Last Flight to L.A.

chapter twenty-two: desperate times

"If you want to win the lottery, you have to make the money to win the lottery"

~Nightcrawlers

Kelsey unpacked the last box that was filled with shoes and a random Ziploc bag of taco seasoning.

She had thrown everything into unorganized boxes since she'd only moved ten miles away.

When Kelsey arrived back in L.A., there had been a "For Sale" sign posted outside of Sandy's house, along with a note from Sandy that read, "I've already gone with Alex to Northern California. I just need time. I'm sorry."

So, Kelsey went inside and began packing.

Most of the apartments in L.A. were far above her paygrade, but she'd managed to scout out a one-bedroom apartment that wasn't far from L.A. and didn't break the bank.

It was small and ugly. It was almost as if the decorators were trying to go for a minimalistic look, but the white walls, white ceilings, and white everything made it look more like a hospital.

Kelsey was trying to make it like home, though. Her trip to Kansas had given a new spin on everything that had happened.

She'd found that sometimes life required a sigh in order to move on. When the tears ran out, the anger settled down, and the memory of laughter returned. It was time to release an exhale and keep going.

Kelsey had to admit that it was proving to be harder than all the motivational quotes on Pinterest said.

She had to deal with the fiasco of moving as soon as she got back to L.A., then she had to go to work and pretend like everything was fine, and she still hadn't talked to Ethan.

Kelsey pulled her hair into a ponytail before getting ready for work.

She'd been back in L.A. for a week now, and she was beginning to get used to her new life. It was almost as if her four months in L.A. were a strange dream, and she kind of liked it that way.

She took the long way to work, which allowed her to surpass a tangle of traffic.

The "Summer in Paris" set had been completely erased, and a new, post-apocalyptic movie set had taken its place.

Kelsey had teared up the first time she drove back into the studio and saw the transformation.

It was like both of her lives—the one in Kansas and the one in L.A.—were both being remodeled before her eyes.

And it wasn't abnormal to see a horde of zombies walking around, which was another thing she wasn't too fond of.

She opened the door to the kitchen and tossed her things in the corner, going over a mental checklist of all the things she had to do.

Chef Vance stopped her in the hallway, his face splotchy red. "Harris."

Kelsey lifted and eyebrow. "What?"

"Romano wants to see you."

Kelsey tied her apron strings. "Well, I guess I don't have to worry about being fired. If that was the case, you'd be jumping for joy. Right?"

She moved past him into the kitchen and went up to Chef Romano, who was lecturing one of the chefs who had apparently misunderstood her instructions three times.