His face cast in sharp relief, equally in shadow and light, was hideously disfigured by a twisting scar that traveled from his temple, past his cheek, across his mouth—splitting the bottom lip—and on down his chin and neck, vanishing beneath the collar of his shirt.

He stared at me, eyes dark in spite of the light, for a few brief moments before redirecting his gaze to the coffee mug and his sopping paper.

“And just what the fuck is this?” he asked, sweeping his hand over the front page. “How am I supposed to read this now?”

“Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “You could turn a few more lights on.”

He made a sound of disbelief in his throat, as he examined the coffee mug, going so far as to stick a finger into the liquid.

“And this,” he said, showing me the inside of the mug. “A cold, half-empty cup of coffee? Did you think this was what I wanted?”

“Some people would say it was half full,” I countered then jumped again as he slammed his fist down against his desk.

“Do you think this is funny?” he demanded, pushing himself up from the chair, towering over me even in my heels. “Do you think working here is a joke?”

I had to fight the urge to turn and run away. Standing my ground, even as my knees shook, I stared at that furious scar marring his face, distracting myself from my urge to flee.

“I don’t think that,” I said. “I’m new here, though, so if that actually is the office culture, you’ll have to tell me.”

I was saved from the next verbal assault by the soft beep of the phone on the desk. How was his ringer so soft but the ringer on the phone on my desk so loud, jangling my nerves with its pompous tone?

He held up a finger—he was apparently saving more rage for me after he dealt with this pressing business matter—and answered the phone.

“Roland Shepard.” He looked at me as he listened into the receiver, and I finally had to glance away, studying my feet. That scar was just too difficult to ogle. I took the opportunity to retrieve the lampshade I’d knocked over, replacing it back over the bare light bulb and feeling instantly uneasy at the darkness. The darkness seemed to be where Roland Shepard thrived. I was out of my element.

After what felt like five minutes of just standing there, listening to him listen to whoever was on the other end of that line, Roland cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Myra.” Myra? What the hell? When did she get back and why was she only just now launching a campaign to save me from the president of this company? I strained my eyes to see in the darkness as Roland replaced the receiver to the phone.

“So,” he began, picking up the wet paper and dumping it in the garbage. “Not only do the simplest of requests challenge you, but you also steal newspapers in my name and my company’s name?”

Well, when he said it like that, it looked really bad.

“The vendor from across the street called from the lobby of this very building, trying to reach me,” Roland continued, his voice gradually getting louder. “Luckily, Myra was there to take the call and talked him down from going to the police. If you must steal, Beauty Hart, do it on your own time and don’t invoke my fucking company to do so!”

His tirade had risen to a roar, and I withered in the face of that level of wrath. Yes, it had been stupid, but…

“I was just trying to do what you asked!” I sassed angrily, defensive as all get out, unwilling to bow completely to his irrational anger. “You were rude to me and this is my first day and all I’ve wanted to do so far was just go back home to my car and go to sleep and forget all of this. I just wanted to please you!”

“Do you think any of this hot fucking mess pleases me?” he shouted, right in my face, that ugly scar virtually throbbing at me.

There was nothing I could do to keep myself in that office, taking that abuse. I turned tail and ran, shoving my way out the door, grabbing my purse at the desk, ignoring traitorous Myra and the stares of all my new coworkers, as I sprinted to the elevator and practically dove to save the doors from closing on me.

Fuck this. Fuck this place. Hot tears sprung to my eyes and a sob leeched out of me as I rode the elevator back down to the lobby. I didn’t need to do this. I could stand up to a lot of things, but blatant disregard wasn’t one of them. I’d been happier stripping to feed my belly, and my professional clothes felt like a clown’s costume. I was going to throw the pantyhose into the first dumpster I came across.

The elevator door opened, and I ran right into Dan, registering belatedly that he had a phone to his ear, his face scrunched into a scowl, in the middle of a sentence.

“…solve all your problems, asshole—Beauty!”

Maybe it was because his was the first familiar face I’d seen since arriving in Seattle. Or maybe it was because Roland had been just so goddamn mean to me.

Either way, and I wasn’t proud of it, I launched myself at Dan and buried my teary face in his chest and cried.

“What’s happened, Beauty?” he asked, soothing hands rubbing my back.

“Daniel? Answer me. Dan!” The voice in his ear, the cellphone still connected to the call. I knew that voice—hoarse, low, demanding. He was talking to Roland. I jerked away.

“Call you back,” Dan said, slipping the phone into his pocket. “Beauty? Are you all right?”

“It’s nothing,” I said, quickly wiping tears and very likely melting mascara from my cheeks. “I’m just…I’m going now.”

“Going now?” He checked his watch. “We’re not even halfway through the workday. Where are you going?”

“Just going,” I said, backing away from him, circling around until I had a clear shot at the exit. “This place isn’t for me—just like college wasn’t, either.”

“Everybody eventually figures out where their place is,” Dan said, turning to face me. “You’re not exempt from that, you know. If your place isn’t here, where is it? It’s not in Houston anymore. You and I both know that.”

I flinched at hearing the name of the city where I grew up, the outskirts of which had been my playground, where Caro and my parents were buried.

“I have to go,” I said, my legs moving faster and faster until I was running again.

“You can’t run forever!” I thought I heard Dan call, but I couldn’t be sure. I was outside in the air, breathing deeply, away from the suffocating atmosphere of Shepard Shipments. I covered my face in my hands, pressing my fingers against my eyes so hard I saw stars.

“Hey, it’s you!”

I looked up to see the vendor from the newspaper kiosk across the street, pointing at me, livid.

“It’s you, the newspaper stealer!” he yelled. “Hey, newspaper stealer! I see you!”

It was past time to get the fuck out of here.

Chapter 5

I drove around the city aimlessly, letting the stoplights dictate my path, until I realized I was wasting valuable gas that I’d probably need on the road. I was leaving here. I didn’t need any of this drama, not with the drama that had plagued my life up until this point. How much rancor was I going to have to put up with until everyone just left me alone?

I parked where I could see the water and stared out at the boats drifting in and out of the harbor, ferrying people to God knew where. They probably all had a purpose, every last one of them, and I didn’t. I was living in my car, unable to decide just where I needed to be.

What would happen if I ran down that slip and jumped into the cold sea? I could really disappear, then, just swimming and swimming and swimming out, in a perfectly straight line, bobbing on the waves until I couldn’t swim anymore and just drifted with the tides and currents, face lifted toward the sky, engulfed in nothingness.

Why was I even here? What had I set out to do?

I remembered Dan had piqued my curiosity at the bar. Something hadn’t added up about his story of wanting me to work for his family’s company, and I’d been bound and determined to figure out just what it was. Was that the only thing motivating me? Or was it the troubling fact that he knew much more about me than he should’ve, like the name of my college, when I’d dropped out, and my various movements that made me writhe my way across the country from Texas to Washington state.