5
WHITLEY
My brain was mush when I woke up the next morning, naked in my hotel room, alone. I reached haphazardly for my phone and saw the three missed calls from Lark.
“f**k,” I croaked.
I clicked the voicemail button. “Are we still on for today? I can meet you at the building in ten.”
Beep.
“I’m here. Where are you? Whitley, are you still drunk and in bed?”
Beep.
“Well, the apartment was lovely. Are you going to be able to come to the next one, or should I reschedule with my real estate agent?”
“f**k,” I repeated and scrambled into the shower.
Twenty minutes later, I was uptown in a sort of presentable outfit. My hair was still wet, but it was a rainy morning. So, I sort of got away with it. Lark barely held back laughter as I scrambled out of the cab and to her side.
“Sorry,
