Still, I would take whatever I could get. I’d proved that tonight, auditioning for that stupid asshole and his stupid dimpled smile. Ugh. At least I would never have to see him again.
* * *
Ataxi horn blared louder than any alarm. I jolted up from the couch, heart hammering hard. Dawn light filtered in through the cracked blinds hanging over the single window. I glanced at the clock. It was only six. The symphony of the city began far too early.
After I climbed out of my makeshift bed, folded the blankets, and took a shower, I whipped up some breakfast and threw on the television. Noah had told me to be ready for my interview at ten, so I had a few hours to kill. When I was halfway into my stack of pancakes, Serena joined me on the floor with a bowl of cereal. There wasn’t room in the apartment for a dining table.
“You’re up early,” she said as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.
“Couldn’t sleep.” I didn’t mention the horns. Somehow, Serena always slept right through them. “Thought I might as well get up and get my day started.”
“You’ll be alright today?” she asked as she swirled her spoon through the milk. “I don’t want to abandon you after last night.”
Serena worked in Manhattan as one of the youngest lawyers ever hired by her firm. With that designation came long hours and little time spent at home.
“I’ve got that interview at the cafe. I’ll be fine.”
“Stay away from the ice cream,” she warned.
I opened my mouth to throw back a retort, but a voice from the television cut through my thoughts. Serena seemed to notice it at the same time I did. We both twisted toward the screen.
“A new victim was found in Hell’s Kitchen last night. Her throat was slashed, just like the others.” The reporter’s lipsticked mouth was grim, solemn. “The police are investigating several leads, but…”
I sucked in a sharp breath and met Serena’s wide gaze. “Another one? I thought those murders had stopped. Didn’t they catch the guy?”
“They did. He’s in jail…they must have been wrong…Mia, you were in Hell’s Kitchen last night,” Serena breathed as she leaned forward. “That could have been you.”
My heart pulsed painfully in my chest. She was right.
After taking one final bite of my pancakes, I stood and brushed the crumbs from my jeans. “Well, it wasn’t me. It was some other poor girl.” I shivered just thinking about it. This was the fifth murder in the past few months. The police thought a serial killer was behind them all, and they’d caught a suspect a few weeks back. The murders had stopped…until now.
Either this was a copycat or they’d caught the wrong guy.
Serena frowned up at me. “Why aren’t you more freaked out? What if that had been you?”
“Iamfreaked out, but I don’t want to drive myself crazy thinking in what ifs. Not anymore. I spent two years doing that.” I strode over to the window, popped my head outside, and found Hendrix waiting for his morning treat. With a smile, I tossed him a leftover piece of my pancake. He caught it midair and swallowed it in one gulp. Spoiled pigeon.
Serena edged up behind me. “Just don’t go traipsing through the streets at night again, okay? Not even for a job.”
“I won’t,” I replied, though I’d meant what I said. An asshole with a knife wouldn’t make me cower in this apartment. I’d come to the city to finally move on with my life, so that was what I was going to do. As soon as I got a job. First up, I had to nail this interview. And hope they didn’t decide to look me up online.
4
The little cafe sat on a tree-lined street in the nicest part of Clinton Hill and on the ground floor of a brownstone. Potted plants dotted the sidewalk, along with circular wrought-iron tables. Every one was packed with customers sitting in the sun and taking advantage of the warm summer day. I squared my shoulders and pushed open the door. A little bell jangled to announce my arrival.
Two harried baristas glanced up from behind the counter that curved along one wall. A line of customers trailed through the building, though most of the tables inside were vacant. Tiny, multi-colored mason jars lined the walls, and old pallets hung from the ceiling by mismatched chains and ropes. The scent of coffee wafted into my nose in a sudden blast of aromatic caffeine.
Noah popped his head out of a door in the far corner. He motioned me forward. I took a deep breath, wound my way through the crowd, and joined him in the back. He gave me a once-over, taking me in. Unlike last night’s interview, I’d opted for a nice pair of black slacks, a sleeveless, button-up shirt that covered my belly button, and a basic pair of flats.
“You look nicer than usual,” he said.
“Gee, thanks.”
I knew he didn’t mean it as an insult, but still. Way to make a girl feel great about herself two seconds before an important interview.
He led me down an empty hallway and stopped outside of a back office where an older man sat inside, rustling through a mound of paperwork. A pair of glasses perched on his thin nose, and the overhead florescent light gleamed off his bald head.
Noah knocked lightly on the open door. “Mia McNally is here for her interview. Mia, this is Abe, the owner ofFunky Froth.”
