Have a good day.
This is my burner phone
in case of an emergency.
Jameson. He’s got another phone, one that I haven’t blocked.
I get into the elevator and find myself smirking at the ground.
Stop it . . . he’s an asshole . . . never forget that.
It’s three o’clock, and I’m finishing a report for publication this week. I love this job. I mean, not as much as I loved Miles Media, but that ship has sailed—may as well make the most of it. The staff are all really friendly and nice and have welcomed me with open arms.
“Delivery for Emily Foster,” I hear.
I look up and see a man walking through the floor with a white box. What the hell?
“Oh, she’s in that office over there,” I hear someone say.
He knocks on my door. “Are you Emily Foster?”
“Yes.”
“I have a delivery for you.” He hands
