Big Shot. Katy Evans

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       One

      India

      There are three things in life that really bug me. The first is having a natural sleep cycle that wakes me up every day at 5:00 a.m. without fail, even on the weekends. The second is the fact that this rule doesn’t apply to everyone: watching my roommate, Montana, glide into the kitchen for breakfast at 8:00 a.m. every morning, fresh-faced and ready for the day, while I’ve already been awake for three hours, never fails to make me groan. But my third and final pet peeve is by far the worst.

      I hate my boss.

      My demanding, stone-hearted, arrogant bastard boss.

      You know those people in an elevator who click the close button repeatedly when they see someone coming just to avoid human contact? You know what?

      That’s my boss. But worse.

      It’s just past 5:00 a.m.

      I’ve been awake for several minutes and I haven’t yet attempted to get out of bed. All I can think about is the fact that I have to spend my day in the presence of the pompous pretty boy, William Walker. Ever since I became his assistant a year back, he’s made my life hell. Now I wake up each morning at this ungodly hour and try to think of ways to get out of work and not get fired.

      Call in sick?

      Paint a bruise on my forehead and say I fell?

      Say that my dog didn’t eat just my homework, but ate me?

      Tough. I don’t have a dog. And it’s not college anymore.

      And William Walker is worse than any college professor I ever had to face.

      Worse than anyone I ever had to face.

      Voldemort, but very hot.

      The minutes tick by. I sigh and get out of bed, dressing in my usual gray pantsuit for the day ahead. It’s my standard work uniform at Walker Industries. It’s not like I want to impress my boss with my clothes anyway. I want to impress him with my work ethic—or at least I did. Until I realized he was oblivious.

      After dressing, washing my face and brushing my hair, I head to the kitchen and start up the coffee maker. The kitchen is the nicest part of the apartment because my roomie, Montana, loves baking. I glance wistfully at her bedroom door with a smile, wishing she was up so she’d bake something delicious.

      Knowing she won’t be out for hours yet, I grab my coffee and settle on a bar stool with my laptop. I’ve spent countless mornings in this kitchen with my laptop, sipping coffee and getting sucked into writing my novel. It’s a blessing and a curse to be up this early. It might be a lonely hour, but it’s the perfect time to write.

      I am pulled into my story almost right away. My creative juices are flowing this morning, to say the least. My fingers have a mind of their own, flying over the keyboard at high speed. Before I know it, I have five hundred new words on my screen.

      I have no idea if any of what I’ve written is good, and the perfectionist in me is desperately tempted to go back and correct my mistakes, but I learned long ago to ignore the nagging voices in my head. If I ever want to finish my novel, I know I have to let the words flow. I can go back later and make everything perfect.

      It’s part of what I love about the whole process.

      It’s easy to forget work and nightmare bosses while I’m writing. But the second I hear Montana’s alarm clock, I know my time of peace and quiet is over. I’ve gotten a lot done this morning, but I ache to be able to continue. The last thing I want is a reminder that I have to see William Walker today.

      “Morning, sunshine,” Montana says to me as she breezes into the kitchen, heading straight to the fridge to gather ingredients for a pre-workout smoothie. Her black hair is slicked back in a neat ponytail and her face is fresh, with her golden skin untainted by makeup. She looks flawless, even though she’s just tumbled out of bed.

      “Morning, Beautiful Unicorn Morning Person,” I say with a smile, closing my laptop. Montana laughs, glancing over her shoulder at me.

      “Get any words in?” she asks hopefully.

      “Tons. СКАЧАТЬ