a week.” Bridget frowns.
The waitress comes over and Abbie snaps. “We will have nine margaritas, and do you have any cigars?” Bridget and I frown at her.
“Yes,” the waitress replies.
“We will have three cigars and a lighter, please,” Abbie asks the waitress.
I raise my eyebrows at her in question.
“He’s a stupid fuck, let’s spend the lot,” Abbie sneers. I sit with my head resting in my hands. What the hell. I immediately text Joshua.
I don’t want your money.
A text bounces immediately back.
Liar
“Liar,” I snap. “He’s such an asshole. He’s calling me a liar because I said I don’t want his money.” The waitress arrives with our cigars and Abbie lights hers immediately.