𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐧

𝟎𝟎𝟐 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

C E L I N E  G R A N T
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Matthew Benedict was somewhere in between twenty-five and thirty. After examining the very few people that he surrounded himself with, I realized that they were all in between those ages. He was attractive, holding the same matured characteristics of those hot dads that often came into Maya's Bistro and Bookstore. So, after a two-hour examination on paparazzi photos of him online, I've come to the conclusion that he has to be like thirty.... or twenty-eight.

His birthday had to be in libra season, around mid-October if I had to guess. Every mid-October, his friends have always hosted some party that he came late too. The birthday person always arrives to the party later... though he just may have a time management problem.

He prefers wearing darker colors over light, being that the only colors he's ever been spotted wearing are forest green, black, grey, and really dark blue. But I'm sure that if Matthew wore hot pink in public, the millionaires he hung out with wouldn't take him seriously.

I've noticed that most of the restaurants he dined in were Italian. One could assume that was his favorite type of food, but I knew that a big percentage of the five-star restaurants that are around here were Italian ones.

Everything that I've found out about Matthew Benedict in the last 48 hours has an upsetting alternative reasoning behind it. Also, none of that stuff is really jaw dropping, probably things that his large group of stalking fan girls already know about him.

To make matters even worse, my mother is currently going through one of her annoying paranoid episodes.

"Celine Grant, are you even listening to me?!" The sound of my mom screaming my name causes my teeth to grit. I was never that good with multitasking stuff.

So, as my mother yelled in my ear, it was hard for me to focus on the large picture of Matthew on my computer screen. "Yes mom! Why wouldn't I be listening to the women who gave me life? Thank you so much for that--"

"I am not kidding with you", she firmly informed. I roll my eyes, raising my eyebrows in a mocking manner as I clicked on a different picture of the attractive man. "Why aren't you answering the phone for me? Do you know how worried I was about you? You're in New York all by yourself, and you can't even answer your phone for your mother?"

"I've been busy with--" I tried, truthfully.

"I don't care if you became the governor overnight, Celine. I expect you to answer when I call you... or at least give a text message!" Not this conversation again. "I feel like you're so inconsiderate to the fact that you're up there alone."

Sometimes I feel like my mother is very inconsiderate to the fact that I'm twenty-one years old. I can legally drink and that says a lot. I'm not a teenager anymore and this isn't my first year in New York- I don't need her calling me every forty-five minutes.

I keep trying to tell myself that she's just worried about me and she only wants the best for me. But in moments like these, where I'm on a deadline, I don't exactly have time for her worrying. "I'm not alone mom. I have Elena."

"Please Celine. Me and you both know that girl would lose her head if it wasn't on her body."

My mother had no problem expressing that she found Elena irresponsible. Unlike me, she thinks Elena wouldn't have lasted a day without me here. I disagree- she could have easily found some moody journalist to keep her out of trouble. I would have never found someone else like Elena.

"She's just outgoing mom." Like Elena, my mother always spoke what was on her mind. The only difference was that the stuff Elena said was nice...

I tune out whatever my mother is blabbering about when Armada, one of my roommates, walked inside of our home with an oversized man on her arm. His blonde hair was all over the place, clothes looking as if they were one pull from being off. He looked familiar, probably just someone that Elena got entangled within the past.