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Chapter One
Kimber
“Getinhere,now!”
Kimber McLeedy grimaced as Jim Carver bellowed from his office. “Yes, Mr. Carver.”
So much for sneaking into the office unnoticed by the boss.
Lesson learned—don’t ignore your car’s check engine light for a week, hoping it will go away and magically fix itself. She knew better, of course. But there was so much to be done at the office that she couldn’t take time off during the week without falling behind. The car had died in the middle of the Starbuck’s drive through as she’d attempted to get her daily order of one sugar-free oat milk latte for her boss and a double espresso shot for herself. Two nice teenagers helped push her car to the parking lot and she’d run inside for the coffees while waiting for a ride share to arrive.
Her life had been snowballing into a downward spiral the past couple of months. Of course, her car would die and make her late to make it worse. She was probably getting fired. At least she’d kept Jim’s latte warm by tucking it between the crook of her arm and her body. That had to count for something, right?
Clutching her leather portfolio, purse, and jacket to her chest while holding the coffees in her other hand, Kimber tried not to drop anything as she entered the Cavern of Death, Jim’s office. The level of hell one might experience inside depended on his wildly fluctuating mood.
She’d been working atEarthmagazine for three years and she’d never been late until today, hadn’t taken a sick day, and worked overtime without complaint. Any other boss might give her a pass this one time considering her excellent job performance, but Jim was not a rational man.
The fissure bisecting the fleshy skin between his eyes and the frown spearing the corners of his mouth to his chin suggested she wasn’t making it out of here alive. Grinning sheepishly, she set down his coffee and slid it toward him. “Sugar-free oat milk latte, extra foam. Your favorite.”
He glowered and gripped the paper cup. “Sit down and let me get right to the point.”
Sitting on the edge of a hard plastic chair, she balanced her things and waited for the axe to fall. Sipping his coffee, he pointed to an open manila folder on his desk with the tip of his antique fountain pen. A spray of ink dots flew from the tip and dotted the inside of the folder. Everyone in the office had at least one item of clothing sporting polka dots from Jim waving that damn pen around.
A quick glance at the papers inside looked like an interview profile. Curious, but knowing better than to ask, she diverted from the folder and looked at her hands. Waiting.
Waiting.
Silence stretched to an uncomfortable level. Schooling the anxiety from her face, Kimber winced as her stomach churned. Yep, she was getting fired. It was coming. She could feel it.
Her boyfriend dumped her six months ago. A day later, her credit card had been stolen. Her cat died. Her car was junk, and she was about to be jobless. It was the McLeedy curse.
Thanks, dad.
Bad stuff had been happening to her for fifteen years, thanks to him.
Shifting in her seat, she silently willed Jim to get to that point he’d mentioned. Finally, he scowled and sat back in his chair.
“I’m not sure what to think of you, McLeedy.”
Jim Carver was a brilliant man, but one who got lost in his train wreck of a brain. He never got right to the point of anything. Her armpits were damp with stress-sweat and her heart was drumming its way out of her chest. Considering he hadn’t imploded yet, maybe she could divert disaster before it happened.
“I apologize for my tardiness this morning, sir. I’m having a bit of car trouble, but I’ll take the bus until I get it figured out. It won’t happen again.”
He gave a surprised jerk of his hands. “You were late?”
Stay cool. “Isn’t that why you called me in here?”
Movement outside the glass-paned office caught Kimber’s attention as her coworker and friend Dana sauntered by, pretending not to look but doing a poor job of hiding it. Dana was the only other person in the magazine somewhat close to Kimber’s age. Everyone else was two decades older, better educated, and more experienced—the fuel that drove her to try so hard and prove herself and snag a coveted reporter position.
Jim’s lips pulled tight. The curling end of his thin, salt and pepper ponytail poked over his shoulder. The gray hue of his white button-down suggested he didn’t bother separating whites from the darks in the wash. He was probably wearing Birkenstocks with wool socks like normal, even though it was the middle of an Orlando summer.
The red spots on his plump cheeks faded. Maybe his anger was, too?
“No but thank you for your honesty. I’ll mark the infraction on your record. Car? Bus? Isn’t it time you get abicycleand stop wrecking the ozone?”
“Yes, sir.”
Closing the file, he slid it across the desk toward her. “Pel Cappa. You know who he is.” It wasn’t a question, but he looked at her as if he expected an answer.
