CHAPTER TEN

Margret’s POV

“You’re wearing the red dress or I’m stabbing you,” Amanda called from the kitchen zone, as I’d begun calling it. It certainly wasn’t big enough to be labeled a full-fledged kitchen. I’d gone from an echoing, rambling Studio in the Los Angeles suburbs to an adorable East Village apartment roughly the size of my former living room. It felt even smaller once I’d unpacked, put everything in its place, and I was staying with my two closest friends both of whom resided in San Fransisco. I may or may not have had a big fight with Williams that had made me pack my bags from the...