HOPE
I wasn't stupid—I knew Bob didn’t like me. The way he brushed past me in the hallway like I was some stray hair on his shirt told me all I needed to know. But it didn’t matter. Ace had given me a job, and whether he was trying to test me or trap me, I wasn’t going to fail.
The protester case file was a mess. Clara had left behind notes and charts, all organized in her uptight, clinical style. I tried contacting her once—just to be polite—but she had barely concealed her irritation. I got the message.
Instead of calling her again, I did what my gut told me to.
I went straight to Ace.
Every. Single. Time.
At first, he was clearly irritated.
“You have Bob and Clara for a reason,” he said without looking up from his laptop the first time I barged into his office with a question.
“
