Chapter Fifteen
Nine months later
I go to wipe my sweaty hands down my sides, then stop myself. I don’t want to put suspicious stains on my smart new clothes. Trouble is, my palms are so wet that if I don’t dry them somehow I’ll never be able to grip the damn door handle.
Fuck’s sake, who am I kidding? They’re not going to let the likes of me cross the threshold of this glass-and-chrome monolith of a building, anyway. Security will be breathing down my neck before I’ve got so much as a toe through the door.
Then I remember—I’m not a tramp any more. I’m suited and booted, my hair has had a decent cut, I’m clean-shaven. I look f*****g good, even if I do say so myself. Like I’m going for the job interview of a lifetime.
Except the job interview of a lifetime wouldn’t be nearly so terrify
