Page 10 of The Owner's Temptation

“Not a single mention ofThe Black Ledgeranywhere. No website, no job listings, no sketchy forum rumors. Just…” I grab my phone and pull up the only thing Ididfind, turning the screen toward her. “…this.”

A tall, sleek skyscraper. Black glass. The nameThe Black Ledgerdisplayed in massive gold letters across the front.

Harper whistles. “Damn. That’s… intimidating as hell.”

“Right?” I murmur, staring at the screen. “It’s like it doesn’t exist.”

But it does.

And I can’t stop thinking about it.

Harper eyes me over her coffee cup. “So… are you going on Monday?”

I snort. “Or, hear me out… I could just sell feet pics.”

She groans. “Oh, Jesus.”

“No, I’m serious,” I say, setting my phone down. “There’s this woman on the internet who bakes cakes, and then—steps on them—barefoot.” I gesture dramatically. “That’s it. Millions of views. Thousands of subscribers. People arepayingto watch her obliterate buttercream with her toes.”

Harper stares at me, unimpressed. “So, your backup plan is to become a cake-stomping sensation?”

I nod. “I can step on cake. I have feet. I’m qualified.”

She scoffs. “I don’t think we’re at feet-pic desperation levels yet.”

“Yet,” I mutter, sipping my coffee.

Harper stretches…again, groaning. “Look, all I’m saying is, you should go. What’s the worst case that could happen? You walk in, it’s sketchy as hell, you walk right back out.”

I chew my lip and pull my auburn hair to the side, splitting it into three sections and braiding it.

It’s a ridiculous idea. But is it really worse than where I’m at right now?

I have no job. No other immediate options.

Rent is bleeding me dry.

My credit card debt is stacking up.

The job market is garbage.

I’m going to spend the next few days sending out applications anyway. What else would I be doing on Monday?

Atbest, this is some high-paying job that I miraculously qualify for and has immediate openings.

Atworst…

Well.

“I could get murdered in a skyscraper.” I deadpan. “That would kind of suck.”

“Agreed.” Harper tips her coffee at me. “But I don’t think killers walk around giving out business cards.”

“You never know. It’s working.” I stuff the wrappers from our sandwiches back into the paper back.

“So, you’re going.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

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