Chapter 1
“You good?” Tamara asked me, after I had finished eating my cinnamon roll.
I nodded, unable to reply, mouth filled with pastry. We were at a little coffee shop downtown. Two blocks away from my new job. Today was supposed to be my first day. That is, if I was able to stop my panic attack in its tracks. Tamara had helped. All I did was text her from where I was holed up in the bathroom, and here she arrived, some mocha goddess with an iced coffee in her hands and a pastry to lure me back into the reality of the foyer.
“Good. You got some food in you. Maybe you can function normally now.”
“It’s helping,” I said. “You’re a real lifesaver.”
“Cab fare ain’t cheap,” she said. “You’re buying my drinks when we go out next.”
“Sounds like a fair deal,” I said.
We sat in contemplative silence, two best friends watching the delivery driver squat and lift with his legs. And what shapely legs he had. A dragon tattoo swirled up and down them, and where his short brown jacket hit his elbows, even more tattoos spilled out, Technicolor sleeves that spoke to me on a primal level.
“Why are we so attracted to dangerous men?” I asked idly.
“Adrenaline. Evolution. Mother Nature squirting dumb bitch juice right into our veins. Take your pick,” Tamara said. “Look at those calves.”
“My God, he looks like he could lift a small elephant,” I said.
“Wasn’t how I would have worked elephants in, but I get what you’re throwing down. Look, Stacey. I know how you are. And trust me. I’m so fucking glad you came to town. You needed this, girl. Your family. I love them. You know I love your parents just like mine.”
“I know,” I said.
“They can just be so…” Tamara shook her head. “You know what I’m trying to say.”
“Yeah. Uptight. Repressed. Borderline backwoods.”
“And the position you have now. Young career woman in the city, single, with her whole future ahead of her. Man. I’m jealous just thinking about it.”
“It’s honestly nothing. You know. Sometimes I so regret trying for this. Making it. Whatever it is. This all just adds so much stress to my life.”
“Trying for what?”
“The writing thing,” I said, gesturing with my iced coffee at the world. “In general.”
“Girl, you get off on it. Don’t tell me you didn’t already have half a dozen ideas for your first article percolating as soon as your pumps hit that Chicago sidewalk.”
It was true. I couldn’t look her in the face. I knew she was smirking. For some reason, it sat in my stomach wrong—I thought about all my ideas, the things I was going to say, and having to introduce myself. “Hi. I’m Stacey Adams. I’m here to—” And then I’d vomit all over my manager’s shoes.
I knew myself.
“I’m so nervous I feel like my stomach’s going to drop out of my toes. I feel like I’m going to walk in there, first thing, and they’ll clock me. Clock me like I just got off the bus yesterday.”
“Well,” Tamara said.
I pulled a face at her.
“You know what I mean. They’ll smell how small town I am. God, I hope I don’t fuck this up.”
“Baby girl,” Tamara said, and she leaned forward from her chair, both of her hands grabbing me on either side of my face. “Look into my eyes when I say this. Don’t kid yourself. Feedworthy is the hottest digital magazine that exists right now. Don’t even begin to think you’re crafty enough to fool the people running it. They see you for who you are. A confident, competent woman with a badass work history and the chops to make magic happen. Do you, baby girl?”
“Right.” I sounded a lot more confident than I felt, but Tamara having confidence in me was almost enough to get me motivated again.
“Now, throw your cup away. Get to your feet. Check your hair and makeup. Walk around the corner and into the Feedworthy front doors. Remember what your best friend told you.”
I nodded at her.
