“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Zoe. From Provisions.”

My heart leapt at the name of the restaurant I’d been waiting to hear back from.

“Listen, I know this is kind of insane of me to ask, but we’re really short staffed tonight.” Her voice cut off and then I heard muffled yells from her end of the phone. A second later, she spoke back through the receiver. “Lily, you still there?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

“Is there any way you could get here like…” She paused again. “Now?”

I stared at the street signs around me like that would help. Ha. I’d spent twelve hours in New York. The only street names I knew were Broadway, 5th, and Wall Street—none of which would help me in this situation, but I didn’t want to let Zoe know that. You can get anywhere in the city fairly quickly right? It’s an island; how big can it possibly be?

“Uh, I think I can be there in like ten minutes, but I haven’t had an interview or anything.”

She laughed into the phone like I’d just told the funniest joke she’d ever heard.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

“I…uhh…”

“God, that was a joke. Get here.”

The line went dead and I stared down at the black screen in shock. I had ten minutes. Well, now nine minutes and fifty seconds. SHIT. I typed Provisions into Google Maps and then cringed as the route popped up. By car, I could get there in eight minutes. Walking, I’d need at least twenty. I didn’t have cash to spare on a cab, and I wasn’t brave enough to try the subway system. That left me with one option. I tied my long hair up in a ponytail, threw my purse over my shoulder, and took off in a dead sprint toward Provisions.

By the time I arrived outside, sweat dripped from my brow, I’d skinned a knee after tripping over a curb, and I was pretty sure I had about five different pieces of gum stuck to the bottom of my heels. All in all, it wasn’t my best look.

Clumps of people crowded outside the restaurant, waiting to be seated. I edged my way through them, trying to catch my breath as I went. Finally, I arrived in front of a massive black door flanked by two round topiaries. Right above the door, shining under a spotlight, “Provisions” was spelled out in thin metal letters.

I reached for the door handle, still breathing like a wild woman as I stepped into the dim light of the restaurant’s foyer. Untreated marble floors sat below crisp grey walls. Black-and-white photos were positioned at eye level around the small room. They were snapshots of everyday objects: an apple, an iris, stacked bricks; it was the scale and simplicity of the photos that turned them into something intriguing.

“Uhh, can I help you with something?”

I turned toward the hostess positioned behind a black podium. A gold desk lamp shined down on her list of chosen people who’d get to dine in the restaurant that night. Her sour expression told me I clearly wasn’t one of them.

“I’m here to see Zoe,” I explained, trying to keep the exhaustion out of my voice.

The woman arched a brow at me, scanning down my body once before returning her sharp stare to my eyes. I knew without the aid of a mirror that I looked frazzled. Most of my blonde hair had fallen out of my ponytail and there was definitely blood running down my shin. Still, her sourpuss stare didn’t affect me. I could see right through her fake tan and eyelash extensions. Her smoky eye shadow was caked on so thick I was surprised she could even manage to lift her eyelids. Women like her didn’t faze me. Why? Because they were predictable, almost like they were playing a part they’d seen on daytime TV.

I held my ground and crossed my arms. The message was clear: your move.

I would have stayed like that until she went to retrieve Zoe, but luck was on my side. A moment later, a brunette woman with a short pixie cut rounded the corner into the foyer like she was on a mission. She glanced from the hostess to me, and then back again.

“Crystal, what the hell are you doing? We don’t pay you to stand there with resting bitch face.”

I resisted the urge to laugh.

Crystal rolled her eyes, but held her tongue. I watched her grab a clipboard off the podium and huff away in a cloud of perfume and glitter.

When she was out of earshot, the pixie-cut woman turned her attention to me.

“Please tell me you aren’t Lily.”

My confidence faltered.

“Zoe?” I asked, wiping my sweaty palm on the side of my dress.

She ran her hand down her cheek.

“No. No. This won’t work out,” she said, shaking her head.

“What? Why?” She hadn’t even given me five minutes to prove myself.

She glared at me, waving her hand out in front of her. “Because the last thing we need in this restaurant is another fucking Barbie doll.”

Chapter Two

Lily

I knew what Zoe saw when she looked at me. I could sense her disdain. Within five seconds of meeting me, she’d already lumped me in with the Crystals of the world. How wrong she was.

She crossed her toned arms and I scanned over the colorful tattoos running from her shoulders to her elbows.

“Give me a chance to prove myself,” I said, holding my ground.

She pursed her lips. “Listen, you’re not the first girl to come in here with a face that could kill, though yours looks like the first pair of natural lips I’ve seen in a decade. What’s your angle? You want to be an actress? Model? You want to find yourself a sugar daddy to fund your stay in the city?”

I let her barbs glance off and narrowed my eyes on her. It made sense, really. Zoe’s job was to manage a wait staff made up of self-absorbed sociopaths. Why would she want to add one more to the mix? Lucky for her, I wasn’t a sociopath, and I was only somewhat self-absorbed.

“Where’s your bar?” I asked, ignoring her line of questioning.

She tilted her head, confused.

Fine. I didn’t need her help. I could already glimpse the main bar in the restaurant, tucked against the sidewall. There were two guys working behind it, moving like cyclones trying to fill orders as fast as possible. The setup would be simple—bars aren't rocket science. After I’d finished up culinary school and a two-semester bartending program, I’d landed a job working at a dive bar one town over from mine. No big deal, right? Wrong. New York yuppies had nothing on a bunch of burly Texans. They wanted their drinks, and they wanted them yesterday.

I moved past Zoe without another word and bee-lined for the bar. It was hard to navigate through the crowd, especially as they clumped together, trying to get the bartender’s attention. I pushed through them, using elbows and sheer force when needed.

The bar came up to my stomach and there wasn’t an entrance in sight, but I didn’t let that stop me. I tossed my purse over onto the ground and then pushed myself up onto the black marble countertop.

“What are you doing?” one of the bartenders yelled as I swung my legs over the bar.

“Finishing up my job interview,” I threw back, not bothering with any more explanation. My feet landed with a thud on the black rubber mat and then I turned back to the crowd. Half a dozen people were staring back at me with shocked expressions. I let them gather their wits as I washed my hands and reached for a spare drink shaker.

The other bartender waltzed over, his male-model looks completely wasted on me. I had a thing about guys who spent more time in the powder room than I did.

“You can’t be back here,” he said, trying to reach for the drink shaker in my hand.

I pulled it out of his grasp and smiled.

“I’m here on special order from Zoe,” I lied, only somewhat.