It’s no secret that doing time in prison changes a person.

Big parties now made me claustrophobic, despite massive, lavish auditoriums like these. Sure, hardcore fights wouldn’t break out over cigs or stares in this hipster crowd. But standing here in the dark, smoke-filled ballroom with a host of zombies, clowns, and rabid animals, I couldn’t help compare it to the slammer. I even saw a guy in my old digs—an orange jumpsuit.

I didn’t fault NetSmash, one of the leading marketing research firms in San Francisco and my new employer, for taking their Halloween bashes so seriously. Ghoulish DJs and undead go-go dancers of both the male and female persuasion were a nice touch. While the laser lights, free booze, and endless supply of finger foods with swanky French names I couldn’t begin to pronounce gave them street cred. And it let their staff blow off some well-earned steam. I’d only been here about a week, but the work hard, play hard motto had never been more fitting. I liked that. It showed I chose the right place to begin my career and start the hell over.

Five years doesn’t sound like a big deal. But in prison, it’s a fucking eternity. Things get downright bleak when you live in constant fear each day, hoping you’ll make it out intact. I did a complete one-eighty with all that time to think. No more taking things I couldn’t afford because I felt I was owed them. I got my GED on the inside and then took college classes. Marketing and the psychology behind it fascinated me and gave me a reason to keep going. Once I got released, I took a job cleaning toilets at San Francisco State in the evenings and finished my degree during the day. I’m no Good Will Hunting, but I’m smart and tireless when it comes to my dreams. Junior Research Analyst is a drop in the hat to those who’ve been at this business for a while. But this was my first real job doing what I’d studied and trained to do. I’d earned this, and I was proud of it.

I downed the last of my club soda as the cheetah-woman next to me tapped me on the arm. “Ladies room,” she said, leaning in.

I managed to hear her over the loud music and sea of voices, but before I could respond, she tugged my wrist toward the door.

We emerged into the light of the foyer, forty-one floors high. I instantly felt relief away from the crowd.

Steph took a sip of her drink, trying to avoid getting her whiskers wet. She’d worked at NetSmash for nearly six years now. They’d asked her to help me “settle” in and we became fast friends. She didn’t judge me for my past, and I agreed to go with her to social events like these. She didn’t like big parties either.

“How will you do your business in that get-up?” I asked, eyeing the long tail attached to her leotard. She had a great body, but I swung the other way.

“I’ll figure it out.” She waved a hand at me. “Even if I have to take the whole thing off.”

“If you ever get in.” Parker Greenhill, one of the senior research analysts, strolled out after us. We followed his gaze to the line of women wrapped around the outside of the bathroom, spilling out into the foyer.

Steph whimpered. “Mother f—”

“I’ll get you in the men’s room,” I offered.

“It’s almost as bad,” Parker replied. “And a complete mess. Half the stalls are out of order. People are disgusting.”

Steph grimaced.

“Does that mean we have to leave?” I asked, trying not to sound too excited.

“Why not go up to the penthouse floor?” Parker questioned with a raised brow. “The restrooms will be empty.”

“You know the rules, Parker. We’re not supposed to go up there.” Steph now danced in place.

I’d never been up to the penthouse floor, where the CEO and VPs had their offices. I bet it was amazing to see. But I didn’t want to break any rules, for obvious reasons, especially during my first week.

Parker huffed. “That’s just a formality so we don’t loiter up there.”

I had to admit I was curious. And though Parker had a rep for being shady at times, always ready with that smirk on his pretty young face, he had a point.

Steph crossed her arms over her chest and Parker rolled his eyes.

“Come on guys. This isn’t high school. We’re not trying to ditch fourth period to smoke a joint.”

I chuckled, finding it ironic that Parker looked about to do exactly that in his 50s costume: pegged jeans, white T-shirt, and slicked-back hair.

“Let’s do it,” I said, feeling confident. Parker gave me a fist bump.

“You sure?” Steph’s question seemed directed at me.

“Why not?” I shrugged. “We’re going up to use the bathroom, not deface property.”

“And if one of the execs is up there?” She took a hold of her tail.

“Not going to happen.” Parker shook his head. “I saw Alejandro and Naomi in the ballroom. Morgan, the cocky bastard, would never show his sourpuss face at one of our company parties.”

I’d only met Naomi Lennox and Alejandro Rios, the VPs of Data Analytics and Brand Management respectively. Naomi was the hiring manager for my search committee and Alejandro sat in on my interviews. Both seemed friendly enough. Morgan Brant, the VP of Revenue Optimization, I’d only heard about. Anti-social and a hard-ass seemed to be the consensus.

“And Trent?” Parker barked out a laugh. “Trent could be a ghost for all I know. I’ve never seen the man in the flesh. No way he’s here at 10 p.m. on a holiday.” He leaned back against the wall and buffed his manicured nails.

Trent Davis, the CEO, I’d only seen in photos. I’d studied his career for a project in one of my marketing classes. He was legendary in this business and at such a young age. I’d heard he was a true workaholic . . . and control freak. It would be an honor to meet him, but he rarely dealt with anyone besides the VPs and Directors.

Steph looked at Parker, then me. “Fine. I don’t have time to sit here and weigh the pros and cons. It’s go time.”

Parker frowned, pushing away from the wall. “Let’s take the stairs. Less conspicuous.”

A sudden chill crept up my spine. A group of deviant, Halloween partygoers decide to take the stairwell up to the top floor. It sounded like the start of a bad horror flick.

We jogged up the steps, reaching the top. Parker pushed open the door.

“Wow.” I was already walking toward the floor to ceiling windows that lined the entire space between the expanse of offices and conference rooms down the corridor.

“I’ve been up here before,” Parker gloated. “I delivered a report to Alejandro. I only got as far as his assistant though. Never made it into one of the offices.” He sighed dramatically.

“You can see the whole city,” Steph said next to me.

“It’s magnificent.” Beneath the clouds, the hazy lights of downtown flickered, almost illuminating the bay in the distance. I shoved my hands in my pockets, afraid I might touch everything and leave incriminating evidence. This here was how you knew you made it. And it’s exactly where I wanted to be. My mistakes behind me—gone into the mist.

“This way,” Parker said as he turned toward the center of the building.

Steph and I followed. The entire floor was huge, modern, and made for luxury.

Parker and I pushed through the door of the men’s room. I felt like I was in an upscale hotel. Full, private stalls that were more like small powder rooms. Marble countertops. Brushed nickel faucets on sinks that looked like waterfalls cascading into luminous blown-glass bowls. Shit, the urinals were almost too beautiful to piss in. I had only been in a ritzy spa once in LA, and this rivaled it by far.

Parker stood at a urinal and unzipped. I gave us two in between. I had enough of peeing in front of an audience in prison.

Parker had already finished washing his hands when I zipped up.

A chime sounded and he grabbed his phone out of his jeans, his mouth forming a grim line. “Crap, I have to take off.”

“Everything okay?”

“Just boyfriend drama.” He took a breath, then shook his head.

“You guys fall in?” Steph called from the door.

I went to run my hands under the water in the enormous bowl sink. I couldn’t believe she’d gotten out of that costume and done her thing before we were done.

“Take her back down to the party,” I said to Parker. “I’d like to look around.”

He gave me an oddly conspiratorial smile. “Inspiring, isn’t it?”

He surprised me. I guess he was as envious as I was surrounded by this kind of luxury. For him it meant power. For me, freedom. I had royally fucked up my life once, and this represented what I could accomplish if I didn’t give up. It might take me longer than most, but that was okay. I’d appreciate it more once I got there.

“Don’t get greedy, man,” he said before slipping out the door. I heard him talking to Steph outside, and slowly their voices disappeared.

I studied myself in the mirror, impressed the lighting made me look better than my thirty-five years had been to me. My blue eyes, only wrinkled at the corners, still seemed bright, and my heavy five o’clock shadow covered most of the scars. The dark blond hair on my head may have a couple errant grays, but it remained thick and in place.

I splashed water on my face and grabbed one of the fresh towels folded in a cubby. Real towels. Classy. I dried my face and hands.

Suddenly the door swung open and someone strode in. When he saw me, he stopped and his back went ramrod straight.

Trent Davis. The CEO.

Fuck me.

I’d recognize him anywhere. I had the Forbes magazine that featured him as one of the youngest up and coming CEOs. The article was excellent, the photo spread drool-worthy. The man was even hotter in person standing there in front of me, surprise on his handsome face. Tall, tan, and hella sexy in his high-end dress shirt and slacks, he gazed at me as if trying to place who I was.

“Perfect!” Trent said, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands. “I spilled a latte in my office. I’ll need you to clean up the mess and refill the towels in my cupboard.”

My mind reeled. What?

Damn.

It’ll be an awesome costume, they said. It’ll be funny, they said. Well the joke was on me. Dressing up in my janitor’s uniform from San Francisco State just backfired. Big time.

What the fuck was I supposed to do now? If I told Trent who I really was, I’d risk embarrassing him and getting in trouble for being somewhere I shouldn’t be. Not to mention loitering in the executive bathroom like some pervert. But if I didn’t tell him, I’d have to clean up his latte.

Neither one thrilled me. I didn’t want my first impression with the big boss—the man I hoped to be one day—to be as a liar and a delinquent. With my history? Hell, I wanted to show him I’d changed and matured. But I also didn’t want him to assume I was the janitor. Fuck.

If I quickly cleaned up his mess, maybe he’d forget who I was anyway. I bet we wouldn’t lay eyes on each other again for months. Or years! I could grow my hair out. Change my look. Gah. What was I saying?

What a clusterfuck.

I must have taken too long to answer, for Trent drew his eyebrows together. “¿Hable usted Inglais?” he asked.

I’m not sure what I found more offensive. His butchering of the language or that he assumed I spoke Spanish. Because I’m the janitor? Really?

“Fluently. I’m from Portland, Oregon. And my ancestors are Nordic, so . . .”

“My mistake.” His dark brow moved upward, and his eyes—those deep, rich brown eyes traveled down my body and back up again.

Did he just . . . check me out? I realized he must be waiting for me to respond to his original demand. Too bad I was busy daydreaming about the lean body underneath those expensive clothes.

“Sure. I’ll, um, be right there.” What the hell was I thinking? That confidence I had earlier? Gone. Completely gone.

His gaze landed on my forearms, probably judging my tattooed sleeves.

“Great.” He squinted toward the front of my shirt where my name was embroidered inside a white oval patch. “Chaz, is it?”

I didn’t go by Chaz anymore either. “That’s me.” I’m a total sucker.

He paused as if he might say something else but then left as quickly as he came.

I blew out a breath. Shit, he was fine. And the fucking CEO.

Congratulations, Charlie Reynolds! You’ve finally reached the top. And after all those years of hard work, you’ve earned the right to clean up the boss’s mess!

I sighed. Suddenly the horror flick got real. Off to find that janitor’s closet.