I riffled through the first one and found my underwear. I yanked it on and then flipped the lid on the second one, which was full of acceptable work clothes. I grabbed the ubiquitous black knit dress and a zebra print scarf. I pulled it over my head, minding my hair. Then I grabbed a pair of thick socks and my beat-up black high-top Converse sneakers, which were more scuffed than not. I didn’t care. My feet were still tender and these shoes would not cause any more harm. I grabbed a yogurt out of the fridge and a granola bar from the pantry, dropped them into my bag, and raced for the front door. I was killing it! If I kept up this pace, which meant running all the way to work, I would only be fifteen minutes late.

I thought about texting Soph and making an excuse, but our friendship was too valuable for me to treat it like that, plus she was my boss now. I was going to have to take my lumps for being late and just make certain it didn’t happen again. Of course, it might have been easier if I hadn’t said I’d be there bright and early. Ack!

I grabbed my jean jacket—it was cold in the morning—and yanked open the front door. Taped to the middle of the double doors was an envelope. I snatched it off and stuffed it into my bag, barely taking time to lock the door behind me as I ran down the driveway for the street.

By the time I got to the office, I was panting and sweaty and even my comfortable kicks were chafing my feet. As I stood waiting for the elevator, I shrugged off my jacket and pulled the front of my dress away from my skin in order to get some air. I was just checking the messages on my phone when the doors opened and Carson stepped out.

He blinked at the sight of me, and a slow smile curved his lips. “Just getting in?”

“Early meeting with a client ran late,” I lied. Although maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the mysterious envelope on my door had been about a job and not someone trying to sell me life insurance. I could always hope, right? I lifted my phone to my ear to listen to the voicemail from my sister, Chelsea.

“Sure it was,” he said. His voice was whisper soft and full of doubt.

Then he shook his head, dismissing me as he stepped out of the elevator and around me as if I were no more significant than a cautionary Wet Floor sign. I knew he was trying to rattle me, but I was not about to let him.