In the small reception area, Newsom looked around. Petty cash. The thought came to her out of nowhere. Lightning quick, she was poking through Harriet’s desk drawer, and there it was, the small box that held petty cash and Baron’s corporate card. She had no idea how much she was dumping into her purse; she just upended the little box. The corporate American Express card went into her pocket. She could hoard the cash and use the card until such time as she thought she might get caught, or until Baron or Harriet reported the card as stolen. Her gut instinct was that Baron wouldn’t open that can of worms.

She saw the Santa suit hanging on the door and had the insane urge to rip it to shreds. She probably would have, but she heard a sound from the hallway and saw the shadow of the guard outside the glass door leading into the reception area. She ducked behind the reception desk, hardly daring to breathe. She almost fainted when she heard the antique doorknob rattle. She let her breath out in a long sigh as the steps she’d heard moved away. It was a short hallway, so either he was going up to the next floor or down to the one below this one.

Within minutes she was up, out the door, and running toward the exit that would take her down to the basement, where she could make her way out to the street.

The minute the frigid air hit her, Newsom realized how cold and wet and hungry she was. Her head down, she trudged forward, fighting the swirling snow that was still battering the District. Numb with cold, she stumbled into the first all-night eatery she came to. She looked around to see tired sanitation workers with hot mugs of steaming coffee warming their hands. She walked over to one of the empty booths and sat down. When the coffee appeared without being ordered, Newsom viewed it as nectar of the gods. She ordered pancakes and bacon with a glass of orange juice. When the tired waitress moved off, Newsom leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

She knew without a doubt she was in some deep doo-doo, and it was only going to get worse. She needed a plan. A plan that would work for her and screw Baron Bell. The urge to cry again was so strong that she bit down on her bottom lip hard enough to taste her own blood.

Sometimes life was a real bitch.

Chapter 10

Chapter 10