Eva turned over between the sheets, stretching her legs and fully expecting to touch the floor. It was how she started every morning.

At her parents’ home in Queens, she’d had a queen-sized bed to herself. There was always enough room. But in her studio apartment, she had a miserable twin-sized mattress that sat on the floor in the corner of the room. It couldn’t even rightfully be called a bed.

But she didn’t touch the floor. In fact, her legs continued to stretch as far as they could reach. The sheets were also softer than usual. It was almost like sleeping on air.

Oh my God.

Eva’s eyes snapped open. The pink of early morning sunlight filled her brain. Her eyes narrowed to slits. She had a headache.

Everything came back. Her closing shift at Gustavo’s, her rendezvous at Oasis, the mysterious businessman, the Ramada, the balcony, and finally...

What the hell was his name?

She wracked her brain frantically, but the man’s name wouldn’t come. She knew she hadn’t been that drunk. She remembered everything perfectly fine. The laughs, the conversation, the stuff after the conversation was over—it was all right there. But his name...

Filipe. His name is Filipe.

Eva heaved a sigh of relief. That was right. Filipe. Filipe the businessman.

Where is he?

She pulled herself into a sitting position, all the while keeping her body covered with a sheet, and looked around the room. Her mystery man was nowhere to be seen.

But he wouldn’t have left, right? That didn’t seem like him. He’d been so passionate and kind. Eva knew it was nothing more than a hookup, but she hadn’t expected this.

The bathroom door opened. Eva had to bite her lip to keep from yelping. It was too early in the morning for jump scares.

Filipe walked out, wrapped in a towel and holding a cup of coffee in his hand. He noticed she was awake.

“Hey there,” he said amicably.

“Hi,” Eva replied, relieved he hadn’t ditched her.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said, crossing the plush room to his rack of designer suits. “I have a business meeting that I can’t miss. I was going to let you sleep in.”

Eva’s heart sank. He was going to leave her alone, after all.

“If you’d mentioned that last night,” she said, “I would have gone home. I don’t particularly enjoy waking up in strange hotel rooms by myself.”

“I’m sure you can manage,” he said, his tone sharper than the night before. “I wasn’t going to leave you high and dry, anyway. You should probably get dressed. We might as well take care of you while you’re awake.”

“What are you talking about?” Eva asked, annoyed. Why was he talking about her like a sack of groceries?

“Just get dressed,” Filipe said, motioning toward the bathroom. “I don’t want to be late.”

Eva felt her blood begin to boil.

Who does he think he is?

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, letting her feet touch the floor. Her clothes were sitting on the nightstand, neatly folded. Eva wasn’t sure if he meant for her to dress in the bathroom or not, but she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction. She dressed from her seat on the bed.

When she finished, she marched toward the balcony doors where her shoes sat waiting. She pulled them on, flashing Filipe a glare. He didn’t notice. He was too busy getting ready himself. He already had on everything but his suit jacket. She had to admit, he looked dashing, but it was difficult to be attracted to him now.

There was a knock at the door. Filipe made no move to answer it.

“That’s for you,” he said as he fixed his tie in the mirror.

More confused than ever, Eva crossed to the main door and opened it. In the hallway, a man in a chauffeur’s uniform faced her.

“You must be Eva.”

She shook her head in disbelief. This was how Filipe thanked her for a romantic evening? She turned back to him. He was still fixing his stupid tie. Her hands were shaking.

“Really?” Eva hissed. “You’re going to have me chauffeured out?”

Filipe turned to her, but she couldn’t read the look on his face.

“That’s not what I—”

“Save it,” Eva spat. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Eva stormed past the chauffeur and down the hallway. The elevator sat open, almost as though it knew she’d be coming. She pushed the button for the lobby and looked back. The chauffeur stood there, but Filipe was nowhere to be seen. It didn’t surprise her.

Why should he chase after her? Clearly, to him, this was nothing more than a one-night stand. It didn’t mean anything. Men really would say anything, wouldn’t they?

The elevator doors shut. Eva was tempted to start crying, but she forced the urge down.

When the doors opened again, she was looking at the lobby. This time, she didn’t pause to admire its ornate beauty. She stormed outside, ignoring the well wishes of the doorman, and hailed a cab. It came immediately.

Eva sat in the backseat and gave her address to the driver. She knew she couldn’t afford a cab ride, but she didn’t care. There was a fifty hidden underneath her mattress at home. She’d run upstairs and grab it. This wasn’t exactly the emergency situation she’d planned on using the money for, but it would have to do.

“Rough night?”

She jumped slightly at the sound of the driver’s voice. She wasn’t expecting to make conversation.

“You could say that,” she muttered.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“That’s sweet,” Eva said. “But I just want to get home.”

“No problem.”

The ride continued in silence. She figured the driver must have understood that she wasn’t interested in talking. He probably had lots of girls like her get into his cab at six o’clock in the morning—girls who were ashamed to be returning home in last night’s clothes. Some people called it the walk of shame. Eva called it hell.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, the cab pulled up to Eva’s apartment complex in Brooklyn. She thanked the driver sincerely and told him she’d be back with enough money to pay him. She apologized for the inconvenience.

“Don’t sweat it,” he said. “I’m not in a hurry.”

Eva thanked a neighbor who held the complex’s front door for her and ran upstairs, skipping every other step as she went. Her apartment was on the top floor, and there was no elevator in her building. She hoped the driver was serious about waiting. She didn’t want to be the girl who stiffed a cabbie. She had become plenty of things in the past six months, but never that.

She reached her apartment number and opened the door, grateful (for once) that she’d left it unlocked. She didn’t have time to hunt for the key in her bag.

Wait.

Her stomach dropped. She stopped in her tracks, halfway through her living space. The mattress was in sight. The fifty-dollar bill was halfway exposed.

“I forgot my bag,” she wheezed, completely out of breath. “Oh my God, I forgot my bag.”

She wanted nothing more than to flop onto her half-broken couch and cry. How could she have been this stupid? She was so angry at Filipe that she didn’t stop to grab her purse. And the last thing she’d done was yell at him. What if he’d thrown it away? After the way she’d stormed out, he probably had.

“I don’t even know his last name,” she groaned to herself, tears welling in her eyes.

Her purse had everything. Her wallet, her ID, and her cell phone were inside—along with her work uniform. She had two other sets in her closet, but they were dirty. How was she going to do laundry without her wallet? How was she going to get to work without her subway card?

The driver is waiting, Eva.

Eva put her anxiety attack on pause. She wasn’t going to stiff the driver, no matter what.

She snatched the fifty from underneath her mattress, ran out the door, and hurtled back down the stairs. When she caught sight of the curb, she was relieved to see the cab still waiting.

“Thank you for being so patient,” she said with a half-hearted smile. “It means a lot.”

“Your total is thirty-five dollars even,” the driver said.

“Here’s fifty,” Eva said. “Keep the change.”

“I really appreciate that,” he said, taking the money. “You get some sleep, okay?”

Eva nodded, unable to say anything else. The driver pulled away from the curb and drove off further into Brooklyn, probably to pick up the next walk-of-shame victim.

She knew he’d been lying. The fare was more than thirty-five dollars. She’d been watching the meter as they drove, her fear growing that fifty dollars alone wouldn’t be enough. She could dig into her tips from work, but what then? She had to pay rent.

It never mattered anyway, because your wallet is long gone.

Eva headed back inside. It was a long climb, and she knew she had to get started if she was going to bother finishing. It wouldn’t be the first time she sat on the fourth floor landing, too depressed and tired to go on.

As soon as her apartment door closed behind her, Eva fell onto her twin-sized mattress and started to cry.

One night. That’s all she’d wanted. One romantic night in a high-class bar surrounded by glamorous people in suits and cocktail dresses. The world was trying to send her a message. She didn’t belong with those people. They were, and always would be, above her. Eva didn’t know why she’d tried. She was nothing more than a barista. And, if things kept going the way they were, that’s all she would ever be.

She hated herself. She didn’t even have the energy to be mad at Filipe. This wasn’t his fault. It was her own. She was gullible and impatient. She wasn’t even a good barista.

Maybe this was rock bottom. Maybe it couldn’t get any worse than this.

Oh, quit whining. You have work to do.

She did have work to do. She needed to figure out how to pause her bank card, issue a new ID, and replace her cell phone. There had to be assistance for situations like this.

But she was so tired, and so drained, that she didn’t have the energy to search for her laptop (one of the few relics she had been able to keep from her college days). She didn’t even have the energy to get up. Instead, she found herself falling deeper and deeper into a blank void. Her eyes closed. She turned on her side and curled underneath her sheet.

After a few minutes of resistance, Eva slept.