You Flower, You Feast | A One Shot Book

entertainer

Whenever she read something that confused her, her brows would furrow, and a slight pout would cross her lips. If she was annoyed, her eyes glared at the paper as if it was staring back at her; if she was concentrated, her tongue would stick out slightly on the side of her lips, and if she was happy, she'd grin ever so slightly, as if she was afraid someone would see her.

I've been working with Riley at Grievers & Reid's for almost a year now, but I know she's been here for two years. Our boss, Mrs. Daniels, could be a pain sometimes. Giving us unreasonable deadlines and a shit ton of workload—which is probably why Riley thought it would do us good if we brought work home with us.

We never usually do that, bring our work home with us, but Daniels pushed our deadline from a week today to tomorrow, which means we'll have to stay up all night if we wanted to get this done.

By the time 5 pm rolls around, I see Riley put her pen in one of her many pen holders, collating the papers together before sticking them into her purse.

"You ready to go, Z?" Z, she was the only person who called me that. The nickname made my heart flutter and my cheeks heat. She was grinning at me, shrugging her coat on. I could only nod my head, turning away from her so she wouldn't see my red cheeks—oh God, I hope they aren't that red.

I collected the manuscripts, piling them into my satchel and slinging it over my shoulders. I turn to see Riley on her phone, leaning against her desk, coat on, and her bag on the desk. She turned to me, probably sensing I was staring, and grinned again, "Ready?"

I nodded, and we both walked out of the office and into the elevators. It wasn't long until we were both seated inside her car, Riley turning up the heat because of the cold New York weather.

"This isn't actually my car," She says after a minute of silence. We just exited the building and are now driving through the streets of New York. I turned to her in confusion, "it isn't?" She shook her head, running her palm over the wheel, "it's my best friend's."

I could only nod in response. It made sense; working at Grievers & Reid's didn't make us filthy rich, but we could get by day to day, which is why it didn't make sense if she owned this brand new Tesla.

Not that I'm judging or anything; she could've saved up just to buy the car. I'm in no position to judge anyway.

We arrived at her apartment complex not long after, and she parked right in the basement. She lived near the top floor, and as soon as we stepped out of the elevator, I noticed that there were only two doors along a narrow hallway. Okay, maybe she is loaded.

"My parents bought me this apartment when I was 18," She explained, pushing the key into the doorknob and twisting it, "Also, sorry for the mess."

As soon as she opened the door, my jaw dropped, high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, a spiral staircase on the far left. This looks almost like a penthouse.

"Wow, your place is really nice." It's putting my shoebox studio apartment to shame, "Must be really nice," I mentioned, following her as we walked into her apartment. She looked over at me, brows furrowed, "Having rich parents, I mean."

She shrugs, "They only gave it to me because I earned it. I helped with bills and stuff anyway," we both walk into the kitchen, Riley propping her bag onto the counter with me following suit.

We started working on the manuscripts, finding no time for small talk—it's not like I'd want to engage in some small talk anyway.

Papers were scattered around the kitchen counter, red pens and yellow highlighters in a cup that Riley provided, so it wasn't as messy as expected.