Only the vomit.

We reach the southwest portion of the Pit, and Danny takes me to the corner office. With its dark-paneled mahogany walls and thick wooden door, this is the only office that varies from the open transparency of the Pit.

Midge Payne’s office.

A middle-aged woman sits out front at a small desk with a tiny laptop on it. She has a wireless earpiece and is flawlessly attractive and elegantly dressed.

“She’s expecting you,” the woman says to Danny and gives me a warm smile. “Welcome, Leary.”

“Thank you,” I tell her with a backward glance, because Danny is leading me into the inner sanctum of Midge’s kingdom. He steps inside her door, ushers me past him, then turns to leave. When the door shuts behind me, I turn to face my hero.

Words can’t describe my first look at Midge, and I only hope she can’t hear the frantic beating of my heart. I’m shocked to see she doesn’t look that much different from that old picture I’d seen circa 1985, twenty-five years ago. The woman has to be in her early sixties, yet could easily pass for early forties. She has the same pale-blonde hair that is now styled in a sleek, shoulder-length bob, and her skin is creamy, nearly flawless except for tiny lines around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. Blue eyes stare at me in cool appraisal as she sits behind her desk, elbows resting on the arms of her chair and her hands steepled in front of her chin.

“Sit down, Leary,” she says, her voice oddly warm in contrast to the aloofness of her body language, because she doesn’t rise to greet me or offer me a hand to shake.

When I take one of the chairs opposite her desk, I look up at her with a nervous smile.

“Welcome,” she says softly. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you ever since your impressive interview.”

Impressive interview? She wasn’t even there.

“Thank you,” I say, lamely squeaking out my words.

She chuckles and puts her hands down on the armrests, leaning back farther in her chair and kicking her feet up on her desk. She’s casually dressed in a low-cut, purple cotton T-shirt and dark denim jeans. Her feet are encased in olive-green patent-leather pumps with a square toe that have to be at least five inches tall and make my feet hurt looking at them.

I take a quick peek around her office, surprised by how barren it is. No degrees on the walls, no photographs on her desk. Her bookshelves are stacked with law books and periodicals. Her desk is crammed with documents, manila files, and three-ring binders. She has three computer screens sitting on one corner of her desk and a large-screen TV mounted to the wall that is tuned to CNN with the volume muted. Soft tones of music play in the background, and when I listen closely, I’m surprised to hear Missy Elliott’s “Pass That Dutch.”

This woman is strange and utterly fascinating.

“I watched your interview on video,” she says with amusement. “Overall, you weren’t anything special . . . not compared to the other applicants.”

My jaw drops and my face flushes red. What could I possibly say to that? She doesn’t expect me to respond, so she continues. “However, you answered one question better than any of the other twenty-three applicants, and for that reason you got the job.”

I wait for her to tell me what amazing piece of wisdom popped out of my mouth, but she doesn’t enlighten me, and unfortunately, I’m so nervous I don’t have the guts to question her.

“I expect great things from you,” Midge says firmly.

Swallowing hard, I say, “I’ll work very hard, Ms. Payne.”

Her eyebrows furrow inward, and I can see she’s displeased. “I’m sure Danny told you we go by first names here.”

I nod. “I’m sorry. Just nervous.”

Her gaze warms up a bit, and she swings her legs off the desk, surging out of her chair. She’s tall . . . really tall, maybe five ten, five eleven, in those heels. Her presence is magnetic, and my eyes are pinned to her.

“I understand,” she says as she walks around her desk to sit in the chair beside me. She stares at me thoughtfully, and I’m entranced. She reaches toward me, and I’m powerless to even flinch away from her.

Deft fingers go to the back of my head, where she pulls at the one pin holding up the severe bun in which I’d wrapped my long hair. When her hand clears, my hair falls down to the middle of my back in a cascade of chocolate. She takes one of my locks and rubs it between her fingers, staring at it thoughtfully. “You need to change, though.”

I jerk minutely and she drops my hair, bringing her gaze to my confused eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” she says confidently. “I have great plans for you. Your interview intrigued me, and I know you will be one of my top stars. But this meek trailer-trash image you’re carting around has got to go.”

Her words hypnotize me so much I’m not offended by her statement. Besides, it’s true. I was raised in a trailer park, and my clothes are cheap, as are my perfume and discount-store makeup.

“You’re a brilliant woman. Your law school grades and interview prove that. But you have other qualities that you need to play up.”

“Other qualities?” I ask, dumbfounded. Because, past my intellect and work ethic, what more could she want?

Leaning forward, she rests her elbows on her knees and clasps her hands together. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.

“I’m talking about using all of your skills. You are a woman in a man’s profession. You’re on the bottom of the ladder, and it will be ten times harder for you to climb just one rung while a man skips up ten. Now . . . you’re smart, but no smarter than any other man I’ve employed here. So you need more. You need to work your other talents.”

“Talents?”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Leary. You hide it, though, and I’m guessing it’s because the last thing you want is to rely on your beauty for anything. I’m guessing there’s a sordid little story there that makes it so . . . maybe coming straight from the dusty front yard of the little trailer you were raised in.”

I cringe, because she’s hit too close to home, and there’s no way she could know about my past. I raise my chin, daring her to continue, yet am oddly fascinated with where she’s going.

“You see, Leary, in order to succeed in this world, you need to work it . . . and work it hard. Your brain, your wit, your determination, your confidence, your sex appeal. Lose the baggy, cheap clothes and show off your body. Get a good haircut, leave your hair down, and get someone to teach you how to wear makeup properly. Make men notice you, and when you’ve fogged their senses with lust, slap them with your brains. Make women want to be like you, but be so confident in your abilities that they will inevitably fall flat on their face. When you finish with your opponents, don’t let them have a moment’s doubt that they’ve met their match.” She leans in closer. “I’m talking about winning at any cost. Doing whatever is necessary to get the victory, and as a woman, you need to use every weapon in your arsenal. It’s how I succeeded, and it’s how you will succeed, too.”

I know I should be offended, maybe feel let down over this revelation that Midge Payne seems to be interested in my physical attributes as much as my mental, yet I’m not. I’m strangely titillated by it and feel a sense of power flushing through me. It’s a power I imagine my mother employed on more than one occasion, and while I have the utmost love and respect for my momma, I never once wanted to use the same charms she had to use to make sure we survived in a harsh world.

But oddly, the way Midge is advising me to work my assets doesn’t seem as seedy as when my momma lay on her back and spread her legs for money to put food on the table.

Midge stands up and walks back behind her desk. “Danny’s waiting for you outside and will show you to your work area.”