Page 23 of Anti-Hero

“So, you think I should …”

“Enjoy the rest of college,” I finish. “And then decide if you want to challenge me for CEO.”

Bash smirks.Competitivemight as well be a synonym for Kensington. But I know my brother well enough to see the relief in his expression too.

Lili picked a different path. He—like me—was waiting to see what the expected one was like.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he tells me.

I yawn yet again and decide I’m too tired to hunt for food. I just want sleep. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Make sure you’re packed.”

“We’ll turn down the music,” Bash calls after me as I head down the hallway.

6

I’m concerned I’m going to throw up. Not because my stomach hasn’t fully recovered from the food poisoning last week, but because this suddenly seems like an insane idea.

I’m going toworkforKit Kensington. And I have no one to blame but myself and my damn pride. And Isaac. I blame Isaac too.

Cheating on me was bad enough. But thesleeping with my bossbit? That’s the sin that resulted in this particular predicament. For a few seconds, I contemplate unblocking my ex, simply to cuss him out again. We haven’t spoken since I walked in on evidence of his infidelity,and the shocked swears I spit at him then no longer feel like enough of a punishment.

A shoulder knocks against my left arm, making me stumble. I’m wearing my nicest heels—my nicesteverything. I woke up at six a.m. to ensure I had time to straighten my hair and apply a full face of makeup before walking to the subway stop two blocks away.

Watching people walk into the skyscraper that houses Kensington Consolidated’s corporate offices, I still feel underdressed. I’m in a sea of suits that cost four figures. Maybe even five.

A wayward elbow hits my bag, and I finally move forward. Standing stock-still on a New York sidewalk is asking to get knocked over like a bowling pin. Especially during commuter hour.

I focus on single steps—one foot in front of the other—as I approach the revolving doors. I pick the center one, which winds up spinning the slowest.

It feels about twenty degrees cooler inside of the lobby. August’s heat has bled into September, blanketing the city in a sticky layer of humidity that the vents are working overtime to counteract. They blast the sweat on my skin. I suppress a shiver as I stride toward the front desk as surely as I can manage in four-inch heels with dwindling confidence and increasing anxiety.

“Name?” the receptionist asks when I reach her. She doesn’t glance up, busy stamping a form and then typing on the keyboard in front of her.

“Collins.” I clear my throat. “Collins Tate. For Kensington Consolidated?”

The woman looks up, a flash of interest breaking through her practiced expression. Her manicured fingers keep up their rhythmic tapping on the keyboard as she appraises me. My unpolished onesdrum against the pristine counter as I take note of her sleek bun (professionally styled) and winged eyeliner (sharper than a knife’s edge). Part of my first paycheck might need to go toward a new wardrobe. Staying in my pajamas most days was the best part of unemployment.

“One moment, please,” she tells me, continuing to type.

I nod, pasting a polite smile on my face as I pull my water bottle out of my bag and swallow a large sip. Cold liquid hits my empty stomach, prompting a loud gurgle. I was too nervous to do more than nibble on a granola bar this morning. Now, I’m nauseousandhungry.

“This guest badge will allow you to access the elevators.” The receptionist slides a laminated rectangle toward me. “You want the fifty-fifth floor. Someone will direct you from there.”

“Thank you,” I say, grabbing the badge and joining the crowd funneling through the turnstiles.

A swipe of the barcode at the bottom allows me through, and then I hurry into the nearest elevator. When I press55, the six other people in the elevator all stare at me with open curiosity.

I have a better idea as to why when the doors part on floor fifty-five.

The waiting area looks different from the other floors the elevator stopped at. Modern and expensive andprestigious. The floor gleams like it was freshly polished. The walls boast artwork that looks intricate and expensive. The front desk is larger than the one in the lobby. Imposing. And, front and center, metal letters affixed to the wall spell outKensington Consolidated.

The law firm I worked at in Chicago handled a lot of corporate business. So, I guess I expected these offices to look similar to theirs. But Carter Thomas LLP didn’t radiate importance the way this space does.

The blonde woman sitting at the front desk is on the phone. She holds up a finger, mouthing,One sec, as I approach.

I nod, nervously smoothing the skirt of my dress as I wait for her call to end. I stood on the subway, but it still appears wrinkled. One thing the humidity could have helped with.

Two gray-haired men step off the elevator and continue past the desk and down the hallway. They’re deep in conversation, neither so much as glancing my way.

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