A cab driver on the boulevard saw us coming and panicked so hard he jumped the curb.
Wind roared in my ears, but it couldn't drown out the words looping through my skull.
"Big companies have big-company rules. I just have to tough it out a little longer."
"Once I get that offer, we can pool our money and buy a little place together. Just us. Forever."
Mila Pruitt, you idiot.
I told you a hundred times. That manager, Lambert, isn't human.
During the day he had you fetching tea and running errands until three in the morning. At night he had you put on a maid outfit and report to his room for "work discussions."
You looked me in the eye and said that's how big companies train their interns. That everyone goes through it.
I smashed a bottle and screamed at you to quit, and you cried and begged me not to make a scene.
Fine. I backed off.
But now you're sending me a suicide note? Two clients?
Mila Pruitt! You wait right there. I will tear the Grand Hyatt apart with my bare hands tonight if that's what it takes to drag you out of those animals' reach.
The Grand Hyatt Hotel.
By the time we got there, a row of black Mercedes S-Classes lined the entrance.