He's a prince. He deserves only the best.
I eat maybe half of the scrambled eggs on my plate before his cute face and sassy insistence has me putting the rest on the floor for him.
Never let it be said I don't treat my cat like royalty.
His meows of complacency echo in my mostly-empty apartment as he rounds every corner looking for something new to get into trouble with, and that leaves me sitting on the old, sagging couch alone, half-starved still, frustrated, and tired.
And so very, very desperate.
I pick up the newspaper that I five-finger-discounted off the corner magazine rack and flip to the help wanted ads.
Nothing.
Or, at least, nothing I haven't already applied to.
I flip open my phone and hit all the usual websites for employment opportunities. Nothing. My resumé is up to date, my profile is sharp and attractive, my rates reasonable.
Yet nobody clicks on me. Nobody hires me, or even inquires about my services.
I'm slowly losing my damn mind.
I can't let this happen. Taco isn't made for the streets. I can survive them, but he's a gentle little indoor bean who's never been on a leash or outside in his life. He's too soft to handle life homeless.
I need something fast.
In my wallet, I've got the business card of a hiring agency that helps even the most desperate of cases, and though I promisedmyself I wouldn't stoop to cleaning toilets in some dingy dive bar or scrubbing puke off the high school cafeteria floor, the situation is dire. Too dire for pride.
But I don't make it that far.
The moment I pick the damn thing up, out falls a card I forgot I even had. It's like the world is sending me a sign, and my hand shakes as I lift the card off the floor and frown.
Arista Simmons, kNight Entertainment.
I remember this lady. She and I met in a bar on ladies' night. She bought my first drink.
And she offered me a job.
At the time, I thought there was no point in calling her, because there's no way I'll get into any sort of agency, even with connections. Now, though, I pick up my laptop and search them up, curious.
They're legit.
Ten minutes of surface-level research tells me they specialize in hiring the unhireable—at the international superstar level, that is. But that doesn't mean they won't hire a little fish like me who needs a second chance.
Only one way to find out, right?
It's not too late to dial them up. It's only six. So with shaking hands and unsteady fingers, I dial the number on the front of the card and hold my breath.
Someone picks up on the third ring, just as I'm about to hang up and face the music.
"Thank you for calling kNight Entertainment. How can I help you?"
I frown at the card and flip it over, taking a deep breath. "I'm trying to reach a Miss Simmons?—"
"Ah, yes, Miss Simmons is still here, you're very lucky. Can I tell her who's calling?"
What do I say? Hey, it's me, the girl from the bar two months ago with the sad look of defeat on her face? "Ah, my name is Denali. She—we met at the Four Cities Ladies' Night?—"
"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, but Miss Simmons doesn't take personal calls on this line?—"
