Chase Me (Broke and Beautiful #1)(5)

Big green eyes flecked with gold. Lips that looked like she’d just sucked a cherry Popsicle. Good Lord, he got hard thinking about the way those lips had felt moving with his. The way she’d kissed him until he’d gotten worked up, then pulled back, leaving him dangling over the side of a cliff. He’d been so stunned by his own reaction that he’d let her take off without a word. A rarity for him. He always, always had something to say. He was a goddamn lawyer. A framed piece of paper on his office wall said so.

Of course, she didn’t know that he was gainfully employed. He’d been shirtless and unshaven at eleven in the morning on a f*cking Thursday. He’d offered her tequila before asking her name. If she hadn’t written him off as a clown, he’d be disappointed. In his defense, he’d been celebrating a victory for his firm the night before. One of his pro bono clients, a small business owner from Queens, had lost his family-owned convenience store in the recent hurricane. He’d been unable to get assistance to rebuild, financial or otherwise, thanks to the uncooperative insurance company and a landlord who wanted to lease the space out to a more lucrative business. Louis had worked on the case for weeks, in between the paying clients he was required to take on. As of yesterday, the man had the funds he needed to rebuild, his family’s livelihood intact.

Okay, so he’d gone a little overboard last night and slept late this morning. He didn’t make a habit of it. Much. Dammit, if for no other reason, he wanted to track the girl down just to correct her misconception of him. All right, maybe he wanted to kiss her again, too. A lot.

He could accomplish it with a couple of phone calls.

“He’s considering it,” Russell said, breaking into his thoughts.

“I’m considering what?”

“Calling the girl who sent you the telegram to get the name of the agency,” Ben explained.

“No. I can’t do that. Zoe was a nice girl.” Louis racked his brain for a single memory of her. “I think.”

Russell shrugged. “Tell her you thought it was an amazing gift and want to send one to your mom.”

“To my mom. In the south of France.”

“She doesn’t know your mother’s geographical location.” Russell set his empty pint glass down with a thunk. “Come on, man. Desperate times. Save the bunny, save the world.”

“You’re a jackass.” Louis signaled the waitress for another round. “And speaking of your donkey brethren, I’m a little too well acquainted with them after I clicked the wrong link this afternoon.”

Ben and Russell shivered.





Chapter 3



HOLY FLYING SHIT monkeys. No f*ckin’ way.

Roxy’s paper coffee cup paused halfway to her mouth. She leaned closer to the computer screen, positive she’d read the craigslist advertisement wrong. When someone cleared their throat beside her, she realized she’d cursed out loud. Apparently profanity was frowned upon in this Internet café. She’d spent the last few hours here after bouncing around all night between different coffee shops and twenty-four-hour diners, not having an apartment to go to and reluctant to wave the white flag by returning to Jersey. Sleep deprivation must have taken its toll, because she had to be seeing things.

One bedroom available in a three-bedroom apartment. Chelsea. Girls only, please. I’m not sexist or anything. It’s just that I don’t want to be self-conscious in my own apartment. You know? If you’re a man and still reading this ad, it’s nothing personal. I just want to hang my bra in the shower without worrying about you judging my cup size. I’m a 32B, so I pad liberally. Well. This has all been very therapeutic. I’m taking applications for the next hour. My address is 110 Ninth Avenue, Apartment 4D. $200/month.

The last part. The price. That’s where Roxy kept getting tangled up. In Chelsea, that rent was completely unheard of. A thing of fairy tales whispered about in bars late at night, only among the closest of friends. The unicorn of living spaces. Even a closet-sized bedroom with bars on the window went for upwards of seven hundred dollars per month in Chelsea. It had to be a typo. Or she’d stumbled across the holy grail of rent-controlled apartments, which were usually only advertised by word of mouth. Never on craigslist. Based on the rambling nature of the ad, she supposed the renter could just be too crazy to attract a well-paying tenant. If so, it was Crazy Pants’ lucky day, because Roxy was desperate. She’d consider living with a family of circus performers at this point, convincing herself it would be a good character study.

Her first week in the Big Apple had been a dream come true. She’d nailed her first audition and starred in a national television commercial for SunChips. They’d been going for a youthful angle, calling for her to crunch into a chip as she flopped onto her college dorm bed, then sighing in contentment into the camera. The kind of money it had brought in had allowed her to live comfortably. For a while. It would only be a matter of time before she got her next gig, right? Wrong. No one appeared impressed with her debut as SunChip princess, especially when her competition had resumes that made hers look like a grocery list. They’d pulled the ad after a short run, leaving her without a royalty check.

Her current problem, though? She was far from the only desperate, aspiring actress in this town. A fact she knew all too well from the droves of eager girls who showed up to read for the same parts as herself. Tired girls dressed in thrift-shop glamour. At that very moment, she was willing to bet there were hundreds, nay thousands, of starving artists stampeding their way toward 110 Ninth Avenue. A sense of urgency blooming through her veins, Roxy quickly closed out the Internet screen and yanked her backpack over her shoulders. She was ten blocks away, and the ad had been posted three minutes ago. If she hustled her ass off, she might have a slim chance of making it. As she tossed her coffee cup in the nearest trash can, a girl with a pink bandana wrapped around her forehead stood up at the computer beside her. They locked eyes.