I closed my eyes and opened them before I spoke. "I can't change it dressed like this. How long until they can get here?"

He picked up the special red valet phone and made a few calls.

"One to two hours before they can make it out." I looked down at my phone. I didn't have time for that!

"That's no problem. Please tell them to come out, insurance is in the upper visor, I really have to make it to this interview at Simon & Fitch before 1:45 p.m."

But I was already late by my standards.

"Do you have a shuttle for patrons of the hotel?"

"Yes ma'am, but it only brings you to a few designated places like the airport."

"Shit."

Blood pumped through my veins. The stress, the feeling that no one was here to help, made me realize how alone I truly was. I had no one to call.

Taking responsibility, I thanked the valet guy and ran toward a taxi, in fucking heels. I had no idea what I was doing. I never called for a taxi before, but I threw my hand in the air and waved them on. One zoomed over to me, and I hopped in the back seat.

The driver looked no older than twenty-five with a baseball cap and Ray Bans. Hipster driver was not what I expected at all.

Breathless, I said, "Simon & Fitch, please. If you can get me there before 1:50 p.m., I will pay you triple fair."

My phone read 1:38 p.m.

I had exactly seventeen minutes to my destination.

The taxi whipped in and out of traffic like a bee traveling through flowers. I closed my eyes and hoped he wouldn't wreck. Since the accident, I got a little skittish with crazy driving. I wanted to live, and I never wanted to experience whiplash. It probably sucked more than a wine hangover.

We crossed two lanes of traffic, nearly rear-ended a few cars, and almost completely ran over several pedestrians jaywalking. Curse words, a few middle fingers, and fist shakes were involved. The driver had road rage and wasn't afraid to show it.

Fabulous. If I was to die, I wanted to look death in the face and take it with pride.

I straightened in the seat.

"Sit back, honey, Imma professional. Nothing to worry about."

My heart wanted to jump from my chest, but I didn't let it. I did what the hip guy said, and sat back and hoped an anxiety attack wouldn't submerge.

Maybe I wasn't as brave as I thought.

Thinking back to my previous statement, I should have added, triple fair, if, and only if, I arrived in one piece.

Interview questions flashed in my mind. Why did I want this position? What were my strengths and weaknesses?

The next thing I knew, the cab inched closer to the blue building. I pulled out my phone, 1:57.

Holy shit! Where did the time go?

After a screeching halt where he almost jumped the curb, I pulled a hundred from my wallet and handed it to the cabbie.

"This one is on me. You can owe me one."

He handed the hundo back to me. I crumbled it into a tight ball and threw it on the floorboard.

"Hey!"

"Thanks!" I took off the sexy red heels and ran into the building. My nerves felt like mush, and sweat formed on my brow. Once inside the double doors, I placed the heels back on my feet and rushed to the secretary's desk.

2:00 p.m. I was late.

Breathlessly, I forced out my name to the disinterested secretary.

"Jennifer. Downs."

The woman rolled her eyes at me and looked at the clock.

"I am sorry Ms. Downs, your interview was scheduled for 2:00 p.m. Mr. Simon is apt and expects all prospective job candidates to be the same.

"But it's 2:00 right now. Please. I had a flat and–"

"Let me phone the interview panel."

My phone clicked to 2:01 p.m. Rude Secretary waited on the phone, and I heard the mumbling of a husky voice on the other line as she asked if I would be seen for the interview.

"I am sorry Ms. Downs. Our committee thanks you for your time and wishes you luck in all your future endeavors."

My world crashed down. Every plan I had crumbled.

How could a person's dreams be flattened so quickly?

Tears welled in my eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry on the floor. Everything rested inside of the Simon & Fitch corporate office: a career, and ultimate happiness. The most elite accounting firm in the country denied me because I failed the simplest test: being on time for an interview, one that was practically impossible to get.

"Thank you. Good luck," the woman muttered again, shooing me away. I took my cue to leave.

I found my way to the front of the building and stared up at the whitewashed sky. Everything seemed to blur. Always prepare for the worst was my motto and for the first time, I hadn't.

Rejection. I hated the way it burned going down.

No taxi waited for me, and I had no transportation to get back to the Bellagio. Instead of calling a cab or Googling a service, I walked.

Maybe fifteen blocks in high heels would make me feel better? Make me feel pain, make me feel alive, and give me time to learn from the situation. Replay all the steps I should have taken beforehand to ensure that it never happened again. I would drive myself mad with the should-have could-haves.

Maybe coming to Vegas was a mistake?

No. I wouldn't give up yet.

My feet ached. Fifteen blocks turned into thirty.

And I cried until my face turned red. I knew when I walked into the Bellagio, I looked like hell, and the reflection in the elevator proved it.

My Vegas dreams came to an abrupt halt, and I didn't want them to. I had enough cash to survive for a while, but I needed something that would provide sustenance. No dead-end jobs. I wanted a career, something that I could hold on to that was consistent in a world that had no consistency.

Once inside the room, I took off the stupid, sexy shoes that hurt my feet, and lay on the bed.

My new life seemed exciting yesterday.

Today it all went to shit.

I couldn't handle another month on the emotional roller coaster.

As I sat on the end of the bed, I caught sight of the black envelope on the dresser.

I stared at it for a few minutes then picked up the phone.

It was Vegas or Texas.

I chose Vegas.

Four

Within minutes, Mr. Felton returned my phone call and asked if I could meet him at his office in the next thirty minutes.

Only one problem, I had no way to get there.

"Sure. I'll be there as soon as I can, but I have to call a cab becau–"

"No. I'll send Charlie, my driver, to meet you."

Driver?

No use arguing. He wasn't the type of man to lose an argument. I knew that, and didn't even know him.

Instead of insisting, I thanked him and fell back on the bed.

The soft blanket snuggled around my body, and all I wanted to do was relax after my stressful day, but instead, I stood, fixed my hair, and reapplied makeup to cover up the puffiness in my eyes.

My hotel phone rang. The front desk let me know my driver had arrived to escort me. I took one deep breath, and grabbed my resume before leaving.

"Hello, Ms. Downs. My name is Charles Harbrow, but you can call me Charlie." His grayish white hair reflected in the sun, and he had a sincere voice.

"Hi. I'm Jennifer. It's a pleasure."

After a firm handshake, he escorted me outside. A black, glossy limo stretched across the covered driveway. Charlie opened the door, and I smiled at him before sliding across the slick comfortable leather. I could get used to this kind of treatment.

Within minutes, it seemed, I made my way up the sidewalk to a huge building, one larger than Simon & Fitch.

Is it possible that I landed an interview at another successful corporation?

"Ms. Downs, I'll escort you inside."

I allowed him to walk with me to the clear elevator. I had never ridden in one that was totally glass.

"Once on the fifteenth floor, ask for Mr. Felton. Good luck." And the glass doors closed.

I could see everything: the atrium below, the small waterfall in the center, and windows to the offices that lined the walls. I didn't know what kind of business Mr. Felton ran, but it seemed legit, and corporate, and stable. Everything I wanted.

When I arrived at the top floor, a secretary, petite and pretty, escorted me to Mr. Felton's office. In the center of the door hung an engraved golden plaque with Finnley Felton in an elegant cursive script. Big curly Fs… Fancy.

Mr. Felton stood facing the windows in a neatly pressed suit. The black tie complemented the black suit, designer from head to toe. His green eyes met my brown gaze, and I smiled, but only received the ghost of one in return.

Once the secretary left us, I searched the room, trying to take in every little detail: abstract art on the wall, a conference table in the back, and a lounge area in the middle. The afternoon light cast a yellow glow in the room. A large oak desk, which screamed business executive, had two chairs tucked in front. The room looked comfortable, welcoming, but also professional.

The red velvet curtains that overlooked the atrium were jerked closed.

"Hi, Finnley. Thank y—"

"It's Mr. Felton."

My face flushed. How could I be so inconsiderate and unprofessional?

I immediately felt stupid.

"Mr. Felton. Thank you for allowing me to interview. I've brought my resume and a list of recommendations. I'd love to join your accounting team if you'd allow me."