Alexa gestured for him to follow and then weaved her way toward the exit. Zack fell into step behind her, keeping his eyes fixed on the back of her black hoodie. It was all he could do to block out the murmuring voices coming from the other cubicles. He was no prude—he couldn’t be in his line of work—but he had little desire to eavesdrop. The company Christmas party was already awkward enough.

Alexa reached the exit and shoved the metal doors open, revealing a darkened flight of stairs. Zack followed her down until they reached another door and then finally hit outside air. It was a clear, crisp autumn night, but Zack couldn’t see a single star. He’d been living in Los Angeles for over two decades, and he could only remember a handful of times that he’d really seen them. The city was a sprawling skeleton of concrete and metal. And, in his opinion, one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Living here meant inhaling exhaust fumes and ordering salads with dressing on the side in the same breath.

Alexa broke him from his thoughts by handing him a cigarette.

Zack took it eagerly. “Thank God. I was dying of boredom in there.”

“What a coincidence,” Alexa said in an amused tone. “I was dying for a nonsmoker to steal one of my cigarettes.”

Zack rolled his eyes. “I smoke plenty.” He held up the cigarette as proof.

“Yeah, when you’d rather wreck your lungs than be inside. That really says something about how much you love your job.”

Alexa pulled a bubblegum-pink lighter from the pocket of her hoodie and lit up. Then she tossed it to Zack. He lit his own cigarette and handed the lighter back before taking a puff. The nicotine hit his bloodstream in a rush and made him feel dizzy. He could never quite decide if he liked the sensation or not. It was like being suddenly drunk for no reason.

Alexa noticed his unsteadiness. “That proves it. Real smokers don’t still get dizzy from it. Not that I’m encouraging you.”

“All judgment and lung cancer aside, I can’t afford a regular habit.”

“Fair enough. So—” she exhaled a plume of smoke “—tell me about this alleged ‘freaky caller’ of yours.”

“Oh man, you’re never gonna believe this one,” Zack began, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes. “He wanted me to—”

The door to the building swung open, and a man Zack vaguely recognized stepped outside.

“Hey, Pete,” Alexa greeted him, folding her arms over her chest. She flicked ash from the tip of her cigarette in a way that somehow looked artful. “How’s your first week going?”

“It’s going,” Pete said as he lit a cigarette of his own and shuffled closer. He looked like he was in his early twenties, same as Zack, but where Zack was tall and muscular, Pete was all elbows and knees. He had clear blue eyes and a baby-soft complexion, however, which made Zack stare longer than was necessary.