Page 1 of Risk It All

CHAPTER1

Emerson

My heels pinchmy toes as I walk faster down the busy sidewalk.People keep bumping into me, but I’m too excited to care.I just keep grinning, no matter how many dirty looks I get, and continue on my way.

My cell phone is still clutched tightly in my hand, my crossbody handbag bumping against my hip with every hurried step that I take.My apartment building comes into view and for the first time since I moved into the place, I smile when I see the old, crumbling brick building.

I jog up the stairs, wincing when the strap of my heel digs into my toe.I live on the fourth floor with my best friend, Layla.She’s a writer, so I know that she’s home and will be excited to hear my news.

I burst into the tiny apartment, tripping over Layla’s yoga mat and catching myself on the wall by the door.I kick off the offending high heels and dodge shoes, stacks of books, and a laundry basket full of clothes that I’m not sure are clean or dirty on my way to Layla’s bedroom/home office.

The door is cracked and I push it open, smiling when I hear her favorite ASMR soundtrack playing.Layla is at her desk in the corner of her bedroom, her black curly hair is tied up messily in a bun on top of her head as she hunches over her laptop.

She looks like the words are really flowing and I bite my lip, twirling a strand of my dark auburn hair around my finger as I debate interrupting her or waiting to tell her my exciting news.She saves me from having to decide a minute later when she lets out a frustrated snarl and starts slamming down her finger on the delete button over and over again.

“Hey,” I say, startling her out of her writer’s funk.

“Hey!When did you get home?”she asks as she spins around in her desk chair.

“I got the call today.”

“For the interview?You’re moving to New York?”she asks excitedly, leaping to her feet in excitement.

“If I get the job, I will,” I say with a mile-wide smile.

I knew that she would be just as excited about the news as I am.She’s always been my biggest cheerleader.

We met in college at the University of Chicago.She was there as an English and creative writing major, and I was there to study art history.We had been partnered up as roommates and had hit it off right away.

It seems a little surprising that we became such good friends since we’re opposites in a lot of ways.

Layla is bubbly, always excited about something, and she can walk up to anyone and strike up a conversation.She’s lean with coal-black hair and striking light blue eyes.

I’m more of a wallflower and a homebody.I’d rather be walking around an art gallery or at home watching TV than at a nightclub or some party.Layla dragged me to a few parties when we were freshmen, but she learned quickly that me and frat parties just weren’t a good mix.I had been so uncomfortable at them that after the second one, she had just let me stay in our dorm room, curled up in my bed with a bowl of popcorn.

She’s tan, compliments of her Italian heritage from her mom’s side.I’m so pale that I could be mistaken for Casper the ghost.My hair is a deep red color with shades of copper threaded in and is bone straight, hanging around my shoulders.

“When is your interview?”she asks, dragging me out into the living room.

“Next Thursday.In New York,” I say, dropping the bomb.

I’m excited about getting this interview.Working at the Malhoy Gallery is a dream come true, but the one thing that is tripping me up, is how I’m going to make it to the interview.When I had applied, I had hoped that they would do it online or over Skype or the phone.

Apparently not.

I’ve been working at a smaller gallery out here in Los Angeles since Layla and I first moved to town, but I’m just a lowly assistant and my paychecks barely cover my share of the rent and ramen for the month.There’s no way that I can afford a flight to New York and back and then a hotel while I’m there.

“Yikes.How are you going to swing that?”Layla asks, pulling out our half-empty bottle of wine from the fridge and pouring us each a glass.

“I was thinking I would drive it.I did the math and it would be cheaper to drive and sleep in the car or at some cheap motels than it would be to get a flight last minute and some hotel in New York for a few days.Even still, I’m not sure that I have enough in savings to cover gas and everything,” I admit.

She nods, pausing with the wine bottle suspended in air as a thought hits her.I’m hoping that it’s some solution to my problem, but knowing Layla, it could be that she figured out a scene that she was working on or a new idea for a book just hit her.

I slide my glass across the counter, picking it up as she works whatever out in her head.I take a sip, trying not to gag on the bitter taste.This bottle was a different brand that was a little cheaper but it tastes like trash.Should have stuck to our boxed wine.

“I might know someone that could help with expenses,” Layla says, and I raise my eyebrow at her, encouraging her to continue.“I have a friend who is trying to get to New York soon too.He’s a comedian and has a chance to do a stand-up and audition for some fancy comedy club out there next week.He was just talking about trying to figure out a ride out there.”

“I’m not sure that I want to drive across the country with some guy that I’ve never met,” I start, and she waves me off.

---