Over the weekend, I’d called every connection I’d ever made in this city—favorite customers, terrible-but-wealthy customers, and even some of Mr. Lewis’s friends I’d met—just to see if they had any open positions.
The only thing worthy of considering was a job as a weekend handling associate. Until they revealed the “handling” involved dead bodies at the county morgue.
I even called my former barista manager, but she refused to help me at all. She didn’t want to risk me “coming back and making the employees love [me] more.”
When the doors flung open at my stop, I didn’t move to get out. Instead, I stared at my phone and considered the other possibilities I could pursue.
Maybe I could float for a couple weeks.
I could get inspired and write a spicy romance novella that sells enough to cover a bill, charge to complete advanced calculus work for college students, or even?—
Subject:Payment Past Due. Please Pay ASAP.
The email alert killed all my thoughts at once and forced me to exit the train.
Hopes and dreams were for rich people.
I rushed up the steps, emerging into a subdued Times Square.
The only signs of excitement were the flashing billboards and a man dancing in the street.
I soaked in the sights with every step, wanting to remember every scene at this point in my life before Harrison Cross became a major character.
As I rounded the corner by our building, I noticed several employees lining the steps. There were also suited men with flashlights at every door.
What the hell is going on?
Taking my place in line, I craned my neck every few seconds to see, but the view was blocked.
Over the wind, I caught fragments—“First and last name, please,” and “You need to report to this location today.” For some reason, an employee would rush back down the steps in tears every few minutes.
When it was my turn, the guard just stared at me.
“First name, Andrea,” I said, following what I’d heard. “Last name, Stone.”
Silence.
“Hello?” I waved a hand.
“Right, sorry.” He tapped his tablet. “Andrea Stone, you need to clock in directly with Mr. Cross on the top floor. He’s expecting you. Next.”
“Wait,” I said. “Is this check-in going to be an every-morning thing, or is this just for today?”
He gave me a blank stare.
“I’m asking because if it is, don’t you think you should warn people so they can get here even earlier?”
“Next!”
I rolled my eyes and walked into the lobby.
“Good morning, Miss Stone!” A woman I’d never seen before smiled at me from the water fountain. “Today is a sweet day to sip the seasons, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, sure…” I moved past her and to the elevators.
Someone slammed a fist over the panel before I could press the up button, and I gasped. Then I looked to my left.
“Oh…hey there, Riley.” I smiled at him. “You have to check in upstairs, too?”
