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I glance down, realizing there’s a voicemail on myphone.
I listen to the message threetimes.
The second time in case my caffeine high’s making mejittery.
The third time in case the tone of his voice is giving me aseizure.
By the time I hit End, there’s a low-grade buzzing in mystomach.
Kendall raises a brow. “What’swrong?”
“It’s the client I pitched yesterday. He said I don’t understand the nuance of their product. It’s called Crotchmaster, Kendall. They make underwear that keeps guys’ balls at the right temperature. Seriously? Do they fry like a frog if their junk’s too hot? Do they get hypothermia when it’s toocold?”
“It’ll be fine. It’s not like you counted them in your business report for the pastquarter.”
Icringe.
The look on Kendall’s face says itall.
I’mscrewed.
The buzzing in my gut has dialed up from background static to “ate some dicey tacos”level.
I’m still the new kid. Having been hired at Closer three months ago, I’m under the most scrutiny. Plus, there are only a dozen employees to start with, so every person matters and has to pull theirweight.
I glance at the time. 4:50 p.m. “I can fixthis.”
First, I call back my contact. His message said he’d be in the office until five thirty thisafternoon.
Noanswer.
“Dammit!”
I shut the top of my laptop without bothering to shut it down—who even has time for that? Probably the same unicorns that install their iOS updates the same year they come out—and race down the stairs toG.
The streets of Manhattan are flooded with people, but I’m a pro at navigating in heels while opening Uber on myphone.
Every eighties movie has a scene where the main character gets beat down and gets back up again. Where she fights adversity and ultimately overcomes society or evil or mean girls orwhatever.
I’m really hoping this is myscene.
Except… there’s a message on myaccount.
“What the hell? How am I suspended fromUber? Doesn’t that require afelony?”
I dash to the subway. Of course my metro card’s down to zero, and I swipe my credit card to refuelit.
“Card Declined” flashes atme.
That’s why I’m suspended fromUber.
I dig in my bag for change, but I only have two quarters next to my Dior lipstick, two tissues, a single yogurt-covered raisin, a pack of cinnamon gum, and a hair elastic from highschool.
The gum might be from high schooltoo.
Shit. I can’t call a cab. I’m twenty blocks away with zero purchasingpower.
I feel the rush of adrenaline as I jog back to streetlevel.
