Waking Up in the Land of Glitter Read Online Free PDF

spray-painted smiley faces…,” Chloe mumbled. It steamed her that the family obviously knew
     who did it, thanks to D-level acting by the owner’s weirdo daughter.
    “Loser,” Chloe thought of Star. That centerpiece comment really ticked her off. Didn’t she know Chloe was an Emmy-winning
     journalist and craft celebrity?
    Chloe cranked up the air-conditioning and felt her left fake eyelash wilt away from her skin. She rolled her eyes in disgust.
     The unforgiving August heat was no match for waterproof eyelash adhesive. Rather than remove the felon falsie, she chose to
     not blink unless absolutely necessary. Her camera-ready face didn’t dare come off until the front door of her north Scottsdale
     loft closed behind her. One more grievance to add to the list, she thought as she cruised down Grand Avenue, ignoring the
     artful scenery on both sides of the road. Chloe didn’t understand the hype about this area. The city government, community
     groups, and hundreds of local artists strived to revive the crime-ridden street by attempting to turn it into Arizona’s version
     of Greenwich Village.
    The first Friday evening of every month, Chloe covered this area for her job as arts reporter for KPDM’s evening news. The
     streets closed for twenty blocks, from 7th Street to 17th Avenue, to make way for thousands of artsy ilk and musicians who
     weaved in and about dozens of galleries and boutiques, in which La Pachanga Restaurant and Art Space served as the epicenter.
     To her, the place was nothing more than a typical Mexican restaurant with a glorified art nook connected to it. She wouldn’t
     buy into it and refused to eat there, much less cover any of its so-called “art openings.” To her, a serious gallery would
     not be set up inside a place that served quesadilla appetizers. Chloe didn’t have a clue why people swooned over La Pachanga
     or how it even won awards. What she did know was that every time she reported from Grand Ave., she craved a loofah scrub down.
    At the moment, she needed a coffee fix, so she squealed the wheels of her Beemer into the parking lot of the Chi-Chi Coffee
     Cabana—another one of Grand Avenue’s gimmicky avant-garde eateries. Her plan? Tuck and roll to score her liquid fix and exit
     quickly.
    “I’ll take a Triple Underwire Sugar-Free Vanilla Latte—or whatever you call it,” Chloe requested, tapping her French-manicured
     fingers on the counter as she tried to decipher the extensive menu. “And, please, I’m in a hurry this morning,” she mentioned
     to the cheerful clerk in the silver lamé apron. In reality, Chloe had all day to kill. The whole “I’m in a hurry” line was
     just a habit she’d picked up to make others (and herself) see her as important and exclusive. Having completed her shift,
     Chloe planned to go home, change into a soft Juicy Couture tracksuit, sit at her desk, and outline the next twelve months
     of her career at KPDM.
    “You got it, sugar cube!” the barista sang back. He scribbled the order on a paper cup and surveyed her attire from the shiny
     black pumps, up her long legs, over her cotton micro-mini suit, and stopping at her hazel eyes.
    “Here it comes,” she thought. Used to the attention, especially when it came to her meticulous taste in designer attire, she
     prepared herself for answering the usual fan-friendly questions like “Can I have your autograph?” or “Where do you get your
     hair done?”
    She stiffened her back, proud and ready to field his burning query.
    “Hmmm,” he said, tapping his chin. “I think you’re a push-up kind of girl. Sure you don’t want to upgrade to a quad? It’s
     only a quarter more.”
    Obviously the minimum-wage minion didn’t tune in to the Valley’s favorite news station. Regardless, Chloe would have accepted
     his recommendation but became sidetracked when a muscular dreadlocked man in a crisp red tee and dark slacks stepped in her
     path. “May I have a small cup of hot tea