Page 1 of Filthy Twisted Devil

1

EDEN

October

Sighing, I run the math again, even though I know it’s correct. If there’s one thing I’m good with, it’s numbers. I might not be an expert in relationships, fashion, cooking, or remembering any of the Spanish I learned over four years of high school, but I’m damn good with this.

So of course the math is right.

$817.32.

That’s a good chunk of money if you’re about to go on a bookstore shopping spree, but it’s basically nothing if you’re trying to start an event planning business.

I slump back against my desk chair. My finances are a complete disaster, and I haven't even looked at my credit card balances yet. I'd hoped to clear them with my paycheck from an opening I’m planning for the Whitmer Gallery. Except earlier today, I got a call from Sydney, the gallery curator.

“Bad news.” She sighed. “Burst pipe. We're going to have to shut down the gallery for a week for repairs, which means we have to bump back the opening.”

“That’s awful.” I managed to express my sympathy without letting my panic slip through. “How bad is the damage?”

“Luckily, it was in the entrance, so it didn’t damage any of the art. But we’re locked into a show with an artist traveling from Japan at the start of November, which means we’re pushing your opening to December. Will that be a problem?”

Yup. It’s a huge problem. A devastating, gargantuan, dinosaur-killing-asteroid-sized problem. Now I won’t be paid until December, which means no credit card payments, no extra grocery money, no adding to that $817.32 unless I can miraculously find other work on short notice.

“Not a problem,” I chirped. “I’ll check back in once the repairs are finished to see if we need to make any changes.”

Translation: I’m fucked.

Sighing, I drag my laptop from my tiny desk to my twin bed, since it’s a better place to wallow in misery. The lumpy mattress creaks under my weight.

When I first arrived in Toronto in the early spring, I was so grateful to have this room. Or rather, this overlarge closet that my friend Brinley graciously turned into a bedroom. She let me stay here for free, in exchange for working some shifts at the Peppermint Press, her café/bookstore. She didn’t even ask me to work there—I convinced her, because I didn’t move here to be her charity case.

It's October now, and every small irritation is a reminder that the situation was supposed to be temporary. My “desk” is barely wide enough to hold my laptop. My back muscles have started randomly cramping thanks to the cheap mattress. Brinley’s apartment was supposed to be my landing pad while I got my feet under me. My original plan was to go home if I didn’t successfully launch my business before the end of September. I’ve overstayed my deadline because I refuse to fail. There’s got to be something I haven’t thought of, anything I haven’t already tried.

Because I refuse to give my brothers the satisfaction of proving them right.

A rap on the door interrupts my thoughts.

“You may enter,” I joke in my most regal voice.

Brinley peeks through the door, her black-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose. “Hungry?”

I nod. “Perpetually.”

“You want Thai or sushi? I’m ordering takeout, and I can’t make a decision.”

“Isn’t your boyfriend going to feed you?” Brinley’s boyfriend, Beau, is a restaurateur and an amazing chef in his own right.

“He’s working late tonight,” she sighs. “I’m headed over to his place around ten, but my stomach can’t wait that long. So what should we get? My treat, since you’re saving me from indecision between green curry and salmon rolls.”

See? Brinley knows I’m broke, so she buys me dinner, coming up with a cute excuse to protect my dignity. She’s an angel, and I suck for resenting her charity.

“Chicken pad Thai, please,” I say.

“Perfect. Are you working on job applications?”

“Something like that.”

I’ve already searched through all the job openings anywhere in the realm of event planning. I sent personalized cold emails to a few businesses, too. There’s nothing more I can do for my career tonight, but I will be doing something about my financial situation, anyway.