Women in tailored suits click across the floor in terrifying confidence. Men murmur into headsets while carrying coffees that probably cost more than my grocery budget this week.
Meanwhile, I have a caffeine stain drying over one boob and a granola bar crushed into the lining of my purse.
Sexy.
A sleek security desk stretches across the center of the lobby. Behind it sits a woman with silver-blonde hair twisted into a knot so perfect it deserves architectural recognition.
Her eyes flick up as I approach.
They pause briefly on my blouse.
I resist the urge to fake my own death.
“Good morning,” she says politely.
I smile with all the desperation of a hostage negotiator. “Hi. I’m here for the nine-thirty interview with corporate communications?”
“Name?”
“Livia De Luca.”
Her manicured fingers move across a tablet.
For one horrifying second, I imagine she’ll look up and say, I’m sorry, Ms. De Luca, we actually only hire women who have their lives together.
Instead, she nods. “Twenty-third floor. Check in with Ms. Delaney.”
Relief hits me so hard my knees nearly buckle.
“Thank you.”
“You’re late. Fifteen minutes.”
There it is.
“I know,” I say carefully. “There was an accident on Meridian.”
Technically true.
The accident was my life.
“But very on brand for compliance work, I think,” I add, purely speaking from panic. “We love a good risk, right?”
She does not laugh. Tough crowd.
She hands me a visitor badge and points toward the elevators.
I turn too quickly, immediately catching my heel on the edge of the marble floor.
My body tilts violently sideways.
A tiny sound escapes me. Something between a gasp and the noise a goat makes in front of an incoming truck.
I brace for impact, but it never comes.
A hand closes around my elbow firmly enough to stop my fall before I crack my skull open in the lobby of Ferretti Global Risk.
My face flushes with warmth instantly.
