Chapter 17 Bitsy
The sudden, violent shiver that wracked Bitsy’s entire body woke her a split second before the shrill, digital beep of her seven a.m. alarm could even cut through the quiet.
She snapped her eyes open, her breath hitching as a dense cloud of condensation billowed from her lips into the cramped, freezing cabin of her car.
Her fingers were completely stiff, locked into tight, aching claws around the thin edge of the fleece blanket she’d tucked beneath her chin.
For a long, grueling minute, she didn't move a single muscle.
She just stared blankly up at the gray fabric of the ceiling, listening to the bitter wind relentlessly whip against the frosted windshield.
Every joint in her body throbbed from sleeping at a brutal angle in her cramped back seat, her knees tucked tight toward her chest just to keep herself as small as possible under the layers, trying to shield her bare ankles from the deep, biting draft that had settled into the floorboards overnight.
Today, she thought, her heart executing a sudden, erratic thump against her ribs. Today is day one.
The thought was a double-edged sword. It brought a massive surge of relief—the knowledge that she finally had a real, high-paying position—but it also brought a wave of blinding anxiety.
She couldn't afford to screw this up. She couldn't let anyone, especially not Wyatt Calder, see past the professional facade she had painstakingly constructed over the last twenty-four hours.
Shoving the heavy blankets aside, the shock of the cold air hit her skin through her thin sweatpants, making her teeth instantly chatter.
She moved quickly, working before her resolve could freeze over completely.
Sitting up in the cramped backseat, she reached into the corner of the floorboard to grab her duffel bag and the structured garment bag containing her newly purchased corporate attire.
She opened the car door, the hinges groaning against the frost, and stepped out onto the asphalt. The grocery store parking lot was nearly empty at this hour, illuminated by the orange glow of the high-overhead security lamps.
Clutching her bags tightly against her chest, she hurried through the sliding glass doors, the sudden blast of the store’s commercial heating system washing over her face like a physical embrace.
She kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with the lonely cashier stationed at the front register, and walked directly toward the restrooms tucked into the back corner of the building.
The heavy door closed behind her, cutting off the low hum of the store's intercom music.
She walked straight to the large handicap stall at the far end of the row, pulling her bags inside and sliding the heavy deadbolt into place.
She chose this specific stall because it was a self-contained unit, complete with its own small ceramic sink and mirror, allowing her the dignity of a private routine without the risk of another customer or employee walking in on her.
Setting her duffel bag on the baby-changing station, she pulled out her toothbrush, toothpaste, and a small travel bottle of face wash.
She turned the faucet on, waiting patiently until the water transitioned from freezing to a steady, steaming hot.
She washed her face first, pressing the warm, wet paper towels against her skin to melt away the residual chill of the car, then brushed her teeth until her mouth felt clean and normal.
Standing in front of the mirror, she unzipped her duffel bag and pulled out her hairbrush.
As she ran it through her brown hair, she offered up a silent prayer of thanks for the naturally straight texture.
It was a small mercy; it didn't require expensive smoothing products or a flat iron to look neat. A few long, steady strokes removed the tangles from her sleep, leaving it falling smoothly over her shoulders, looking exactly like a normal professional woman’s hair should.
Next came the makeup. It wasn't much—just a few drugstore essentials she had managed to preserve in a small cosmetic pouch.
She applied a light layer of concealer under her eyes to hide the dark circles of exhaustion, a swipe of mascara to make herself look awake, and a touch of tinted lip balm to add color to her face.
She took a deep, centering breath, then unzipped the garment bag.
She had agonized over her wardrobe choice the night before, weighing her limited options until her head ached.
Ultimately, she decided on a pair of black slacks paired with a cream-colored blouse.
She stepped out of her sweatpants and slid into the slacks, tucking the blouse in neatly before slipping her feet into a pair of simple nude flats.
Finally, she pulled the tailored black blazer over her shoulders.
Looking at her reflection, she smoothed down the hem of the jacket, a familiar, heavy ache of shame settling deep in her stomach.
She didn't have a coat of her own. She still had Lennon's beautiful wool overcoat from when Wyatt had practically forced her into it on Saturday, but it was currently folded up in a bag to be returned today, leaving her with absolutely nothing to wear out in the elements.
The blazer was structured and thick enough to look right in an office, but it was a joke against a brutal Bridgeport winter.
She hoped it would be enough to shield her during the brief walk from the parking lot to the building—and more importantly, she hoped it would be enough to placate Wyatt.
She knew his protective, unyielding nature; she knew he wouldn't be happy to see her out in a freeze without proper outerwear, but she had no other choice. She would just have to be fast.
She packed her discarded clothes back into the duffel bag, zipped it tight, and stepped out of the stall.
Before leaving the store, she made a quick detour down a couple aisles, stopping at the front checkout counter with a bottle of sweet tea and a simple oats-and-honey granola bar.
Wyatt had explicitly told her that they handled lunch for the team every single day, but her survival instincts were too deeply ingrained to rely entirely on someone else's promise. She needed a backup. Just in case.
She paid the cashier, clutching the small plastic bag in her hand as she stepped back out into the bitter morning air. The wind cut through the blazer instantly, making her shoulders hunch as she sprinted back to her car.
She popped the trunk first, working efficiently to fold her pillows and heavy blankets into a tight, compact square.
She slid them deep into the lower recess of the trunk alongside her main duffel bag, pushing them back until everything was completely out of sight.
With one final check to ensure nothing was visible, she closed the lid with a firm thud.
Sliding into the driver's seat, she set the grocery bag on the passenger floorboard before turning the key in the ignition.
The engine caught with a rough, metallic rattle before settling into a low, shivering idle.
She cranked the heat to max, letting the lukewarm air blow over her stiff fingers for five minutes while she reviewed the navigation route to Enigma.
It was a blur of gray buildings and slush-covered pavement. As the massive, sleek facade of the building loomed into view, Bitsy felt her throat tighten. The architecture was imposing: glass and dark steel that looked like a fortress of modern technology.
She pulled into the expansive parking lot, her eyes darting between the signs.
There was an executive lot closer to the rear entrance, but uncertainty locked her fingers to the steering wheel.
She didn't know if she was allowed to park there yet, or if that privilege was reserved strictly for the executives.
Not wanting to risk an administrative infraction on her very first morning, she steered her car into the main lot instead.
She drove all the way to the far end of the lot, pulling into a space bordered by a high concrete retaining wall. It was as far from the main entrance as possible, a deliberate choice to make her vehicle as invisible as possible among the newer, cleaner vehicles.
She turned off the engine, the silence rushing back into the cabin.
She gathered her things—her shoulder bag containing the silver encrypted laptop Wyatt had given her, her wallet, the small grocery bag, and Lennon's coat.
She had spent an hour at a local laundromat the evening before, ensuring the wool was pristine and entirely free of any lingering car scent.
Taking one last look in the rearview mirror to verify her makeup hadn't smudged, she opened the door and stepped out.
The walk across the vast parking lot was brutal.
The freeze seemed to pierce right through the fabric of her blazer, the icy air biting at her exposed throat.
Her flats offered zero insulation against the frozen pavement, and by the time she reached the heavy glass doors of the main entrance, her teeth were locked tight to keep them from chattering.
She pushed through the doors, stepping into the massive, high-ceilinged lobby. The immediate rush of building heat was incredible, causing her skin to prickle as her body tried to adjust to the temperature shift.
The lobby was pristine, smelling of expensive stone and polished wood, but to her surprise, the large reception desk directly ahead was empty. There was no security guard or receptionist stationed at the counter.