I moved to the all-black mannequin and hovered there awhile until I gave up and sat down on the white leather banquette. My new-hire form listed January 2 as my start date, but nowhere did it mention my start time. I’d obviously arrived too early.

When the elevator chimed again and discharged a trio, I rose to my feet with an expectant smile, but they all walked past without acknowledging me. I sat back down.

At ten o’clock the K-Beauty receptionist finally arrived, weaving an unsteady path from the elevator to her desk. I would have blamed her razor-thin stilettos for the wobble, but when she turned around, I could see that the slit of eyeball showing between her Akita lashes was bloodshot. Her New Year’s Eve celebration must have lasted all the way through New Year’s Day. She sat down behind the desk with a moan and stared at her computer as if waiting for it to turn itself on.

I stood up. “Hello. I’m Shay Lambert. I’m starting here today?”

The girl slowly blinked her gaze upward. “Uh, starting what?”

“Employment. I’m a new hire in the Law Department.”

She stared. “Huh. Where are you supposed to go?”

“I’m not sure.” I spoke pleasantly; I knew better than to antagonize the staff by showing impatience on my first day. “Perhaps you could ask Mr. Barrett’s assistant?”

“Oh. Right.” The girl picked up the phone and stared blearily at the keypad before tapping in some numbers. “Somebody’s here,” she said into the phone. “Says she’s a new hire?”

She hung up, and when she spoke again it was with the assurance of an actor reciting a well-rehearsed line. “Please have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”

I stayed on my feet, and soon Barrett’s assistant rushed into the reception area. It was Marcia Post, the woman who’d displayed such elegant composure on my last visit. Now she seemed flustered. Her silver hair was frizzed, and her suit jacket was askew. There was one solitary button up top and one solitary buttonhole gaping loose at the bottom.

“Ms. Lambert—Shay—I’m so sorry! Mr. Barrett was unexpectedly called to Kuala Lumpur over the holiday, and I’m afraid—well, it was all so sudden—I’m afraid he didn’t leave any instructions for—for”—she let out a nervous laugh—“well, for what we’re to do with you.”

“Oh.”

The woman looked at her watch. “And of course, he can’t be reached in KL at this hour, so I’m afraid—” She spread her hands helplessly.

“Oh,” I said again. I wondered if I was supposed to go home. I wondered if I’d still get paid for today if I did.

“It says here”—behind Marcia Post, the receptionist was struggling to focus on her computer screen—“that she’s going to be in 3018.”

“Oh!” Marcia Post gasped with relief, as if everything was now solved. “Your office! Of course. Let me take you there.”

She led me in a long circuit around the perimeter of the floor to the east-facing side of the building. The office doors were closer together along this corridor, and a faint buzz hummed from behind some of them. Worker bees, I thought, all toiling in their cells in the hive. But at least they had cells. At least they had work.