How to Stay Out of Prison: A Modern-Day Woman's Guide

Chapter 3

Lyrical~

It was Friday afternoon, and I was eyeing my apartment building like it was Satan come to life.

I had just spent the last two nights living in a miracle of clean sheets, fluffy pillows, a sturdy but willowy mattress, and honest-to-goodness sleep.

Restful sleep.

I'd finally gotten some actual sleep, not the kind that was plagued with tossing and turning. I hadn't even minded the long meeting days because I'd been able to go back to my hotel room and sleep. Though my colleagues had tried to get me to go out and see the sights, I had held strong. Sleep was more important to me at this stage in my life than seeing the sights of a place that I didn't care about. Now, while I was absolutely positive that St. Louis was a beautiful city, it just wasn't more beautiful than sleep; nothing was.

However, now I was back home in Satan's alley.

Okay, that wasn't fair.

It was more like Satan's floor because the misery didn't take up an entire alley.

Granted, thanks to the restful sleep that I had managed to get, I'd been able to place Bruce's murder on the back burner, finally realizing that killing him would probably gift me with more problems than just a few sleepless nights. Still, the idea was just placed on the back burner for now, not ruled out entirely.

I dragged my rollaway behind me, then trudged up the stairs into the building. Walking through the lobby, I hated how, once upon a time, I'd been able to appreciate everything about the building and my luck at living here. However, now I dreaded the journey to my apartment.

Along with the sleep that I had managed to rack up these past two nights, I had also seriously contemplated if I should take my complaints directly to the building's owner. I mean, Randall had to answer to someone, right? There had to be someone that made sure Randall was doing his job, I would think.

Sighing out my despair, I knew that I couldn't afford to pass up the mailboxes since I'd been gone for two days. We had standard apartment mailboxes that lined the north end of the lobby, and while they were decent sized, I wasn't sure how long they could hold all my junk mail. After all, I very rarely got any real mail.

After gathering all my mail-and, yes, it was all junk mail-I walked over towards the elevator for my ascent back up to the floor that housed Hell. I waited patiently for the steel box of doom, contemplating the best way to go about reporting Bruce and Randall, when I noticed the sexiest man on the planet approaching, presumably to wait for the elevator as well.

Now, stop!

With his dark, styled, chestnut-brown hair, bright hazel eyes, and tall, muscular, fit build, you might want to just grab the man, then climb him like a spider monkey, but don't.

Believe it or not, just touching someone could be considered assault. That's right. You could reach out and just poke someone's arm, but if they took offense to it, they could actually file a police report accusing you of assault.

I mean, what bullshit, right?

Because if anyone should be being touched, it was the six-foot-something of male perfection that was standing next to me and was also waiting for the elevator. However, instead of jumping his person, I decided to just peek subtle glances up at him, hoping that he didn't catch me ogling his hot body.

When the elevator doors opened, I went to take a step forward, and Sexy-Man extended his arm out, saying, "After you."

I looked up at him, ready to smile and say thank you, but my voice got caught somewhere in the pit of my stomach. The man was smiling down at me, and he was way better looking than I had originally given him credit for. Seriously, the man was freakin' beautiful.