“Are you supposed to be at Shepard Shipments?” the woman asked, adjusting her glasses over her milky blue eyes as she peered at my face and then gasped. “Oh! You’re Beauty Hart.”

I was stunned again, in my odyssey for anonymous suffering, that yet another person knew more about me than I knew about them. First Dan, and now this wizened old woman. Half of me fully expected to be greeted by name by the walking commuters passing us on the sidewalk.

“I am,” I confirmed, distinctly uncomfortable, wondering if I was vacillating between an anxiety attack, or if I just couldn’t get a good breath because of the tight pantyhose.

“You’re expected, Beauty,” the woman said, nodding decisively. “May I call you Beauty?”

“It’s my name, after all,” I said. “That’s just fine.”

“I’m Myra Tuttle,” she said, sticking a small hand out. When I shook it, however, its strength took me by surprise. “You’re here to replace me.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised yet again. How many times was I going to be surprised by something in the span of a minute? “I’m sorry…I don’t think anyone’s replaceable.”

She studied me for a moment before throwing her head back and guffawing at me.

“Too true,” she said. “I suppose we’re all, more or less, irreplaceable. What I meant to say was that you’re going to be doing the work I used to be doing here at Shepard Shipments. I’m retiring.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know that. Dan…I was told the job wasn’t very glamorous. That’s all I knew.”

Myra gave that same big laugh. “Well, that’s for sure,” she said. “Not glamorous at all. But rewarding, in its own way. Now. Let’s get ourselves inside so I can show you myself. Not glamorous. Ha!”

I felt more comfortable than I had in ages as I followed this little old lady into the building and across the gleaming lobby. It was a long way away from the dank, dark bar where I’d been previously employed. It was so well lit that I hoped I’d done my makeup correctly in my car’s rearview mirror, and I resolved to scoot into a restroom to check at my earliest convenience.

“Shepard Shipments owns the entire building, but the company rents the lower portions to other businesses it does dealings with,” Myra was explaining as we clicked our way across the smooth floors. “The company itself occupies a couple floors higher up in the building. These elevators here are fine. Don’t use the elevator at the back of the lobby.”

I followed the direction of her pointed finger to see a single elevator secluded by a darkened alcove, its gold doors dim. It looked foreboding, unlike the shiny bright bank of elevators we were standing in front of.

“Is that the elevator the other companies have to use to get to their floors?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” Myra said quickly. “That’s the elevator that Mr. Shepard uses to get to the penthouse at the top of the building.”

“Mr. Shepard,” I repeated as we stepped into an open elevator. “You mean Dan?”

She made a noise of disapproval in the back of her throat. “No. Mr. Daniel doesn’t live in the penthouse. He greatly enjoys his time outside of the company. The Mr. Shepard I’m referring to is, of course. Mr. Roland.”

“Is that Dan’s—Mr. Daniel’s—brother?”

“That’s right,” Myra confirmed, as we glided upward. “He lives at the top of the building. Quite convenient, if you ask me. But you’re never to use that elevator, do you hear me?”

Never use creepy elevator standing all alone to go to a strange man’s living quarters. I nodded. That was a rule I could definitely live with.

The elevator doors rolled open, and I followed Myra out into the reception area of the office. I was grateful to have run into her as I brooded outside. She seemed to be something cross between a fairy godmother and a grandmother figure. My only regret was that I was to, apparently, replace her. I wished she could be here to save me from all the ways I could screw up.

“This is the floor where you will be spending the vast majority of your time,” Myra said, bustling along. For a woman so advanced in her years, she was certainly sprightly. I had to almost trot to keep up with her quick little steps, ducking my head self-consciously as people at the desks we passed by looked up, curious at a new face.

The office space was nice enough—full of broad, open desks that weren’t separated by cubicle walls. The computers everyone clicked away on were the latest models, and everyone seemed busy, but happy. I’d never been in a professional office setting, but this one was much nicer than the mazes of cubicles I’d imagined for it.

“Are you familiar with what Shepard Shipments is?” Myra asked, drawing to a halt so suddenly I almost crashed into her. I had to pay attention. There would probably be time to ogle my surroundings later.

“Kind of,” I admitted. I’d visited the library on my shopping day and had taken the opportunity to do a little research. “It’s like a shopping website.”

“That’s one part of it,” she allowed, nodding encouragingly. “And that’s how the Shepards got their start. But today, Shepard Shipments is a retail and media force. The company launches its own products, everything from electronics to Internet services. And it just keeps growing.”

“And so what role do I play in all of this?” I asked, realizing that Dan had neglected to let me know exactly what the job I was agreeing to do would entail. “What do you do?” Dan had said it wasn’t glamorous, and Myra had laughed and agreed. To me, this entire office was glamorous, with its enormous windows, soft carpet, and workers dressed in all the latest fashions. The least glamorous position I could imagine was working as one of the warehouse stock employees, scurrying around, finding the items people ordered from the website to prepare them for shipping.

Somehow, though, I couldn’t imagine Myra doing the same.

“A very important one,” she began, and my stomach knotted in anxiety. I hadn’t finished college. I had limited skills. I certainly didn’t know anything about coding or working on websites.

“I’ll be training you this week to replace me as Mr. Shepard’s assistant,” she finished. “Mr. Roland Shepard, the president of this company. For clarity’s sake.”

My nerves crept up my spine and made my head swim. Assistant to the president of this enormous and important company? I had no idea what even the first thing expected out of me would be. All I knew was that I was to be the assistant to a vaguely threatening presence who lived at the top of this building and had a private, ominous elevator in the lobby I wasn’t allowed to use. None of this did a damn thing to inspire any confidence in me.

“Okay,” I said faintly. “You should probably start telling me everything you know right now. Because I don’t have a clue…”

Myra laughed again, but it wasn’t the same free guffaw she’d given outside of the building. It was more restrained, more careful.

“That’s what the training is for, silly girl,” she said. “You’ll do just fine. Now. Over here is where we’ll be. There’s plenty of space for the both of us, but you’ll eventually inherit all of it when I leave.”

We’d arrived at a large desk, set somewhat apart from the rest of the furniture in the room, near a large, heavy-looking door. Something in me felt uneasy, like something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I chalked it up to anxiety and tried to focus on gleaning every drop of knowledge that Myra was willing to give me. She wouldn’t be here forever, after all, and I’d be expected to assist the leader of this company as best I could.

“Beyond that door is Mr. Shepard’s office,” Myra said, nodding to the door on the far wall. From her slightly hushed tone, I didn’t have to ask her to clarify which Shepard brother she was talking about. I already recognized that Myra used reverence to talk about Roland and exasperation to discuss Dan.