“Ouch. And here I thought I was giving off more of a ‘reluctant, mildly hungover accomplice’ vibe.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Look, my parents sent me here as punishment for a spectacular public flameout. What’s your excuse?”
A flicker of interest crossed her face. “My social worker thinks ‘manual labor’ will cure my ‘bad attitude.’” She gestured at the pile of letters. “So far, my attitude remains resolutely shitty. And my stack of envelopes looks like a sad, lopsided tower of doom.”
“Mine will probably collapse and cause a paperavalanche,” I admitted, grabbing another letter. We worked in silence for a minute, the only sound the soft rustle of paper.
“So, you’re rich, then?” Maisie asked bluntly.
“My parents are,” I corrected automatically. “They’re currently trying to decide whether to cut me off or marry me off to a human garden gnome. This is my last chance to prove I’m not a complete write-off.”
Maisie actually snorted a small laugh at that. “A garden gnome? That’s rough.”
“You have no idea.”
All too soon, Claire poked her head in to collect Maisie. As I stood up to stretch, my purse slipped from the desk, spilling its contents across the floor with a clatter. My face flamed hot as my wallet, keys, lipstick, and a single, foil-wrapped condom tumbled out.
A couple of volunteers at the folding machine snickered before turning away.
Maisie, however, just rolled her eyes at them. I saw the corner of her mouth twitch with a smirk as I hastily scooped everything up. When I looked up, she was grinning at me, a genuine, conspiratorial grin that held a new spark of respect.
I leaned in, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “What can I say? Girl Scout motto.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Be prepared?”
“Exactly,” I winked. “For any and all emergencies.”
She smiled, and I knew I’d broken through. I wasn’t just another do-gooder volunteer; I was someone who got it, flaws and all. The realization sent an unexpected warmth through my chest, a feeling of purpose I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
The moment was shattered by the main office door opening. “Lunch break,” Claire announced.
As I gathered my things, I caught sight of somethingthrough the hallway window. A man with a camera, trying, and failing, to be inconspicuous.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins.Fuck. Had they identified me? Was this paparazzo here for me?
Hastily, I dug in my purse for my phone, bringing up Kinna’s contact info with shaking hands.
“Kinna,” I hissed as soon as she picked up. “There’s a photographer outside. They might have ID’d me from the video.”
“Shit,” Kinna muttered. “Okay, don’t panic. Is there a back way out?”
I glanced around frantically. “Yeah, I think so. Through the kitchen?”
“Alright, hang tight. I’m on my way. We’ll get you out of there.”
The next fifteen minutes were the longest of my life. I stepped into the kitchen, dodging a few kitchen workers who eyed me curiously and planted myself in a storage area, where I paced back and forth. With each anxious stride, I glanced toward the back door, wondering when Kinna would show up. Finally, unable to still my jitters any longer, I moved to the door and peeked out, scanning the area for any sign of the photographer still lurking around. Damnit. He hadn’t moved.
Finally, my phone buzzed. Kinna was here.
I snuck out the back, my heart racing like a damn freight train. As I rounded the corner, I nearly collided with a man holding a notebook.
“Excuse me, are you Elisabeth MacLeod?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with recognition.
“No comment,” I blurted, ducking past him and practically sprinting to Kinna’s waiting car.
As soon as the door slammed shut, Kinna floored it. Wepeeled out of the parking lot, leaving the stunned reporter in our dust.
Once we were safely away, the adrenaline wore off. Tears welled up in my eyes, and soon I was sobbing.
“Hey, hey,” Kinna said, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “It’s okay. We got out of there.”
