Chapter One 

The man in front of me has a bee in his bonnet and cat hair on his coat. I know these things because from where I stand—smooshed into the back of a crowded elevator in the downtown Seattle skyscraper where my internship is located—the sleeve of his suit is only inches from my face. As such, I can see the white strands plain as day against the black fabric while he grunts at the phone in his hand—plus feel the tickle in my nose that says I’m dangerously close to a sneeze. 

Lordhavemercy, I think, one big compound, catchall word I inherited from my mamaw and so many other Southerners, religious or not. It’s what you say when you’re in company too polite to say something worse. 

Mr. Business is testing my limits, though. He just couldn’t be bothered to use a lint roller, could he? Nor to give me any personal space back here, in the midst of whatever turmoil he’s dealing with in his email inbox. I hope my nose breath is making him hot. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, a trick I saw online somewhere to help put off sneezing, watching the floor numbers tick higher. 

Finally, the ding ding is for my floor and I adjust my grip on the tray of to-go cups I’m balancing in the crook of my arm, reaching for my badge to swipe into the office with the other hand as I make the quiet, “pardon me, sorry” noises required to edge my way out of the crush of bodies. It’s made a little easier today by the human Grumpy Cat, whose office must also be on floor forty-two, thus allowing me to slink through the wake left by his wide frame. 

That plan is working flawlessly, right up until he steps off the elevator and—I don’t know—needs a moment to collect himself, or realizes he forgot to feed Fluffy or something. He stops short, with no regard for my or anyone else’s presence a half step behind him. 

And because I do not stop short, I run smack into his cat-hair-covered backside, coffee tray first, sending hot brown lava into the air, onto the floor, and all over myself.

“Whoa, careful there,” the man grumbles with an errant glance over his shoulder. He’s already turning to head down the hall toward the entrance of some investment firm, leaving me gaping and covered in gourmet bean water. 

I should be careful? Oh, for the love of— 

“Reese! Oh my God, are you okay?” 

Teagan, receptionist at Friends of Flavor, comes rushing out of the glass double doors that face the elevators, through which I guess she just witnessed the accident. 

“I’m fine,” I say in the least grumbly voice I can manage, peeling my once-lavender shirt away from where it’s clinging to my stomach and chest. I’m never dressed in the blacks and grays of most of the businesspeople who work in our building, but of course I had to go all-pastel today. “Can’t say the same for the drinks, though.”

I peer over the to-go cups, which have all miraculously stayed in their designated slots, and to my relief find that my own hot tea might be the only total loss. Gourmet leaf water, I mentally correct myself, with regard to what’s soaked me. I’ve never felt so betrayed by my favorite beverage. The bean waters kept their lids on and lost a little foam at most. Small victories. 

“What an asshole,” Teagan blurts, nodding in the direction of my new nemesis, who has by now disappeared. I nod my agreement but keep my mouth shut; she’s been here a couple of years and is so well liked that I don’t think anyone would bat an eye...