Page 24 of Tiebreaker

Even still, with a bank account dripping with money, and that stupid Net-A-Porte line of credit, there’s nothing that makes me feel as comfortable as the front door of my apartment.

Specifically, the lock. The most important thing about moving in here is the lock on the door. It has a double bolt, one of which is only openable from the inside. It’s a strange thing for me to see considering my old place didn't have a deadbolt like that, just a doorknob lock at best. I wonder if it’s standard for every one of the suites in the building, and… I quietly worry what about the guys means I need it. They don’t seem collectively thrilled that I’m here, either.

I sigh and close my eyes, before a sound interrupts me, like the nagging thoughts in the back of my mind.

My phone is brand new. And it’s ringing. The latest tech I could feasibly get my hands on buzzes on the countertop of the bathroom, skittering across the marble. With a groan I emerged from the water, grab a towel and wrapping it around myself tight. It’s fluffy and soft, freshly laundered with some kind of soap that smells like the south of France, and I feel ridiculously spoiled.

I could get used to this. I have to remember I'm only here for 90 days. I have to remember that the merger is everything, and not to be distracted by a disgustingly large bathroom or nice towels. The frowns on Everett and Vince’s faces is enough of a reminder that I might be here, but I’m not welcome here.

My goal is to stick it out for 90 days. So I can get the stipend backpay, and then after that, I'm out. And I guess… whatever extra is gonna come to me when the company is sold. It's weird for me to be thinking in these terms, when the math I was doing a few weeks ago was all about calculating my portion of the tips out of the jar.

Now I’m talking millions. It makes me dizzy and sick to think about it.

My stomach is fuzzy with butterflies as I reach for my phone.

It's a message from Everett.

It's time you had your trial by fire,it reads,be ready by five o'clock. Dinner dress. Don't embarrass me.

My face flushes from the bath and from his assumption that I would somehow make him look bad.

You forgot the word please,I text back. He just responds with a LOL emoji. I leave my phone on the counter top and turn around.

Toby has walked into the bathroom and he meows at me, insistent. That’s the noise he only makes when he's hungry. I sigh down at my phone, and follow him out into the hallway.

“Okay, Tobes,” I say, “let's get you fed and me dressed.”

The inside of my closet is mostly empty. That's because my new closet is now a giant 15 foot by 15 foot walk-in room with a chaise lounge in one corner. I'm not sure why I'm supposed to be napping in my closet, but I guess it's a nice touch. Toby seems to like sleeping on it. I just hope he doesn't decide to start sharpening his claws on it too. I don't want to think what they’d charge me for the damages once we leave.

I flick through the three dresses I own and chew on my lower lip. There really isn't anything here that I could be caught dead in at a dinner party eventthingamy. I'm really not sure what Everett is taking me to, but he mentioned dinner dress. Is that something I can google? Ugh, I wish I’d paid more attention to the fashion-y girls at college instead of hiding out in the library, haunting the stacks like a ghoul in my thrifted cargos.

There… is a concierge downstairs though, almost like a fancy hotel. And if I can discreetly ask, they might know Everett’s schedule. And they might know what would be appropriate to wear. Along with my new phone and a set of my apartment keys, a matte black credit card with my name etched into it appeared on the kitchen counter yesterday. I'm guessing I'm supposed to use it, but I don't even know the limit on it. It's still there, in its envelope. Because once I'd seen it, I dropped it and backed away like it was a snake ready to bite.

This is the kind of situation that calls for a nice dress, though, I figure. Probably not from Target. Maybe Macy's, I haven't set foot in there since I was in college when I’d wanted to get my mom something nice for Christmas.

This dinner thing is as good a reason as any to christen that new black card though, right?

I pull on some jeans and a t-shirt, pat Toby on the head, and gingerly extract the credit card from its envelope. It gets tucked into my wallet, which somehow looks more expensive with it sitting in the old leather, and I make my way downstairs. Somehow, I feel like I'm stealing. But isn’t the card a sign that I’m supposed to use it? Aren’t I meant to?

The concierge is just where I remember it. He smiles when I tell him I need to go shopping for a dress. And I'm about to ask how to get to Macy’s, when I seeherstanding there, her apron tied on, and a look of shock on her face.

Mariah.

The breath rushes out of me and I realize that in the tumble of everything I'd completely forgotten to call her. She marches over to me just as the concierge is pulling out a tourist map, and making a note on it for me.

“Where have you been,” she demands. “I have been calling you for days!” She crosses her arms over her chest and taps her foot on the ground once, a petulant half-stomp.

To say she's furious would be an understatement. I can tell that I'm about to get a real tongue lashing, and my shoulders tense up in anticipation.

“The repairs to the shop happened faster than I anticipated,” she says, looking me up and down with a giant frown on her face. “And I need you, can you work right now?”

I'm stuck my mouth, half open, not sure how to explain to her everything that's gone on. And not sure that I want to.

I also am chilled to the bone at the sight of her. She knows what she did to me and here she is demanding I work like nothing ever happened.

Like she's didn’t sell me out. Like she didn’tsellme.

She steps up close, one eye on the concierge, and one on me. I try not to shudder in revulsion as she gets closer. My throat is acid, painful burning.

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