Lost & Found

It's Just the Way We Live

Christina's POV

   I was woken up the next morning to the sound of my phone ringing. I looked at the name. Logan Everette. I groaned when I saw that it was only eight o'clock. I knew that if I ignored him or rejected the call, it would somehow turn into some sort of scandal so I picked it up, dreading every second.

   "Hello?"

   "Hey, Christina!" he said cheerfully. How is he already so awake? "So, you wanna meet me at Starbucks in a half hour?"

   "But I-," I protested but he cut me off.

   "Great! See you there!" With that he hung up. I rolled my eyes. The typical rich boy. He gets what he wants when he wants it.

   I hate him. He's the most self-centered, rude, vain, and selfish boy I've ever met in my life. Half the time he's either talking about himself or looking at himself in the mirror. The other half he's complaining about some petty thing and telling you everything that's wrong with you. I can't believe girls actually find him irresistible.

   … Actually, I can sort of understand it. If you weren't unfortunate enough to meet him, then he was honestly pretty attractive. He had short, dark brown hair and he definitely wasn't unfit. Plus, he would always look like he just stepped out of a fashion magazine, no matter the occasion. Basically, if it weren't for his personality, he would be the poster boy of perfect.

   Clothes were a welcome distraction. I went with a black tank top with a white knit cardigan over top. I also took black leggings from my closet and ended up wearing them. I found some black boots and put those on before leaving. I grabbed my purse and sunglasses as I headed out.

   While waiting in the elevator, I took a deep breath and prayed that paparazzi wouldn't be outside the door. As the elevator doors opened, I put on my sunglasses and took a careful step out. I looked around for any negative sign. I didn't see people clambering by the windows or any cameras flashing from the doors. No shouting over others or frantic pounding on the windows.

   I stepped completely out of the elevator and walked out to my car. As I drove to Starbucks, I couldn't help but contemplate my conversation with my dad last night. I guess I shouldn't blame him so much for not having enough time for me. It's his coworkers who act like they can't hold up the company without him. Not even for one month.

   They're the ones calling him to come back. He's not begging them to give him an excuse to go back. But, then again, he never tries to make an excuse to stay home for a little longer. He'll have, like, a ten-minute conversation with his coworker over the phone and then he'll disappear into his room for about half an hour. He'll come back with all of his luggage and apologize and say that so-and-so needed him to go back. Next thing you know, he's saying goodbye and boarding a plane back.

   Before I knew it, I was at Starbucks. I looked around for any sign of Logan. Another thing about him: he is late for practically everything. He'll pressure you to be somewhere in, let's say, an hour. You rush to get ready and get there on time to find out he's not even there in the amount of time he told you. Granted, he does eventually get there. That's more than I can say about my dad.

   I waited outside for about fifteen minutes before I saw Logan's caldera red Jaguar F-Type pull up. He stepped out and sauntered over to me with that usual cocky swagger. I raised my eyebrows at him. He took his sunglasses and tucked them into his jacket pocket. I will admit, any normal girl would swoon at his immediate confidence.

   I scanned him up and down. He was wearing dark brown slacks and a navy-blue shirt that hugged his torso. To top it all off, he had his signature black leather jacket, pegging him as a bad boy to the tabloids. He now stood in front of me and smirked.

   "How are you, babe?" I inwardly cringed at the pet name. I despised the use of the word and it probably didn't help that he was the one saying it. I've said it once and I'll say it again: I hate Logan Everette!

   "Fine," I responded, putting on a fake smile. We went in together and he went up to the counter. The girl standing there looked extremely tired and bored, lazily braiding a section of her long brown hair.

   "Grande java chip Frappuccino, nonfat milk, no whipped cream," he said, rudely. He walked off, leaving me to pay.

   "I'm sorry about him," I apologized. I really felt bad that she was obligated to deal with anyone like Logan. "I'll have a tall soy chai latte."

   "What's the name?" she asked.

   "Christina." I got out my wallet to pay for the drinks. She saw my motion and stopped me.

   "No, don't worry about it," she said. I looked at her, confused. "I'll take care of it."

   "It’s okay. I can pay," I told her, opening my wallet.

   "I mean it. You shouldn't have to pay for anything for him," she whispered, motioning to Logan who was in a corner booth.

   "Thanks…" I squinted at her name tag. "Lisa."

   "No problem," she responded and smiled. Maybe this morning will just start to look up.