THREE LOUD POUNDING THUDS RESONATED into my brain, and I cringed. God, what is that awful noise? Am I dreaming?
If I was dreaming, why was there no Chris Pratt?
The sound came again, even faster and more insistent, and with effort, I forced my eyelids open. Sometime in the last twelve hours, daylight had commandeered my bedroom with its damn near blinding, luminous rays. Fucking hell. What time was it?
“Alex Little,” the deep and unfamiliar voice called from outside of my apartment.
I snagged my phone off the half-packed cardboard box beside my bed and clicked the home screen to check the time. 12:00 p.m. Holy hell, I’d slept half the day away.
I had no doubt Wonderland was to blame. No normal human being would leave that experience without needing a twelve-hour-plus coma to mentally process it all.
“Open up. I have an important message to deliver.” The knocks came again, nearly breaking the door at this point, and I slid Deena off of my belly to remove my still tired ass from bed. She meowed her annoyance, but once I fluffed the comforter around her body, she snuggled into the warmth and went back to ignoring the outside world.
“Just a minute,” I called and slid on a pair of sleep shorts to avoid the awkwardness of answering the door in my underwear.
Moments later, I unlatched the deadbolt and opened the door. The man standing on the other side greeted my most likely disheveled, still sleepy appearance with an amused grin. He looked to be midthirties, and with the way he wore his sophisticated, gray fitted suit, I’d venture to guess he was the exact opposite of me—he had his shit together.
“Alex Little?” he asked, and I nodded.
“That’s me.”
“The building is under new management.” He handed me a white envelope. “Your next rent payment will be due in forty-five days.”
Wait…what? I had over a month to pay my rent, on an apartment I was supposed to be evicted from?
Maybe I’m still dreaming?
I pinched the side of my hip just to be sure. Ow, cripes. Definitely not dreaming.
Apparently, somewhere along the line, the fact that I’d gotten evicted and only had a few days left to live in my apartment had gotten lost in translation. So, I did what anyone in my position would do. I played innocent and discreetly pulled the door closer to my back to hide the visual of half-packed cardboard boxes scattered across my apartment.
“So, the building is under new management?” I questioned, and he nodded. “And I have an extension on my next rent payment?”
“Yes.”
“So, my next rent payment will just be for one month’s rent, correct?”
“Correct.”
Either this guy was an angel, or I’d somehow sold my soul to the devil while I was attending that Wonderland party last night. I silently prayed my life wasn’t on a path similar to Keanu Reeves in The Devil’s Advocate.
“Uh…what exactly happened to Vinnie Pat?”
The man’s face remained neutral. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?” I asked. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”
He offered a noncommittal shrug. “All I know is that he’s no longer running these apartment buildings.”
“Hmm…” I tried to process the vague information into something that would actually make sense, but I came up empty-handed. “I mean, I hope he’s not, like, dead or anything, but if I’m being honest, he was a bit of an asshole. I wasn’t a big fan.”
“It’s safe to say you weren’t the only one.” The corner of his mouth crested into a slight, nearly ominous smirk.
Please tell me I didn’t sell my soul to the devil…
“Also,” he stated. “Since the building is now under new management, we’re relocating tenants because it’s being remodeled.”
“What do you mean it’s being remolded?”
“There are a lot of updates that need to be made to make this a safe place for tenants. Take that, for example.” He waved his hand toward the elevator that had been out of order since I started renting the place six months ago. “That needs to be fixed.”
“So…where exactly am I being relocated to?”
He nodded toward the envelope in my hands. “All of the information, including the keys to your new place, is right there.”
“Wait…I need to relocate like right now?”
“We’re asking all tenants to move as soon as possible. The sooner we can clear this building out, the sooner we can get to work. And after my team completed a full evaluation of the premises, they told me that expediency is in the best interest of your safety,” he explained and offered a polite smile. “Have a good day, Miss Little. And inside that envelope, you’ll find I’ve left my direct cell number should you have any questions or concerns.”
It suddenly occurred to me that I was taking keys and an explanation from a man for whom I didn’t even have a name.
“Okay… And what is your name?”
“I’m Mike McConnell,” he answered.
Well, at least it’s not stranger danger anymore, right?
“Well, thanks, Mike. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Have a good day,” he said and offered a short wave before heading through the stairwell door and out of view.
I shut the door to my apartment and stared down at the envelope in my hands in disbelief. What in the hell was happening?
And more importantly, where was I supposed to be “relocating” to?
With impatient fingers, I ripped open the envelope and pulled out the packet of papers. The keys to my new humble abode slipped out and hit the hardwood floor with a clatter. I scanned the papers, and catching on one detail in particular, I blinked several times.
Does that really say Wilshire Boulevard?
No fucking way.
Maybe there’s a different Wilshire Boulevard? Like, maybe Wilshire Boulevard has a shitty, twin-sister street in a different, less pretty part of town? Surely, it’s supposed to say Wilshire Boulevard 0.5 or something?
There was only one way to find out.
I walked into my bedroom and threw on jean shorts, a tank top, and a pair of flip-flops and then tossed my hair into a messy bun. With my new keys in hand and the paper with the address in my pocket, I kissed the top of Deena’s head and walked out of my apartment and toward the bus station.
Thirty minutes later, I hopped off the bus and walked the half mile Google Maps instructed. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, all while aggravated people weaved around me, I looked up, up, up, until my eyes reached the very top of a luxurious, high-rise building on the actual Wilshire Boulevard.
This was my new home?
I was supposed to relocate from my shitty, studio apartment in Boyle Heights to this amazing, fucking mind-blowing apartment building in downtown LA?
Holy. Fucking. Shit.