Page 40 of No Headlines Please

As I stared down at the screen, the words tumbled before I could stop them. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

I froze. I didn't mean to say it so loud, or heck, even at all.

Reluctantly, I looked up.

Everyone was staring.

The guy at the mailboxes was frowning. The girls on the sofa were smirking. And, as if this weren't bad enough, somebody new – a woman pushing a stroller – was eyeing me like I might snatch her baby.

Where on Earth had she come from?

To no one in particular, I called out, "Sorry!"

Nobody called back.

The guy at the mailboxes gathered his envelopes and made for the nearest elevator, followed by the two teenagers, who were still sipping their drinks. The woman with the stroller hurried toward the exit.

Hoping to make up for my outburst, I beat her to the door and held it open nice and wide, so she could stroll on out.

She didn't thank me.

Instead, with a worried glance over her shoulder, she took a left on the sidewalk and kept on going.

And then, I was alone.

Well, that was one way to clear out a lobby.

I eyed the nearby trash can. Was I seriously going to do this?

A whole continent away, my mom was shopping in Paris. Meanwhile, I was preparing to dig through the garbage.

If this wasn't a metaphor for my whole life, I didn't know what was.

I gave myself a mental kick. The crumpled paper was probably right there on top, ripe for easy plucking.

I mean, it's not like I was about to dive in a dumpster.

Before I could overthink it, I strode forward, carefully lifted the lid off the trash can, and set it on the tile floor beside me – keeping my eyes trained on the elevator the whole time.

So far, so good.

But then, when I looked into the trash, I froze. The crumpled paper was no longer on top. I couldn't even see it, thanks to a giant Benny's Burgers bag that looked disturbingly full.

I leaned closer, trying to spot the crumpled paper somewhere beneath the bag.

No such luck.

My stomach sank. Technically, I could still walk away.

I mean, it's not like I would die without the receipt. But what if something had happened to Tessa? What if she needed the receipt to get out of a jam?

Or what if I needed it to help track her down?

Without the receipt, all I had was the dubious claim that some billionaire had paid her rent. Plus, he'd tried to pay it anonymously, which meant…what exactly?

Was he doing her a favor?

Or hiding something nefarious?