I swallow back bile as I grab my keys and my purse. It’s a bad time to remember that my gas tank is on E. It’s always on E. Do I even have a single dollar left to my name?
I rummage frantically around in my purse and find a crumpled twenty. I nearly fall to the ground with relief. It won’t get me far, but it’s a whole lot better than nothing.
I lock up my apartment and race down the stairs, only letting out a shaky, trembling breath when I’m safe behind the wheel of my car with the doors locked. I’m trembling so badly that I need to take a minute and calm down.
Stream some chill beats or something.
I take my phone out of my purse, and my fingers leave sweaty marks on the screen that make me want to gag.
Actually, I just want to gag about everything right now. This whole day? It’s pretty much a straight projectile vomit of life dumped right on top of me, and I’m usually a no-thank-you type of girl when it comes to dealing with puke.
Before I can even slide to get the screen on and find my music streaming app, a name floats into my brain.
You think your name is bad? Try having to go through life with Warrick Beanbottom. Sounds enchanted, right? More like a failed wizard who now sits at home all alone and smells the gnarly farts of every failed spell. Not so happily ever after and not magical. It’s a deadbeat name for a deadbeat sperm donor. Thank god I got my mom’s last name. At least he pays his guilt payments to my mom every month. He’s never missed a payment, and they’re not small. I’ll give him that. But do you really care when your family is richer than god? Asshole. I hope he turns himself into a toad one day.
I thought Reg was just venting that day. He didn’t usually talk about his dad, and neither did his mom. There was just that one time where it was more than a word or a sentence in passing. Even when they were cut off, they whined more about that than mentioning who did the axing of their funding.
I nearly drop my phone in my excitement at having my brain finally do some proper braining.
There can’t be that many people with the name Warrick Beanbottom in Harrisburg, can there? The city has fifty thousand people. The odds are probably in my favor.
Who says he lives here or even in Pennsylvania?
Okay, brain, now is so not the time to get down on yourself.
I type the name into my phone and hit search. Then, I screw my eyes shut tight.
I get exactly one result. I follow the name to a robotics page. I can’t really even figure out what the company does, but my head is a scrambled, goopy mess right now. I hit the companydirectory, and there he is. Warrick Beanbottom, CEO. There’s no photo anywhere, and there certainly aren’t any private addresses.
If I had tons of money, the first thing I would do is protect my privacy. I wouldn’t be listing my private address either. Good lord, I wouldn’t want to do that now, but if I had the funds, I could pay to make sure no one showed up at my doorstep.
Nasty thugs wanting to break my bones, for one.
My car is fifteen years old, a tiny little jellybean in sky blue. It’s great on gas, and I mean GREAT in screaming capitals. I can drive on a thirty-dollar tank for weeks.
Pittsburgh is only about three and a half hours away. It might be a Sunday, but I’ll sleep in my car if I have to. I’ll call my parents right away and let them know everything. I’ll tell them that I’m fixing this, and I’ll promise them that they don’t have to worry.
I have a name and an address.
I just hope it’s the right one and that I can somehow beg, cajole, or force my way into a massive corporate office. I might have to make threats, which blows my mind because I’m far too sweet to even generally think of ever hurting another person or making vague promises about it, but desperate times and all that.
I don’t have any other choice.
This is probably my only hope.
Chapter two
Warrick
Ifind myself bracing for the worst and hoping for the—no. That’s not true. I’m not hoping for the best. After a five-minute call with security, I know nothing about this can go any way but sidefuckingways.
Anything more than a ten-second conversation with security is too much. Gerald might be brief and efficient, a man of few words, but those words have an impact. He wasn’t messing around when he informed me ofthesituation. He recommended sending saidsituationaway, but I couldn’t let him do that. He told me he was going to accompanythe situationup, and I did approve of that, but I made it clear that I wanted to meet with her alone.
If there’s one thing I agree with my parents about, and chances are good that it’s one thing only, it’s that family stuff should be kept private.
After Gerald gave me the longest spiel I had ever heard from him about how he’d make sure there was zero threat to mephysically and then advised me to call both my personal and corporate lawyers before I said a word tothe situation,he’d informed me that he’d be on his way up in twenty-three seconds.
I make sure I’m waiting right by the door. I might want to have this conversation one-on-one, but I’m going to direct how it goes. I’m letting this stranger into my office, but she’s not getting two feet past the door. I don’t believe in being unkind for the sake of unkindness, and I seldom rise to provocation, but at the same time, I’m not sixteen anymore. I won’t allow myself to get stampeded all over.
