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An hour later, Nita pulled the cart to a stop outside the security facility.
Crouching against the wetness, she ran to the door, swiping her card against the sensor. She pushed into the lobby and to the elevator, punching the button. The door slid immediately open. As she made her way up and to the second elevator, she reflected on the last hour of shit she’d had to wade through.
After her last text with Ryder, the smooth sailing of her day had unraveled.
First, there was a problem with the food. Next, the costumes got misdirected on their way to the cleaners. Last, Hartley had peppered her with calls, somehow knowing all the things that were going wrong.
“I’m a contracts lawyer, not an event planner,” she complained when Hartley bordered on insulting her intelligence for the third time.
“Eli’s away, Lindsey’s got her hands full, and nobody else—” Hartley said heatedly, but she cut her off.
“If you want me to run this event, don’t talk to me like I’m your personal assistant,” she yelled, ready to quit if Hartley dared to talk over her one more time.
Instead, Hartley went silent. Then she actually apologized. Nita almost dropped her phone.
Now, stepping onto the apartment’s elevator, Nita braced herself for more coldness. This time from Ryder.
After his “Fixed” text, she hadn’t heard a word from him. Even after she reached out to check on how security was coming along. Nothing. Radio fucking silence.
As the doors slid open to reveal the dim, concrete apartment, she held her breath and marched into the room. The chill air seeped into her skin, and after two seconds she realized she was alone.
She was relieved, but she was also pissed the fuck off.
Two days remained until Mags’s engagement and she’d been thrust into the role of coordinator, a responsibility that weighed a ton. If she didn’t keep all the balls in the air, guiding each one to safety, Cavendish would go under. Despite how in love she was with the technology, Mags and her friends would walk, and Cavendish would be no more.
And to top it off, her security operations manager was M.I. fucking A.
“This is a fucking waste of time,” she muttered, and marched straight to the booze cabinet and poured half a glass of the first bottle she touched.
She was choking down the rocket fuel tequila when her phone rang, startling her into sloshing the booze over her hand.
It was Kensley, the one person guaranteed to add fuel to her fire.
“This better be good. I’m about to pull my hair out,” she greeted, wiping her hand on her dress and downing another slug of the tequila.
“Don’t kill me,” Kensley pleaded through the phone. “But I registered you for the Washington State bar exam.”
Nita went cold, and she waited for shards of her phone to embed themselves into the hand that clenched it in a death grip.
“I know you’re ready,” Kensley reasoned in a rush. “And you know you’re ready. And there’s a huge waiting list, but I called Judge Everett for the schedule, and he said—”
“You what?” she shouted. Then she held the phone away while she screamed at the ceiling. The rage turned into tears and Nita held the phone against her leg until she could get her shit back together.
“You what?” she repeated once she thought her voice would be calm.
“I registered you. We’ve been talking about this for over a year, Nita. You’re ready. It’s time you took a proper step toward your career,” Kensley said, her voice firm.
Nita couldn’t speak. A weariness had clamped her throat shut.
“Nita? Are you still there?” Kensley asked.
Nita swallowed and heard a dry clicking sound.
“Hey,” Kensley said, concerned. “What’s going on?”
Nita refilled her glass and walked to the couch, dropping onto it.
“I’m basically running Cavendish’s most important engagement since everything’s gone to shit and I’m… going to fail. It’s a fucking mess and I’m not sure how to fix it.”
