My phone buzzed on my lap, and my good mood plummeted in an instant. Every muscle in my body tensed around my bones—something that ached worse after a morning of grueling yoga. With my heart in my throat and my stomach a knot of dread, I snuck a peek at the screen before letting out a deep exhale.
TC: Good morning, Greer.
Me: Morning, boss. Everything okay?
TC: Just letting you know I’m awake and not in danger of missing the shoot again. Are you still available today?
I wasn’t. I had a huge final assignment for my Business Ownership course, and it was hell.
No, it was worse than hell.
I’d assumed the class would be a breeze. I liked to think I was a good person. An ethical person. When we dug into what corporations did—and often got away with—I was always shocked that people could even think up that kind of shadyshit. It seemed more time consuming, anxiety-inducing, and convoluted than just playing fair.
But my professor liked to push us into the uncomfortable—challenging our unconscious microaggressions, greed, and self-preservation in an attempt to make us better future leaders. For the final paper, we were supposed to hold a mirror up to our own flaws by examining where our personal line was in the quest for money and success before barreling us past that marker. Not only were we tasked with coming up with an unethical business practice, we needed to delve into the impact of what would happen to us and our fictional company when we were caught.
I couldn’t glaze over the assignment by insisting I was all rainbows and glitter cupcakes. But it was hard to push myself into the territory I needed to go.
Especially since every time I sat down to work on the paper, my mind inevitably went to my father and our imploded family.
Hence why I was running behind and didn’t have a second day in a row to spare.
But I also had a job to do—and a salary to earn.
And if that happened to give me an excuse to avoid schoolwork and thoughts of my father…
Me: Yup, I’ll be there.
Okay, I’m here.
Now where the hell is there?
After giving my name at the gate, I’d been handed a pass and waved through with general directions of where to find Tripp’s sound stage. Which I’d followed.
Or so I’d thought.
The lot was massive and so many of the buildings looked the same. The numbers also didn’t go in order because of course they didn’t. What sense would that make? I wasn’t sure if I was circling the same places or if I was now on the opposite side of where I needed to be. But like a reoccurring nightmare, the minutes ticked on as I became more and more lost until I was running late.
Late to be early, but still.
Late.
Giving up, I pulled into an empty spot and grabbed my phone.
Me: Are you almost here?
Tripp’s response came a lot quicker than I’d anticipated since I’d guessed he was driving.
I’d guessed wrong.
TC: Already here. Where are you?
Me: That’s the million-dollar question. I’m in the lot… somewhere.
He asked a few more questions about what was around before texting again.
TC: Wait there.
Me: I can find it if someone tells me where to go.
