Page 15

She squeezes my fingers. “He was.”

My phone buzzes just as I step through the revolving doors of Wolf Shield Technologies, already trying not to think about all the ways an interview can go wrong.

Kira: Deep breaths. You’ve got this.

Emma: That’s not what you said this morning.

Kira: This morning I said don’t throw up on the interviewer.

Emma: Such faith.

Kira: Someone has to be realistic.

A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.

Emma: I’m going in now.

Kira: Good luck. And remember, you’re interviewing them too.

I slip my phone into my bag before she can send anything else.

The lobby stretches several stories overhead, all glass, steel, and enough money to make me nervous. Employees move through the building with easy confidence, weaving around one another with laptops and coffees in hand and conversations continuing without interruption.

Meanwhile, I’m gripping my portfolio a little too tightly and trying to look like somebody who belongs here instead of somebody desperately hoping nobody notices how anxious she is.

Three weeks isn’t very long when you think about it.

Three weeks ago I was still living in Spencer’s apartment, still explaining away disappointments, still convincing myself that if I just held on a little longer things would eventually get better.

Now I’m sleeping in Kira’s guest room, learning the true cost of Manhattan rent, and sitting across from hiring managers trying to convince them I’m exactly who they’re looking for.

It’s terrifying.

It’s also the most hopeful I’ve felt in years.

I smooth my blazer and head for the elevators, determined to arrive at my interview looking professional, competent, and reasonably composed.

The building has other plans.

Five minutes later I’ve visited at least four floors, followed two incorrect signs, and accepted directions from enough strangers that I should probably start paying them consulting fees.

Every corridor looks identical to the last one, every turn seems to lead somewhere I’ve already been, and by the time somebody walks directly into me carrying a cup of coffee, I barely have enough energy left to be annoyed.

Halfway through my latest attempt at finding where I’m being interviewed, somebody clips my shoulder hard enough to jolt me sideways. Coffee sloshes out of the cup in his hand and straight onto my cream blouse.

We both stare at the damage.

The stain spreads steadily across the fabric.

The man closes his eyes. “Oh, that’s spectacular.”

I look down at myself. “I had this blouse for almost three hours.”

His head drops forward. “Please tell me you’re exaggerating.”

“I bought it specifically for today.”

“Of course you did.” He rubs a hand across his face. “That feels like the sort of detail the universe would include.”