Serena had asked me why I wasn’t more freaked out by the serial killer roaming the nighttime streets, and this had a lot to do with it. I was far more scared of my past. It had a tendency of dragging me into the depths of hell.

“I took a little break after college,” I finally said. “People in the UK like to call it a gap year.”

“We’re not in the UK.” He tapped his pen against the notepad. “And you took two years instead of one.”

Dammit. Gritting my teeth, I leaned back in the chair and fought the urge to tell this guy to shove his preconceptions about me right up his ass. “My family experienced a few personal issues during that time.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”

“I see.” He sighed and dropped the notepad onto his cluttered desk. “Mia, I agreed to this interview because Noah is one of our best baristas, and I understand you’re old friends with his girlfriend. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t have concerns about these personal issues of yours. With everything going on in the city right now, particularly in Hell’s Kitchen, I’d be remiss to take you on. Noah mentioned you were there last night.”

I bristled, hastily pushing up from the chair. “Wait. You mean the Hell’s Kitchen murders, don’t you? Are you suggesting I have something to do with those deaths? You think I’m killing those girls?”

He folded his arms. “I’ve read the articles. I know you only escaped a prison sentence because of a technicality.”

I fisted my hands on his desk and leaned toward him. “The reason I didn’t get convicted is because there was zero evidence against me.”

“Then, why did you refuse to testify?”

I flushed and pushed away from the desk, my heart hammering my ribs. “I’m not going to stand here and get berated by you about something you know nothing about. I’ll assume I didn’t get the job. Fine with me. I wouldn’t. want to work in this shit-hole anyway. I hate coffee.”

With that, I whirled on my feet and threw open the door. I stomped down the hallway past Noah and his shocked Pikachu face. I tried to rustle up a measure of guilt. He’d done me a favor, and things would no doubt be awkward next time he visited Serena.

“What the hell did you just do?” he asked, anger turning the edges of his words to steel. “You know I had to pull some strings to get you this damn interview.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have bothered if you were going to tell your boss about my past.” I narrowed my eyes, and the guilt raced away as fast as Usain Bolt. He’d completely sabotaged any chance I had.