Chapter 1
Hello… me?
Wait. How does this work? Who am I supposed to be talking to when I write in here? Myself? The journal? God??? Why didn’t this thing come with instructions?
Gampy’s making me do this because he says journaling is good for the preteen soul, but it’s already stressing me out. I’ll be keeping my entries short.
You understand.
Present day
It started with a featherlight tickle in the back of my left eye. Barely there. Barely noticeable at all.
By late afternoon, my entire head was trapped inside a black chamber of hammering pain that wouldn’t relent. I was nauseous. Restless. Couldn’t go ten seconds without checking the time.
Skipping lunch hadn’t helped, but my first paycheck wasn’t due for another week, and my checking account was one miscalculated tap away from triggering what the bank referred to as “overdraft fees,” a method via which financial institutions punished people who didn’t have money by taking away more money that they, again, did not have.
The first time it’d happened, I’d called my accountant to make sure I wasn’t being scammed.
He said I was.
He also said there was nothing we could do about it. Not unless I was willing to start dipping into my trust fund again. And did my parents know I didn’t have access to enough cash to afford a grocery run?
No. No, they did not. And I informed him that under no circumstances were they to be made privy to the situation, capisce? (Though the actual conversation was considerably more civil and included a lot more pleading on my end than I cared to admit.)
It wasn’t like I was starving. I’d stuffed myself with two complimentary bagels at the weekly sales meeting this morning. There was no reason for my stomach to be growling half this much. The modern human body was so weak.
I glanced at the time again, holding my breath. 3:49. Almost there. I could do this.
My neck locked up with every swoosh of a new email hitting my inbox, and I held my breath until I’d scanned the contents, ensured I was still in the clear.
4:09.
Sweat was starting to gather over the back of my neck. I was so, so close. This was the furthest I’d made it in months.
4:28.
It was almost over. I couldn’t believe it. I was finally, finally, finally going to make it through.
5:00.
I shoved away from my desk and grabbed my bag, my pulse pounding against my eardrums. Without a word, without a goodbye, and avoiding all eye contact, I tucked my chin and all but ran for the exit.
“Alice.”
Nope. Not happening.
I picked up the pace, pretending like I couldn’t hear her.
“Hey, Alice!” Corinna called again, loud enough to rally the collective attention of all surrounding cubicles. “Wait just a second!”
I had my earbuds in—couldn’t hear her, didn’t need to stop walking.
I was five, maybe four feet away from the glass doors when she broke into a sprint and grabbed my shoulder.
My fingers curled, a multilingual collection of curses thrashing in my head, demanding to be yelled. I twisted on my heel, wrestling my mouth into a wooden smile as I popped out one earbud. “Oh, sorry. Did you say something?”
I kept my voice chipper. She was probably just going to tell me what a great job I’d done this week.
Maybe offer me a free stress ball. Or an insulated tumbler with the company logo printed on it, in case the backpack, laptop slip, and light jacket we were all heavily encouraged to make daily use of weren’t enough to turn us all into walking ads.
“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t see that you had those in.” She gestured for me to take the other out as well. “I know it’s Friday, but sounds like Cory needs to see you in his office before you leave.”
Taking a small step backward, I pried my jaw open and asked, “Did he say why?”
“No, I’m sorry. He did say it was urgent, though.”
She looked confused. Maybe even a little worried.
There were only a handful of reasons why your boss’s boss’s boss—a man you’d met once in fleeting and had barely otherwise spoken to—needed to speak to you privately at the tail end of a Friday afternoon with no prior warning. None of them were good.
I kept my smile intact as I walked the plank, managing to maintain it until I was standing in the middle of Cory’s drab, cluttered office, my ears ringing while he explained the situation with feigned sympathy.
He was so unbelievably sorry to have to do this.
It wasn’t in his hands. He was just the messenger.
He’d heard how much effort I’d been putting in.
He’d fought for me, escalated the issue to his VP.
There was nothing any of them could do. They’d tried. Believe him, they’d tried. “Budget cuts, you see. Last one in, first one out. It’s a broken policy, but we’re working on it. Frustrating. Very frustrating. But I tried. You must understand.”
No, I didn’t.
I really, really did not understand. It didn’t make any sense to me whatsoever.
Seven jobs in fifteen months. I’d started seven jobs since leaving Charmed a year and a half ago, and not one of them had survived day fourteen. It was like clockwork.
“Is anyone else being let go?” I kept my voice even.
Once was chance. Twice was luck. But seven? Seven was a pattern.
Cory cleared his throat and rose to his feet, rounding the desk with purpose.
“I’m not at liberty to disclose the employment status of your former peers.
” He gestured to the door, attempting to herd me out of his office.
I stayed put. He cleared his throat again.
“If you have any additional questions, Human Resources will be happy to answer them.”
“Will they be able to tell me the real reason I’m being let go?”
Cory seemed to have a lot of phlegm clogging his throat. He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, casting continuous glances toward the door.
“Like I said, they’ve cut our labor budget. I’m sorry to do this, Alice. Janice and Corinna have been singing your praises all week, and I still consider your father a great acquaintance; he’s a lovely, lovely man, and this brings me no pleasure. If I had any other options…”
Someone knocked. “Sir, your five o’clock is here.”
“Perfect, thank you, Louis.” Cory adjusted his tie, his watery gaze darting over the disorderly state of his office as though noticing it for the first time.
He busied himself right away, shuffling papers into haphazard piles, gathering half-empty mugs and hiding them from view.
“Miss Cloutier, I’m afraid I’m running a little behind schedule.
Louis will take you to HR. Rest assured, they’re well equipped to provide whatever additional information you may need. ”
You know what? “No.” This wasn’t happening. Not again. “I’m not leaving until I get a real answer.”
His laugh was an awkward, huffy sound that scraped at my last nerve. I set my purse down on the floor and settled into one of the vinyl chairs facing his desk. If he wanted me out before I got a real answer, he’d have to call security.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” I insisted, frustration simmering under my skin. “I’ve shown up early every day, stayed late to complete my training well before the modules were due, and haven’t received any complaints about my performance from my direct supervisor.”
There had to be a trigger. A common denominator I wasn’t seeing.
He dabbed at his forehead with a salmon-colored handkerchief. “Yes, well, I’m afraid the company can terminate your employment without cause.” The fresh crispness of his tone implied he was running short on patience with me. “You’re still well within the initial ninety-day threshold.”
“But—”
“Miss Cloutier, you can direct the rest of your questions and concerns to HR. I won’t ask again.”
The low simmer snapped into a violent boil. I clenched my jaw, gripping the chair’s handles hard enough to carve permanent prints into their cheap vinyl. But before I could reinstate my demands, we were interrupted by a distinctly muffled crunch of something being crushed.
“Oops,” a man drawled in a deep, mocking tone. “My bad.”
My breath snagged.
I’d have recognized his voice blindfolded, with my head held underwater, drowning in the deepest depths of my worst nightmares. There was a moment of stillness, right before the pull of gravity shifted.
Keeping my movements calm and collected, I turned my head and looked down at my purse.
The black oxford resting on top of it twisted, digging deeper into the soft, hand-stitched leather. My sunglasses crackled one last time. Then they were dust.
My pulse jolted, the earth shifting slightly under my feet.
Cory made a choking noise. “I—I’m sure that was an accident. I will—”
“It wasn’t,” the fallen angel looming over my left shoulder assured him, biding his time before he grabbed me by the neck and dragged me down to where he kept all the other souls for his torturing pleasure.
Cory’s teeth snapped shut. He blinked, recalibrating.
“Give us a minute, Dawson.”
“I… Louis was just about to escort—”
“Leave.”
Cory’s head drooped. “Yes, of course. My apologies for the intrusion,” he muttered, shuffling out of his own office like a guest chastised for overstaying their welcome.
My heart was climbing up my throat, electricity nipping at my nerves like I was strapped to a dicey parachute and about to jump off a plane.
“You didn’t have to be so rude,” I said breezily, checking my cuticles as though I’d never experienced a single care in the world. “He would have left just as quickly if you’d asked nicely.”
The man clicked his tongue. “I don’t take advice from pathological liars, especially when it comes to manners.”
My stomach swooped as he nudged my bag out of the way with his foot, dragging the other chair forward to ensure my maximum entrapment between his person and the desk. He unbuttoned his tailored jacket and took a seat.
I continued to study my soft pink nails as though he bored me.
He waited, hands clasped loosely over his abdomen, until I decided to pay him the attention he thought he deserved.
Slowly, I allowed my gaze to surface over the vast span of his suited chest, his crisply secured tie, corded neck, strong chin. And finally, those eyes.
His pupils flared when our gazes locked, the golden halo around them shimmering.
The air crackled, and he grinned, sharp canines winking under the buttery sunset.
It was blinding; he was beautiful in that terrifyingly ethereal way that made your survival instincts kick in.
Made you want to run despite knowing he’d only enjoy the chase.
With a taunting, arrogant twist to his grin, Dominic Crawford leaned forward and loosely swirled a lock of my hair around his index finger.
“Boo.”