1
Eva.
I was late. Not fashionably, not excusably—late-late.
I burst through the glass doors of Hayes & Rowe with my heart in my throat, hair damp against my neck, and my heels clicking a staccato rhythm that only reminded me how out of place I felt. Three missed calls blinked on my phone. One from the agency, two from an unknown number.
I knew it was over before it started, but I was here anyway, praying the universe might grant me one ounce of mercy.
The receptionist gave me that look. Pity mixed with a pinch of glee, as if she’d been waiting for someone to mess up just so she could witness the aftermath.
“Eva Carter for Mr. Hayes,” I managed, breathless.
She pressed a button, her eyes sharp as she watched me struggle to smooth my blouse and tame the flyaways around my face.
“He’
