Chaelisa | Lisa G!P
Lisa Manoban lives life the way she wants, no concern for the opinion of others. She cares for no one, is completely unrepentant, and she has no desire to change her ways.
Roseanne Park works under Lisa as her PA. She despises he...
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Aside from Roseanne's hesitant instructions, the drive was silent. The farther away we went from my neighborhood, the darker my mood turned. When we pulled up in front of a dilapidated house, I turned to Roseanne.
“This is your house?”
She shook her head. “No. I rent an apartment in the house.”
I slammed the car into park, yanking off my seatbelt. “Show me.”
I followed her up the uneven path, double clicking the key fob. I hoped the tires were still attached to my car when I returned. In fact, I hoped the car would be there.
I didn’t try to hide my displeasure as I looked around at what I assumed was considered a studio apartment. I considered it a dump. A futon, an old chair, and a desk that also served as a table were the only pieces of furniture in the room. A short counter with a hot plate and a small refrigerator posed as a kitchen. There were a half dozen boxes piled by the wall. A wardrobe hanger held the dowdy suits and blouses Roseanne wore.
I strode over to the one door in the room and threw it open. A tiny bathroom held a shower so minute I knew I would never be able to use it. I closed the door and turned to Roseanne. She watched me with nervous eyes.
None of this made any sense to me.
I stepped in front of her, towering over her small stature. “Do you have a problem I should know about?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Do you have a drug problem? Or some other addiction?”
“What?” She gasped, her hand clutched to her chest.
I flung out my arm. “Why are you living like this—like a poor church mouse? I know what you make. You can afford a decent place. What are you spending your money on?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she glared. “I do not have a drug problem. I have other priorities for my money. Where I sleep doesn’t matter.”
I glared right back. “It does to me. You aren’t staying here anymore. Pack your shit. Now.”
I stomped forward. The room was small enough, when she retreated, her back hit the wall. I towered over her menacingly and studied her face. Her eyes, although angry, were clear. Holding her gaze, I grabbed her wrist, pushing her sleeve up. She almost snarled as she tugged her arm away, holding it up, then doing the same to her other arm.
“No needle tracks, Lisa,” she spat. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t smoke them, ingest them, or shoot them into my system. Satisfied? Or, do you want to check more? Should I pee in a jar for you?”
