Page 11 of Obsession

I laughed bitterly as I soaped and scrubbed. Did I sound insane? I wasn’t sure, and far too afraid to look at it too closely. I yelped my way through my conditioner rinse before slapping the taps off. I wrapped myself in two towels and stood in front of the radiator at the end of the room. If I dove under my covers, I might just be able to warm up, but I didn’t trust that I’d stay awake.

Not being this cold.

I plugged in my travel hair dryer with trembling fingers and tried to get the worst of the water out of my hair. All my products were in the bathroom upstairs, but this was where the electricity was—so, a wet ponytail day was in my future.

I grabbed my phone and flicked on the torch app so I wouldn’t kill myself on the stairs and went to hunt down clothes.

What a way to start to my first day.

Deciding not to press my luck, I grabbed a pair of sturdy leather boots without a heel to pull over my opaque tights. A wool blend skirt and burgundy sweater was suitable for the office.

I hoped.

It worked in the gallery—it should be okay for the office. Jack certainly hadn’t been overly formal with his suit. Mr. Carson had been a bit more of a stickler, but I had to work with what I had. I definitely didn’t have the money to buy another wardrobe.

Finally, my hands stopped shaking enough so I could put on makeup to look professional and not start my first day with only a mascara wand clutched in my trembling hand. I spritzed on my perfume and flipped my ponytail over my shoulder.

It was as good as I was going to get.

The commute was a cherry on my super-shit sundae. Parking in Boston was either nonexistent or expensive enough to come with its own rental agreement. I opted for park-and-ride, and instead of waiting for the Blue Line, I hoofed it half a mile. My feet were the only things dry when I pushed through the door to the vestibule. I dug out my temporary identification and tried to open the inside door.

Locked.

I waved the ID over the little silver panel and remembered that I wasn’t chipped yet. Wonderful.

“We don’t open until eight.”

I jumped at the clipped female voice. “Um…” Was I supposed to talk into the box? “I’m new.” Lame.

“Name?”

“Grace Copeland.”

“Sorry, no such name.”

“Wait!”

“I don’t have time for games, ma’am.”

I tipped back my head and watched the raindrops slip down the domed top of the vestibule. “Give me a break. Today sucks.”

“Not my problem.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Good, then talk outside. Have a good day.”

“I’m the new executive assistant for Mr. Carson.” Frustration overrode my whine this time. “If you don’t let me inside in exactly…” I looked at my phone. Nearly seven, dammit. “In two minutes, I’m going to be late.”

Silence.

“If you get me fired before I can report for a full day, I’m going to rip your tonsils out.”

The woman’s response was almost maniacally calm. “Not if you don’t get into the building.”

Chapter Five

Islapped my hands against the glass. “Please just call Jack Hollister—he knows me. Or better yet, do you want to call Mr. Carson?”

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