I woke up with a crick in my neck that had burrowed its way into my restless sleep and dragged me back to consciousness at four in the morning. Apparently, I had managed to curl into a tight ball on the pull-out couch, face pressed aggressively into the bed frame at an odd angle. My hands were balled into fists against the bedspread, numb from poor circulation.

Staying quiet, I stood up and stretched, ignoring my neck for as long as possible as I scooped up the only change of clothes I had and moved to the bathroom. Ignoring the mirror, terrified of finding more words left for me like a creepy hate letter, I took a shower and threw on my leggings and yellow dress before finally taking in my appearance. My wet blond hair sat in wild tangles around my round face. Bright green eyes stared back at me with a tired expression.

Working the tangles into organized strands, I put on concealer to cover up the proof of my restless night and moved back into the other room where Sanders has started brewing coffee, filling the studio apartment with the smell of liquid heaven.

She'd already dressed in a pair of black slacks and a blue blouse underneath a suit jacket. Looking like the slick agent she was, ready to take on the day even before coffee had entered her system. What a strange creature.

"Morning Bright-eyed girl!" she chirped too loudly. "Ready to take on the day?"

I muttered an unenthusiastic yes, pouring myself a cup of coffee and adding a generous amount of creamer. I loved the effect that coffee had, but hated the taste of it. Once all taste of the coffee was gone, I gulped down the hot liquid of the gods, and settled into a plush loveseat, giving Sanders more of my attention.

"We're heading to the signing at ten, what's the hurry? It's barely five in the morning," I mumble as I wrap my fingers around the mug, enjoying the warmth. I hated how cold my fingers always were.

Sanders plucked a piece of toast out of her toaster, added a generous amount of jelly, and handed it to me, urging me to eat it. "We have a stop to make before we do, and considering neither one of us slept in, I don't see why arriving early is a bad thing."

With my mouth half full of the burnt piece of toast, I gazed up at Sanders with a dubious expression. "Where exactly are we going?" I asked, trying not to spit toast everywhere.

Sanders shoved a piece of toast into her mouth making it impossible to understand her as she answered, mumbling something before plucking up her purse.

"What?" I asked, refusing to move from the cozy seat until the last possible moment before we had to leave.

"Come on," she replied dryly as she moved towards the front door. "Unless you want to take a bus or call an Uber or a Lyft, your agent chauffeur leaves in two minutes."

Coughing past the last bit of toast I attempted to swallow in one swoop, I scrambled around the room, looking for my shoes. "Seriously?!?" I finally found my left shoe and continued to scan the room for the second one. "No warning? Just hurry up or I'll leave you here?!?"

She laughed. "This is my warning." She dropped her house key on the small table next to the front door looking unbothered by my panicked expression. "I'll be in the car. Don't forget to lock up with my key. One minute and thirty seconds left."

"I hate you!" I hissed, as I yanked a pillow off the ground, hoping to find my second shoe.

Sanders snorted. "Riiiiight." She closed the door and the sound of her muffled laughter made me move faster, irritated by her insistence to be in a state of constant motion. Thirty seconds later, I found my shoe, and hopped around, yanking on the black flat before I found my purse under the pull-out couch.

Running for the door, I plucked up her key, locked up, and dashed to the car. I slid into the passenger seat just as Sanders revved her car, threatening to pull away from the curb. "Three... two..." she counted as I threw my purse in the back seat and wrestled to pull on my seatbelt. "One!"

She launched from the curb, sending me shooting backward, my hands only having a moment to click the seatbelt into place before we were hurled into the early morning traffic of Los Angeles. I squeaked and bit back several swears of surprise.

Sanders grinned brightly as she moved in and out of the heavy traffic, a clear sign of a woman who had been dominating these roads for years. Look out LA, Sanders was on the loose.

After a ten-minute drive where I took up my normal passenger routine of scrunching my eyes shut and praying for survival because Sanders always drove like someone was chasing her, the hunt began for a parallel parking spot at our destination.

Sanders refused to waste a second of her life in traffic if there was a free inch of room for her to squeeze past some poor tourist who had gotten into her way, she would snatch it and arrive at her destination when she wanted and not when traffic would allow. This resulted in me itching to get out of the car the moment I agreed to crawl inside. It wasn't all her fault though. I was a bit of a control freak after a past accident, and that made me a terrible passenger.

Sanders squeezed her car into a small parallel spot that would have been impossible for anyone else alive to fit into and settled the car along the curb outside of a restaurant with a bright red awning. I scrambled out before she cut the engine, breathing in the fresh morning dew and the familiar smell of car exhaust, as my heart slowed to its normal jitteriness post first cup of coffee.

Sanders swung her keys around her index finger before dropping them into her small black purse with a grin. "Excellent. We are a few minutes early. Beat my last record."

I managed a tight grin as we walked towards the restaurant titled, "Maple Muffin Corner." The lights were off.

"Uh, Sanders. It's five-thirty. This place doesn't open until six."

She shot me a mischievous smile. "So?"

I rubbed my eyes. "Do I really need to explain to you how restaurants work?" I was going to murder her if we had to get back into that car and drive back to her studio apartment. I couldn't handle two crazy rides like that so close together.

She laughed. "You are always so cranky in the morning. Don't worry..." she knocked on the glass door, offering me a grin. "I know the manager. This place doesn't open for thirty minutes and I didn't want to have to talk quietly." That was weird, even for Sanders.

A girl with bright red hair popped her head out from behind the door and grinned brightly at Sanders. "Em! Great to see ya!" The girl replied with a rich Irish accent, using Sanders shortened first name in greeting.

"Come in!" The girl ushered us inside and over to a table in the corner of the warm restaurant. The deep oak tables were all bare, with high red booth chairs, giving the entire place a warm feeling of welcome.

"Double shot?" she asked Sanders.

She nodded and turned to me as she settled into the booth next to me. "Anything for you?"

"Why are you sitting next to me Sanders? We aren't a couple." I asked, with a hint of irritation.

Sanders laughed and looked back at the girl. "She'll have a caramel latte. Easy on the caffeine though. It makes her cranky."

I glared at Sanders but didn't protest. Once the girl was gone, I turned and stared at Sanders. "What the heck is going on? You drag me here before the place is open, desperate to talk in a private environment when we could have just done that from your place and then you sit next to me in the booth instead of across from me."

She plucked up a menu and stared down at the breakfast choices. "I can never remember. How do you like your eggs?"

"Sanders..."

"Because I keep thinking it's over easy."

"Sanders."

"But you don't like egg yolks so that can't be right."

"SANDERS!"

She slammed the menu down and turned to look at me. "Calm down! So dramatic, I'm just messing with you."

I rubbed my temples. "It's too early for your dramatic reveals. Just this once, let's skip to the reveal without the drumroll, okay?"

The girl put down our drinks and retreated with an amused expression from hearing the last bit of my angry rant.

Sanders pouted. "You are no fun. Fine. I'll give. It's about time anyway."

Picking up my drink, I began to sip as Sanders revealed the purpose of our visit. "I didn't really feel like having strangers over to my house. Especially for a business meeting."

"What meeting?"

"Sanders?" A deep voice asked. Turning, I took in a round man in his late sixties. All of his hair was collected into two bushy eyebrows and a cleanly trimmed beard peppered in grey and black.

Sanders stood up and offered him her hand, shaking his. "You must be Brandon."

He nodded and offered a small smile. "Yep. Brandon from Silver Gate."

Sanders moved so I could stand up. "Laliana, this is Brandon. We talked about getting you a guard, and he's here to help us with that."

I blinked, dread washing over me as I shook his hand. I didn't want a bodyguard, and this man didn't look like someone who could take off after an intruder.

"Hi," I managed, feeling doubtful.

We all shuffled into the booth and Brandon pushed a pamphlet across the table towards Sanders, who scanned it with interest. Feeling suddenly sick, I mumbled about needing to use the bathroom and walked at what I hoped was a human speed instead of a near sprint as I moved around the corner and towards the bathroom.

The hallway lights were not on yet, casting an eerie set of shadows as I neared the restroom. I moved to open the bathroom door but was blocked by a tall man who stepped into my path. "Hello, beautiful. Where are you off to?"

---

If you are in the car, do you prefer to be the driver or the passenger?