I was going to be fired today.
I knew it the moment my eyes opened, and I saw the time on my phone: 8:47 a.m.
My entire body went cold.
Not late. Catastrophically, irreversibly late.
I grabbed my blazer off the floor, shoved my feet into the first heels I touched, and tried to call my coworker Sandra while simultaneously locking my apartment door with one hand.
“Sandra, I need you to cover for me,” I breathed into the phone. “Tell him I’m in a meeting downstairs. Tell him anything.”
“Maya.” Her voice was flat and careful. “He’s already asking for you. Like, right now asking.”