"I know that I can fuck up your whole life with one look. But I can't stop myself."
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Mia Rose McHenry tries her best to live her life under the radar, never having been one to enjoy the spotligh...
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"Name, please?" The receptionist of maybe the largest waiting room I've ever been in (which pales in comparison to the building itself), asks me through a forced smile, as if I am some annoying fly she can't manage to shoo away.
"Um, Mia McHenry," I mutter nervously, hardly able to keep contact with the receptionist's—Rachel, her name tag reads—dark blue eyes.
Next to me, Charlie stiffens, nudging my shoulder. I turn to look at her over my shoulder momentarily, eyes wide and silently asking: what was I supposed to say?
Charlie narrows her gray eyes back at me, her expression clearly reading: anything but your actual name. Duh.
I turn back to the receptionist, feeling immensely nervous and impatient. I know what I'm about to do, and I'm still terrified just thinking about actually going through with this plan that I've been conjuring with Charlie for what feels like years now. Really, I've only been planning this . . . visit . . . for a few days, almost a week considering I came up with this idea the day Thorne was arrested.
He's been in jail for nearly a week, a bitter voice says in my head, reminding me what I'm here for. You have to get Thorne out of there. You're doing this for him.
"Do you have an appointment?" Rachel the receptionist asks, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. I shift uncomfortably, wondering how this woman even got the job as the face of the company she represents. I mean, she's not very pleasant, to say the least.
"I don't," I state calmly, telling my nerves to fuck off so I can focus on the task at hand: Getting an audience with Mark Baxter.
Yes, you read that correctly. The grand plan I've been creating for the past few days? Going to Thorne's dad to beg him to pay his son's bail and help release him from jail. Seriously. Under the circumstances, it was the best I could come up with. I understand that Thorne and his father have never been on the best terms (understatement of the century), but I'm hoping Mark Baxter will find it somewhere in his pea-sized heart to care about his son for however long it takes me to convince him to pay his son's jail bail.
This has to work. It has to.
"Well, not exactly—" I start, only to be cut off by Rachel practically the second I open my mouth to speak.
"Sorry," Rachel snaps, not sounding very apologetic at all. "If you don't have an appointment, I'm afraid I can't help you."
"You don't understand," I try, playing the this is an emergency card that Charlie had me practice for. I remember to make my hazel eyes wide and try to look as frazzled as I can, because even Rachel the Rude Receptionist has to comply to emergencies.
Right?
"It's really important that I see Mr. Baxter today," I drone on, trying to sound desperate. "There's been a—"
