Page 64 of Howl for Me
"I really need to go shopping," I murmur to myself, twisting to check the back view. "After seeing what everyone wore last night… I need a serious wardrobe upgrade."
That dress Lori lent me made me feel pretty and powerful. I actually felt like I belonged here. If I get this job, I might drag her along to help me shop. She probably knows all the best places and could charm a discount out of anyone with just a smile. The thought makes me grin as I grab my bag from the kitchen counter, my heart pounding with a mix of nerves and adrenaline. I have thirty minutes and no idea what I’m walking into.
The moment I step into the daylight, I regret skipping the Advil. The sun hits me hard, bright and merciless, like it knows exactly how much fun I had last night. My temples throb in rhythm with my heartbeat, and for a second, I consider turning back. But a glance at my watch shuts that thought down. There’s no time. I’ll deal with the headache. Time’s already slipping away faster than I’d like, and apparently, I slept through half the day.
Who does interviews this late in the afternoon, anyway? It’s probably some supermarket with flickering lights and a broken freezer section, the kind that stays open until 2AM, just long enough to make me the perfect candidate for graveyard shifts. Lucky me. I can practically see myself behind a cash register already, under those buzzing fluorescents. And yet... I don’t care. Not really. I’ll bag groceries, mop floors, and stock shelves until dawn if it means I get to stay. I didn’t haul my ass across two state lines just to come crawling back to Utah, tail tucked, admitting I failed. I didn’t claw my way through four years of college, fighting tooth and nail just to be taken seriously, just to go crawling back and admit defeat. No way in hell.
I was the only woman in my communications program. The only one. Every time I walked into a lecture hall, it felt like stepping onto a stage mid-performance, every head turning,every stare weighted with doubt. They didn’t expect me to last. I’m sure some didn’t want me to. The jokes were quiet but sharp. The condescension? Louder than any shout. They'd try to trip me up in discussions, cut me off mid-thought, always waiting for me to fall flat so they could nod like they'd known it all along.
And then there was my mother. God, my mother. She thought college was a phase I’d grow out of. Said it outright and more than once.
“Stop wasting your time with all that nonsense. You need to meet a nice man, Cassidy. Settle down. I’m not getting any younger, you know.” It was always the same script on repeat with her, like she was reading from some handbook she never questioned. That was her dream. To be a wife and a mother was her end goal. To build a home and keep it full, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Truly, it’s a beautiful life, a sacred kind of work. One day, I hope I have that too. A husband, a home, little feet running through the kitchen. That’s a dream for another time. Not now. Not after everything I’ve done to break free from the box they tried to keep me in. I’ve earned the right to want more, to chase something bigger. The fire in my chest still burns with the need to prove every single one of them wrong. I glance at my watch again and quicken my step.
Fifteen minutes.
I don’t know what kind of job this is, or who the voice on the phone belongs to. But I know one thing for sure; I’m going to show up.
And I’m not leaving Los Angeles without a fight.
Chapter Four
Thehouseloomsinfront of me, quiet and still. A house? This can’t be right. It looks nothing like a supermarket. There isn’t even a sign, just a heavy black door that feels like it’s watching me, waiting. I glance down at the address to be sure, but it matches. I move toward the door, then stop, frozen mid-step. I wait a little too long, caught between knocking and running.
That’s when I hear it. Smooth as hell, a car pulls in behind me, the engine purring like a cat. I turn just as the door of a black Cadillac swings open. A man steps out slowly, like he’s got nowhere to be and knows the world will wait for him. Curly brown hair, thick mustache, flowy silk shirt open halfway to his stomach, and bell bottoms hugging narrow hips. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and a cigarette dangling from his lips.
He doesn’t even glance at me at first. Just strolls up toward me like this is all routine. Behind me, he stops and exhales with boredom. He smells like smoke and pine needles and something a little wild, like the woods after it rains. He smells so good.
“Door ain’t gonna open itself, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? The word is supposed to sound tender and nice, but he manages to make it sound like an insult.
I glance at him sideways. “I wasn’t sure if this was the right place.”
He says nothing, brushing past me to push the door open with a huff.
Rude. I roll my eyes. Still, I follow him inside. The house is… opulent. Deep red velvet, gold-framed art, mirrors on every wall. He drops onto a red velvet couch like he owns it. Maybe he does. I take a few steps into the room, suddenly unsure if I’m supposed to sit, stand, or run out the door.
“Did I speak to you on the phone?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me. Just exhales and says, “Nope.”
“Do you live here?”
He sighs again, then finally removes his sunglasses. His eyes are chestnut brown, bloodshot, and sharp. He looks at me like he would much rather I stop talking.
“You lost, stray?”
I blink. “Stray?”
He doesn’t explain. Just smirks, like that answers everything.
I cross my arms. “I’m here about a job. This is the address that was given to me.”
He drags his eyes down my frame, slow and deliberate. He smirks. “That so?”
“Yes, that’s so. So sorry if my questions bother you, but someone asked me to be here.”
He leans back, “You’re forgiven.”
