CHAPTER FOUR
CLARA
It had been over a week since I'd lost my job at the catering company. The panic attacks were beginning to infiltrate my waking hours. They used to just come at night, right when I was about to fall asleep, but now it was constant pressure on my chest. Shortness of breath. A deep sense that no matter what I did, it wouldn’t be enough for Mia.
Fuck you, Preston.
Of course, the split custody ensured he paid nothing. And I had never been able to challenge the arrangement, because guess who couldn’t afford the lawyer needed?
Child support would have bailed me out in a time like this, something I tried not to think about as I prepped breakfast for Mia in our tiny but lush kitchen.
I took a deep breath as I ran my fingers across the rosemary plant on my countertop, letting its lovely fragrance calm my nerves.
The bodega down the street from my apartment said they could use someone to slice meat part-time, but it was minimum wage and wouldn't even cover half my rent.
The temp agency had a few openings for data entry, but they could only promise part-time for the first six months.
I briefly thought I could take both positions to cobble together rent money, until I found out their schedules overlapped and went past the child care window of Little Sprouts.
I was running out of options, and my rent wasn’t going to pay itself. I took another whiff of the rosemary.
"Mommy, we have pancakes?" Mia asked from her spot at our tiny kitchen table, coloring in the princess book I'd bought her from the dollar store.
"Not today, baby. How about cereal?"
She wrinkled her nose but didn't complain.
At three years old, she already knew well enough that disappointment was part of life.
Today it was only getting cereal when she wanted pancakes, but for the past three years it had been wanting her father and getting absolutely nothing from him. The thought made my chest ache.
My phone buzzed with a text from Zoey, my best friend and current lifeline.
ZOEY: Any luck with the job hunt?
CLARA: Absolutely not. Everyone either pays 1991 wages or has never heard of adults who pay rent.
ZOEY: Want me to watch Mia this evening so you can hit more places? Maybe try the bartender route.
I glanced at my daughter, who was happily humming while she colored. Zoey had already done so much for us—watching Mia when I had interviews, bringing us groceries when she knew money was tight, never once making me feel like the charity case I'd become.
CLARA: Thanks but I think I'm going to try something different today. Going back to Elite Events. Maybe I can convince them to give me another shot.
Even as I typed it, I knew it was a bad idea. Brenda had made it clear that I was persona non grata. But I was way past being picky and becoming desperate enough to try anything. Anything except take Mr. Grossface from the Nightingale event up on his offer.
ZOEY: Are you sure??? They fired you for getting groped, remember?
CLARA: They fired me for leaving to pick up Mia from school when she was sick. But maybe if I talk to the owner directly instead of Brenda...
My correction felt a bit like splitting hairs, but I was out of ideas at this point. Zoey’s idea to try the bartender route wasn’t a horrible one, but I wanted to actually see my daughter during the evenings. Desperation began to swirl inside me, making my limbs feel weak.
ZOEY: Girl, you deserve better than groveling to people who treated you like garbage.
CLARA: I deserve a lot of things. But right now I need a paycheck.
After dropping Mia off at daycare—and praying my account wouldn't overdraw when they processed the weekly fee—I took the subway to Midtown.
Elite Events and Catering was located in a narrow building on West 38th Street, squeezed between a dry cleaner and a deli, the kind of place that looked sketchy from the outside but somehow managed to exclusively cater events for Manhattan's high flyers.
The receptionist, Jessica, looked up from her phone when I walked in. Her eyes widened slightly. "What are you doing here?”
"I'm here to see Mr. Castellanos. About getting my job back."
She looked confused. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but I just need a moment. Can you let me see him?"
"He’s with someone else right now," Jessica said, frowning. “But maybe you and Brenda can figure something out…” She turned toward the hallway and I leapt forward.
“No! Don’t let Brenda know I’m here.” I heard the desperation in my voice and straightened, trying to compose myself. “I don’t need to talk to her. I need to talk to Mr. Castellanos. I’ll wait for him.”
But Jessica looked doubtful. “I still think Brenda can help…”
Footsteps sounded down the hallway, and then Brenda appeared, as though the mere mention of her name in the building had summoned her from whatever circles of hell she typically called home. Her face fell when she spotted me.
"Are you kidding me right now?" she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. “What on earth are you doing here?”
"I’m not here to cause trouble,” I stammered, “I just need five minutes with Mr. Castellanos—"
"He's in a meeting. And even if he wasn't, there's no way in hell we'd need anything from you. We’d never rehire someone who walked out on a job."
Exasperation finally overrode my attempt at humility. "Brenda. I had a family emergency. My daughter was sick."
"You had a responsibility to your employer.
" Brenda crossed her arms, seeming to grow a few inches as she looked down her nose at me.
Her brunette pompadour towered over me, as though daring me to keep talking back.
"Look, honey, I get that you're desperate.
But you burned this bridge when you decided your personal drama was more important than doing your job. "
Heat flushed my cheeks. "Personal drama? Do you have kids? Or even a family?"
"It’s irrelevant. We needed you to finish your shift. You made your choice."
I wanted to argue, to explain that it hadn't really been a choice at all. But I could see in Brenda's expression that it wouldn't matter. She'd already made up her mind about me, and I’d learned all I needed from today’s visit. Elite Catering wasn’t just a no-go, it was a fortress wall.
But I needed to make my rent next month. I could force myself to swallow my pride.
"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.
"Actually, yes." Brenda's smile became the worst type of snide smirk. "You can leave and never come back."
Just leave. Bite your tongue and leave.
I bit my tongue, but not for long. “Gladly. Thank you for the reminder of how absolutely miserable you are.”
Brenda scoffed at me as I turned to leave, just as a nearby door swung open.
And then I heard a voice that stopped me in my tracks. “Ah. There she is.”
Goosebumps flared along my forearms. I turned, not because I thought I was the “she,” but because the whiskey-smooth baritone begged for attention.
There weren’t many times in life that made me wonder if I was hallucinating, but here in the middle of Elite Events and Catering, I wondered if I’d somehow dropped acid and forgotten about it.
Nash Nightingale was here. In front of me. Looking devastatingly handsome in a charcoal gray suit that, if pawned, could probably pay three months’ rent for Mia and me.
His ice-blue eyes were locked onto mine. Was I “she”?
"Clara," he said. Hearing my name on his lips made a small, strange noise erupt from the back of my throat. I swallowed hard, straightening, trying to get my bearings.
"Mr. Nightingale," Brenda gushed, suddenly all smiles and professionalism. She rushed forward, inserting herself between me and Nash. "What can I help you with?"
Nash's gaze never left my face, even as Brenda attempted to block our connection. "Absolutely nothing. I’m here for Clara."
Now I really wondered if I was tripping. What on earth could he want with me, especially after our embarrassing meet-up last week inside his freshly minted headquarters?
Brenda's smile faltered. "Oh. Well, she was just leaving—"
Nash still hadn’t broken eye contact with me, and I felt like my feet had left the ground. Did this qualify as meditation? Possibly some form of chaste tantric sex? Every inch of my body vibrated with awareness. A voice in my head piped up.
This feels just like it did four years ago.
Nothing else existed but us for that one night. And the way his gaze consumed me right now told me that I could fall into him a second time just as easily.
"Clara, could I have a word with you? Outside?" Nash tipped his head toward the front door, and I immediately began moving toward it, nodding.
I pushed open the front door on unsteady legs, hyperaware of his presence behind me.
I couldn’t even force myself to make a note of Brenda or Mr. Castellanos or anything about Elite Events.
As far as I was concerned, none of those things existed anymore.
All that mattered right now was Nash, what he wanted with me, and when I could get another glimpse of his bewitching eyes.
The front door clanged shut behind him. On the sidewalk, Nash walked away from the building's entrance toward an alcove in the facade of the next building over, creating a bubble of privacy in the chaos of Manhattan foot traffic.
I smoothed my hair and fiddled with my blouse as Nash buried his hands in his pockets, drinking me in.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I finally managed.
"I could ask you the same thing." His voice was gentler than I'd expected. "Are you trying to get your job back?"
I lifted my chin, trying to salvage what was left of my dignity. “I was. Until Brenda reminded me what a bad idea that is."
"After the way they treated you?" His brow arched.
“My need to make rent doesn’t care about how I’m treated,” I reminded him. “I’m a single mom in New York. I don’t have many options right now.”