Anyway, I was a quick learner and I found I really enjoyed protecting people for when the worst happened. And I knew what it was like when the worst happened. If only someone had walked in and handed me a check when it had happened to me, that would have been amazing.

I heard the door chime, and Agnes say, “Can I help you?” in the dullest tone imaginable. I didn’t want to get Agnes fired or anything, but for goodness’ sake. This woman was the face of our company?

A voice I recognized said, “Yeah, I’m here to take out an errors and omissions policy.”

“Mr. Montoya’s out,” Agnes said. “But the new girl is in the back.”

I rolled my eyes. Really, Agnes? The new girl? Honestly. I was number one in my MBA program. I could maybe handle selling an errors and omissions policy.

“She any good?” Grace asked. I had to smile.

Agnes lowered her voice and said, “They say she’s some kinda mathematical genius.” She said it like math-uh-mat-ee-cal.

“So, a nerd, then?” Grace whispered back.

I didn’t hate that Agnes thought I was a mathematical genius. It almost made up for her previous slights.

“Go on back and see for yourself,” Agnes said.

I sat up a little straighter and tried to look extremely busy on my laptop.

“Excuse me,” Grace said, tapping on my open door lightly. I didn’t expect to see Alice and Julie too. They had been quiet little church mice. And they were holding what appeared to be a garment bag.

“Hello, working girl!” Julie sang. “We’re here to visit!”

“Kind of here to visit,” Grace said. “I actually do need that errors and omissions policy too.”

That made sense. Errors and omissions covered public figures—authors, influencers, etc.—if they got sued for what they posted. It was a little tricky, honestly. I opened a folder on my computer and dragged a file into a new email.

“I just sent you an application,” I said. “We can go through it at home because it’s complicated.”

Julie sat down in one of the drab gray chairs across from my desk, and I eyed Alice. “I’m afraid to even ask what’s in the bag.”

“Afraid?” she asked so sweetly that I was even more afraid. “Why would you be afraid of a little garment bag?”

I motioned with my hand for her to unzip it. When she did, I gasped. Inside was a low-cut yellow gown, cinched at the waist with a full skirt, trimmed in the most delicate lace.

“And!” Grace said, producing a smaller bag I hadn’t even noticed, “the pièce de résistance.” She pulled out a fascinator with the most fabulous yellow feathers.