BooksBarbecue
Back First Comes Love
Chapters (92)
  1. First
  2. Love Connection
  3. Zero
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. One Month Later
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Six Months Later
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-one
  27. Twenty-two
  28. Twenty-three
  29. Twenty-four
  30. Six Months Later
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. I Have Never
  41. One
  42. Two
  43. Three
  44. Four
  45. Five
  46. Six
  47. Seven
  48. Eight
  49. Nine
  50. Ten
  51. Eleven
  52. Twelve
  53. Thirteen
  54. Fourteen
  55. Fifteen
  56. Sixteen
  57. Seventeen
  58. Eighteen
  59. Nineteen
  60. Twenty
  61. Twenty-one
  62. Twenty-two
  63. A Christmas Date
  64. One
  65. Two
  66. Three
  67. Four
  68. Five
  69. Six
  70. Seven
  71. Eight
  72. Nine
  73. Ten
  74. Eleven
  75. Twelve
  76. Thirteen
  77. Fourteen
  78. Fifteen
  79. Sixteen
  80. Seventeen
  81. Eighteen
  82. Nineteen
  83. Twenty
  84. Twenty-one
  85. Twenty-two
  86. Note from the Author
  87. Sneak Peek – To the Stars and Back
  88. Two
  89. Three
  90. Four
  91. Also by Camilla Isley
  92. About the Author

I search for the slip of paper inside its honorary pocket in my bag, but it’s not there. I rummage through the main compartment and find it crumpled at the bottom.

“Here.” I hand it over.

Nikki snatches the list from me, gets hold of a pen, and searches the various items with her eyes. “So, we can cross out never make a scene and never get drunk.” She draws two lines on the respective entries. “And here, number fifteen, always move up the ladder, never down.” Nikki pins me with a satisfied stare. “You’re so taking the job.”

***

I wait until the next morning to crawl back to Brooklyn, buying myself some time to become human again. As awakenings go, today couldn’t be any more different from yesterday. The fit watch goes off at five thirty a.m., and on autopilot I shuffle out bed, dress in sporty clothes, and go for a run. From my apartment, I jog up Canal St. to the Hudson River waterfront and then up to 57th Street and back. It takes me longer than my usual time, but the ten-mile run does wonders to detox my entire system and puts me in a positive mood. Thank you, endorphins. After a long shower and a healthy breakfast, I get ready to make the trip to hell—er, Brooklyn.

I walk to Canal St. subway station in my foldable flats and I’m about to automatically jump on the uptown train when I remember my real destination. My chest contracts in pain as I break out of auto-pilot and steer away from the uptown train at the last moment. I already miss Évoque so much, and not just for its geography and wardrobe perks. I miss the halo of power.

On edge before even starting the trip, I study the map to figure out the most convenient route to Richard’s office. Irony of ironies, I still have to take the blue line. Only instead of heading up to Columbus Circle, I’m literally moving down and out of Manhattan to High Street, Brooklyn.

The address on the card brings me to one of those historic factory loft buildings. There’s no reception so I walk straight to the elevators—not even proper ones, freight. Richard’s card says third floor. I push three and wait for the freight machine to make its slow, slow way up. As I pass the second floor, voices drift down from above—raised voices.

“I’m having your license revoked,” a woman is shouting. “According to New York MHY 33.21 in providing outpatient mental health services to a minor, the important role of the parents or guardians shall be recognized. That’s me.”

“Instead of worrying about having my license revoked,” a man replies, “you should ask yourself why your daughter came to seek my help. And while you’re at it, have a good look in the mirror.”