Maybe I needed to try a different tack. “Does this place always feel so creepy?” I asked him. “It’s weird, right? It’s just so bright and empty and stark. Like being inside a Josef Albers painting. The one with the white squares.” No response. But that was wrong, too. I just sounded like more of a snob, some spoiled white girl babbling on about abstract art. I cleared my throat. “Look, I’m really sorry about this morning. I’m Lily,” I said. “I just started.” Still, he wouldn’t turn around. I gave up and simply watched him work the paper towel in small, slow circles.

I doodled on the edge of a spa menu as I waited for Carrie to come and tell me what to do next. Time was creeping by. 8:31. 8:35. 8:37. I turned my back to the desk and pulled my phone out of a gift certificate box, held it the way Emily had showed me the day before. No new texts, no missed calls.

“Hey!” a voice said behind me. I jumped, and my phone slipped from my grip, landed with a sickening crunch on the marble floor. “Jesus, it’s just me. I came through the back. I thought I’d get here early. I’m sure Carrie has been completely useless to you.”

Emily. Just Emily. When I picked up my phone, I saw that the screen was spiderwebbed with cracks. I cradled it in my palm like I would have a small, injured animal.

“Oh shit, I’m really sorry. That sucks.” She took the phone from my hand, grimaced, handed it back. “There’s a guy over on the boardwalk who will fix it for twenty-five bucks. I went to him last month. Right near the Taj Mahal. Or what used to be the Taj Mahal, at least. Hey, are you okay? No offense, but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Hangover.”

“Ah. You’ll learn not to go out before you open.”

“It’s been a shitty morning either way.” I told her about running into Brittany in the back hall.

“She’s a total twat. Ignore her. They’re like children. Just can’t listen to their bullshit. You’re the one with the power and don’t forget it. You can pack their books with appointments if you like them, or if they piss you off, then you can punish them for it.”

“What’s the deal with that older guy who comes in and cleans and like takes the recycling out? He refuses to talk to me.”

“You mean Luis?

I nodded. “I tried to talk to him like three times and he’s totally ignored me.”

“Well, he’s deaf. And mute. And he doesn’t use sign language, but he can read and write. Sometimes I think he pretends to understand less than he does—he’s smart enough to tune all of us out.”