"I don't think of it as luck or chance, Miss (l/n). The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said, 'The...
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The bar is loud and hectic, full of soon to be graduates out to get trashed. Miguel joins us. He won't graduate for another year, but he's in the mood to party and gets us into the spirit of our newfound freedom by buying a pitcher of margaritas for us all. As I down my fifth, I know this is not a good idea on top of the champagne.
"So what now (y/n)?" Miguel shouts at me over the noise.
"Chanel and I are moving to London. Chanel's parents have bought a condo there for her."
"Oh my, how the other half live. But you'll be back for my show."
"Of course, Miguel, I wouldn't miss it for the world." I smile, and he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close.
"It means a lot to me that you'll be there (y/n)," he whispers in my ear. "Another margarita?"
"Miguel Xolo Nunez– are you trying to get me drunk? Because I think its working." I giggle. "I think I'd better have a beer. I'll go get us a pitcher."
"More drink, (y/n)!" Chanel bellows.
Chanel has the constitution of an ox. He's got her arm draped over Levi, one of our fellow English students and his usual photographer on his student newspaper. He's given up taking photos of the drunkenness that surrounds him. He only has eyes for Chanel. She's all tight shirt, tight jeans, hair piled high in a perfect bun, away from her face, her usual stunning self. Me, I'm more of a converse and t-shirt kind of girl, but I'm wearing my most flattering jeans. I move out of Miguel's hold and get up from our table. Whoa. Head spin. I have to grab the back of the chair. Tequila based cocktails are not a good idea.
I make my way to the bar and decide that I should visit the bathroom while I am on my feet. Good thinking, (y/n). I stagger off through the crowd. Of course, there's a line, but at least it's quiet and cool in the corridor. I reach for my mobile phone to relieve the boredom of waiting in line. Hmm... Who did I last call? Was it Miguel? Before that a number I don't recognize. Oh yes. Hotchner, I think this is his number. I giggle. I have no idea what the time is, maybe I'll wake him. Perhaps he can tell me why he sent me those books and the cryptic message. If he wants me to stay away, he should leave me alone. I suppress a drunken grin and hit the automatic re-dial. He answers on the second ring.
"(y/n)?" He's surprised to hear from me. Well, frankly, I'm surprised to ring him. Then my befuddled brain registers... how does he know it's me?
"Why did you send me the books?" I slur at him.
"(y/n), are you okay? You sound strange." His voice is filled with concern.
