Page 15 of Inception

I groaned and buried my head again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Very well.” He continued after a drawn-out pause, “I’ve been thinking that it might be a good idea for you to get a part-time job while you’re here.”

My head whipped up at the sudden barrage of odious words. “A job?” I squeaked, my eyes wide with repulsion.

“Yes,” he said, stifling a laugh. “You could use the job experience, I’m sure, and it’s a good way to meet new people and develop some financial independence. What do you say?”

What I wanted to say washell no! But what choice did I really have here? I was living under his roof, on his dime. If he wanted me to get a job, I was pretty much getting a job.

“Sure, I guess so,” I said with all the excitement of a deflated balloon.

“Wonderful.” He was obviously unfazed by my own lack of enthusiasm. “I already have something lined up for you—a favor from a friend.”

“A favor?” Was I so unmarketable that he actually had to call in a favor for me? The thought depressed me.

“Here’s the address,” he said as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper and handed it over to me. “Henry will drive you over as soon as you’re ready.”

Right. Because getting chauffeured to work falls right in with thatreal-worldjob experience he was talking about.

Not even an hour later, I was in the back of the town car, pulling up to a vaguely familiar building. Trails of fog slithered into the car as I rolled down my window to get a better look.All Saints, the scene of last night’s crime. It looked different in the light of day sans the flashing lights and people and the intimidating bouncer out front.

“This has to be a mistake,” I said, bemused.

“I don’t believe so,” replied Henry. “Mr. Blackburn gave me the instructions himself,” he said and then exited the vehicle. He walked around the perimeter of the car and opened my door for me. “It’s a fine place to work, Miss Blackburn. I’m sure you’ll be well taken care of here.”

“Jemma,” I corrected absentmindedly as I stepped out of the car, staring up at the structure. “Thanks, Henry.” It came out like an afterthought.

“Have a good day, Miss...Jemma.”

“You too, Henry.”

I walked in through the unmanned doors, leery of my surroundings as though I were expecting Nikki to pop out of the shadows and assault me with a coke bottle. I immediately noted how strange the place looked in the light of day. It was freakishly dim inside, hollow of any natural light or souls that might help fill up the palpable void. The place just felt eerie to me, and way too quiet.

I was about to make a run for it when I noticed some movement over at the bar from my peripheral. Someone was there, bent down, stacking glasses and setting up.

“Excuse me,” I called out as I walked over.

“Yeah,” he answered casually before straightening out. “What can I do—”

My mouth unhinged.

Trace Macarthur stared back at me, wearing an employee T-shirt and an unmistakable look of shock on his face. One that happened to match my own perfectly.

6. UNINVITED

“What are you doing here?” I asked, confused.

Please don’t say you work here. PLEASE don’t say you work here. PLEASE DON’T—

“I work here,” he said, wiping his hands on the white dish rag as he came around the bar. “My dad owns the place.”

“Your dadownsAll Saints?

“Yeah.”

“As in, your dad’s the boss here?”

“Yeah.” He furrowed his brow. “What areyoudoing here?”

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