Chapter 20

I stared at my former neighbor. "Wait, did you say the Bennington Hotel?"

Standing with me in the library, Lydia nodded. "Yeah, my uncle's a manager in the main kitchen."

My shoulders slumped. "Oh."

Lydia and I used to live in the same apartment building. We'd lost touch after I'd moved, but meeting her by chance seemed like the best luck ever, until like thirty seconds ago.

"Why?" she asked. "Is that a problem?" She hesitated. "You did say you'd take anything, right?"

It was true. I had said that.

We'd been chatting for maybe ten or fifteen minutes when I'd asked her if she happened to know of anyone who was hiring. In what felt like amazing luck, she told me that she knew of a big hotel that was ramping up its catering staff.

Best of all, they were looking to fill those positions right away. The timing was perfect, and the way it sounded, the pay wasn't half-bad, at least by food-service standards.

There was only one problem. The job happened to be at the one hotel I was determined to avoid.

Lydia gave me a sympathetic smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm working as a barista."

That made me pause. "But wait. What about your art degree?"

"What about it?" she said. "I paint on the side, but…" With a shrug, she let her words trail off. "Well, you know how it is."

I did know. Still, I was curious. "But the job you just mentioned… Don't take this the wrong way, but if it's so great, why aren't you interested?"

"Oh, that's an easy one," she said. "You know how I’m working at that coffee shop? Well, the owner's really great. She lets me hang my paintings on the walls, with a price tag."

"Oh, so you sell them?"

Lydia frowned. "In theory." She glanced away. "I mean, I haven't sold any yet, but you never know, right?"

I nodded. "Right. Definitely."

"But how about you?" Lydia said. "Why don't you want this job?"

"It's not that I don't want it," I explained. "It's just kind of complicated."

I glanced toward the nearby copy machine, the one I'd been using to print off more copies of my resume. I wasn't even sure why I bothered. After all, you didn't need a resume for low-level service jobs.

But in my own defense, I'd been applying for plenty of professional jobs, too. The only difference was, for those jobs, I usually applied on-line, because that's what most hiring agencies insisted on.

In front of me, Lydia asked, "Complicated how?"

I sighed. "Well, the truth is, I've met the hotel's owner, and let's just say we kind of hate each other."

Her eyes widened in obvious surprise. "You don't mean Zane Bennington?"

And there it was, that dreaded name again. "Uh, yeah. Actually, I do."

"Wow." Lydia was grinning now. "You lucky dog."

"Hardly." I tried to laugh. "You did hear the part where we hate each other?"

"But you actually met him?" She leaned forward. "What was that like?"

"Awful."

"Awful how?"

"Oh come on," I said. "Everybody knows he's a giant prick."

Lydia's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Well, what I heard was that he has a —"

I held up a hand. "Don’t say it."

Lydia laughed. "Oh come on. That's just gossip, anyway. And besides, it doesn't matter. You'd probably never see him."

"With my luck? I'm not so sure."

"Oh, come on," she said. "What, you think he spends his time in the kitchen? Like, take my uncle. He's only seen Zane Bennington once, and that was only because he happened to be outside when Zane's limo pulled up."

"You mean outside the hotel?"

Lydia nodded. "He has an office on the top floor. I hear it's pretty amazing."

My shoulders sagged. "That's too bad."

"Why?"

"Because I'd rather see him working in the basement." I smiled. "A nice, damp one. With rats. No. Not just rats. Giant man-eating rats."

"Boy, you really do hate him, don't you?" She hesitated. "And you said the feeling's mutual?"

Now, it was my turn to laugh. "Actually, I'm pretty sure he has no feelings."

"Then you should apply for the job. Honestly, I doubt you'd ever see him."

There was a certain comfort in that, and I did need the money. So when Lydia plucked a resume off my stack, and promised to pass it along to her uncle, I did what I should've done in the first place. I thanked her for the help and said a silent prayer that I'd actually get the job.

In what felt like terrific luck, I received a call the very next day from a nice lady in the Bennington's Human Resources Department. And just like that, I had an interview scheduled for the very next afternoon.

I didn't ask with whom, because I just assumed that it would be with Lydia's uncle, or maybe with a generic H.R. person.

Big mistake.

I arrived at the Bennington Hotel fifteen minutes early, and was ushered straight into the nearest elevator, where my escort, a thin, dark-haired woman, hit the button for the very top floor.

Watching this, my stomach sank. He was on the top floor, well, assuming that he was in the office today.

Damn it. I so didn't want to run into him, especially here, where he'd surely torpedo my job interview – or worse, kick me straight to the curb.

And I so needed this job.

In a desperate bid for reassurance, I turned to my escort and said, "I know this is a funny question, but by any chance, do you know if Zane Bennington is here today?"

She gave me a perplexed look. "Excuse me?"

Quickly, I added, "It's just that I met him a few weeks ago, and I was wondering if I might run into him again."

I held my breath and waited for the answer. Please say no. Please say no…

She eyed me up and down, frowning at my plain brown dress and no-nonsense shoes. Looking more perplexed than ever, she asked, "Was that a joke?"

I shook my head. "No, why?"

"Because he hates jokes. So if I were you, I'd stick to the basics."

And with that, she turned straight ahead, sending me the clear signal that our conversation was over. That was fine by me. Suddenly, I wasn't feeling so chatty.

I was getting a terrible feeling about this – a feeling which proved totally justified less than two minutes later, when I was ushered into the most luxurious office I'd ever seen. And who did I spot, sitting behind a massive desk in front of the giant floor-to-ceiling windows?

Zane "the Prick" Bennington.

Of course.