The-Sinful-King-By-Claire-Contreras-PDF

“I slept on the train,” I said, as if that would explain the
state I was in.
Truth was, I did look rumpled. I’d barely slept, so I was
sure there were bags under my eyes. My hair was a mess in a
bun that I hadn’t taken the time to fix. I hadn’t ironed my
linen coat and I was sure the buttons on my blouse were
mismatched. I never looked rumpled. At least not in public,
so Mrs. Parsons was right to be concerned.
“Come inside for tea,” she said, her tone leaving no room
for argument.
“I should set my bags down,” I said, arguing anyway.
“I’ll let you get settled then. Tea tomorrow at noon.”
“Tomorrow at noon.” I smiled and waited for her to
disappear into her flat before going into mine.
Once inside, I began to shed my clothes, sliding o my
shoes first before moving onto my scarf and jacket. I walked
up to the pile of letters at the edge of my counter and leafed
through them, sorting the bills from the trash, and setting
aside invitations I’d received. Some of the letters were for
Joss, so I set those in a separate pile altogether. Taking the
bills and invitations with me, I walked over to each of the
windows on this floor and pulled open the curtains, letting
the midday sun wash over the space. I would go downstairs
and upstairs later. For now, I wanted to pay my bills, do my
laundry, and take a nap.
My phone woke me up. I reached for it blindly and answered it
upon seeing Mrs. Meyers’ number on the screen.
“Is everything okay?” I said as a greeting.
“No, everything is not okay. That man is insu erable and
I will not deliver any more baskets.”