Page 10 of I Am the Wild

I would move out, if I could. But I don't have the money for a first, last, and deposit. Hell, I don't have the money for boxes to pack my shit. And after the last year, my credit is shot. The only way I don't become homeless in a week is to find a job that will give me an advance large enough to get caught up on my payments.

I think back to The Night Firm. We never got around to talking salary. Even if I was willing to work for them. Which I'm not.

I try to remember why I'm not, but my thoughts are muddled. It's becoming harder and harder to pull out the details of my exchange. I blame it on the wine, the sugar, the haunting soundtrack of the movie I'm watching. My massive breakdown earlier. Speaking of, I should be feeling much worse right now. I don't understand how I recovered so quickly.

Halfway through the movie and the bottle of wine, I've nearly got myself convinced that my mind was playing tricks on me. I've been under tremendous stress for over a year now. I'm exhausted. I'm probably malnourished. That can do things to the brain. I just need to move on. Tomorrow, I decide, refilling my glass, tomorrow I'll go online, search for more jobs, find more interviews. I'll stick to 9-5 listings only!

With that decided, I give all my attention to the movie, and am mildly disappointed when I try to pour more wine and only a reluctant drop comes out. But I planned for this and bought two bottles.

A bit wobbly, I head back to the kitchen to uncork the other bottle, when I'm interrupted by a knock at my door and a ringing of the doorbell.

This shocks me almost more than anything else that evening.

No one comes to visit here, certainly not in the middle of the night. If it's Roger, that slimy bastard, I'm going to sue his ass for harassment.

In my alcohol-muddled mind, it doesn't take me long to convince myself that's exactly who's behind the door. Roger thinks if I'm desperate enough he can have me. He doesn't seem to get I would literally rather be homeless than let him touch me.

I school my face into one of a fierce warrior, then I march to the door and swing it open, ready for battle.

"You can go shove it up your ass if you think I'm going to—"

"Hello, Eve," Sebastian Night says, standing in my hallway with a pissy expression on his god-like face. "I see your outburst in the office isn't a one-off."

"I thought you were someone else," I say, my wine-addled brain sluggish. "What are you doing here?" I cross my arms over my chest, feeling suddenly self-conscious in my cat slippers and matching robe.

He hands me an envelope. "I was sent to give you this."

"What is it?" I ask, taking the envelope. As I do, our fingers touch, and that sense of an earthquake rocking my insides overwhelms me again, though not unpleasantly. It's just intense. Passionate. Buried passion. He flinches at the touch, so I assume he feels something, too, but isn't thrilled with it.

"It's a job offer," he says, ignoring whatever is going on between us.

"Are you serious?" I ask, completely shocked. "After that interview, why would I work for you, and why would you want me to?"

He shrugs, avoiding my eyes. "It wasn't my decision." He turns to walk away, then pauses, glancing at me over his shoulder. "But if I were you, I'd burn that paper and pretend you never heard of The Night Firm. Stick to the light like your father said."

I watch until he disappears around the corner, then close my door, locking up once again. Back on the couch, I stare at the thick cream envelope, stamped with a wax seal. How pretentious, but kinda cool, too. I break open the seal and unfold the letter. It's handwritten in calligraphy, so formal it feels like a summons from a king, not a job offer from a law firm.

The Night Firmwould like to offer Miss Eve Oliver the job of Manager of Operations, to begin immediately, or as soon as Miss Oliver can avail herself of the position. It is a full time, live-in position, with generous compensation and benefits. We await your decision.

It's signedwith each of the four brothers' names and signatures and stamped with an "N" matching the wax seal.

There's a second page, this one indicating a generous signing bonus, salary, benefits and spending budget for wardrobe, food, and more.

The numbers make me gasp.

I sit there in a daze, staring at the letter to make sure it's real and not something I'm imagining.

This is enough to get caught up on my payments and then some. Though I realize that since it's a live-in position, I wouldn't actually need this place anymore.

Tears burn my eyes. This job could save me from bankruptcy and homelessness.

Two years ago, if you'd told me this is what my life would look like right now, I never would have believed you.

I was happy, at the top of my career, in love with who I thought was a great man, living in a luxury apartment in the heart of New York's posh neighborhood. I had it all.

Then I lost it all the day my brother called with the news.

I didn't know it at the time. Not yet.