Chapter 3: The Morning After the Ballroom
Emma's alarm went off at six fifteen.
She lay still for a moment, staring at the water stain on the ceiling of her apartment, listening to the radiator knock.
For exactly four seconds, the previous night felt like something she had dreamed.
Then her phone buzzed.
It was a text from her manager, Dale.
Three words: *Come in early.*
She sat up.
Her uniform from the night before was still draped over the chair by the door, the collar slightly crooked from where Victoria's guards had grabbed it.
She smoothed it out of habit, then stopped herself.
It didn't matter how it looked anymore.
The restaurant, Elevate, occupied the forty-second floor of a downtown tower and catered exclusively to corporate events and private galas.
Emma had worked there for two years, longer than most of the other staff.
She knew the layout, the regulars, the unspoken rules.
She had never once caused a scene.
Until last night.
She arrived twenty minutes early.
Dale was waiting in his office with the door already open, which was never a good sign.
He was a careful man — the kind who kept the door closed when he needed to think and open when he had already decided.
Emma stepped inside.
"You wanted to see me."
Dale set down his coffee.
He didn't tell her to sit.
"I got a call this morning," he said.
"Before seven.
From someone at the Langford Group."
Emma's hands stayed at her sides.
"What did they say?"
"They said you assaulted a guest last night.
They said they have witnesses." He paused.
"They also said that if I kept you on staff, they would pull their quarterly event contract.
That's fourteen bookings a year, Emma."
"I stopped her from striking an elderly woman."
"I know what you did." Dale's voice wasn't unkind.
It was tired.
"I saw the video this morning.
Someone filmed it on their phone.
You were right.
Anyone looking at it can see you were right." He picked up his coffee again.
"It doesn't change what I have to do."
Emma looked at him.
"You're letting me go."
He didn't answer right away.
That was its own kind of answer.
"I'm sorry," he finally said.
"I'll give you a reference.
A strong one.
But I can't lose that contract.
I've got seventeen people on payroll."
Emma nodded once.
She picked up her bag.
She was at the door when Dale spoke again.
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "what you did last night took more courage than anything I've seen in twenty years in this business."
She didn't turn around.
"It cost me my job."
"Yes," he said.
"It did."
She walked out through the kitchen, past the prep cooks who all went carefully quiet, past the hostess stand where Jenna — who had worked alongside Emma for eighteen months — looked up and then immediately looked back down at her screen.
The elevator doors closed.
Emma watched her own reflection in the polished metal.
She had one hundred and twelve dollars in her checking account.
Her father's next hospital invoice was due in nine days.
Her sister Lily's tuition deferral expired at the end of the month.
She stepped out onto the street.
Her phone buzzed again.
A number she didn't recognize — Chicago area code, but no name attached.
She almost let it go to voicemail.
She answered.
"Miss Carter." The voice was professional, unhurried.
"My name is Daniel Reyes.
I'm the executive assistant to Mr.
Vincent Moretti.
He's asked me to pass along a request.
He'd like to meet with you this morning, if you're available.
At your convenience."
Emma stood on the sidewalk while a delivery truck rolled past and a woman with a stroller navigated around her.
"Why?" she said.
A brief pause.
"I wasn't given the specific reason, Miss Carter.
Only that it was important, and that he hoped you would come."
Emma looked back up at the tower she had just walked out of.
Then she looked down at her phone.
One hundred and twelve dollars.
May you like
Nine days.
"Where?" she said.
