I had jumped back into my Honda, my hands shaking on the wheel, my clothes covered in dirt and dried blood, driving sixty-five miles per hour through the red lights of West Colfax Avenue, praying that Nick would understand.
Praying that human life still carried equity in the twenty-first century.
I had walked into the lobby of Vanguard Creative Group at 08:52 AM.
And Nick had fired me before my heels cleared the carpet of the reception vestibule.
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The knocking on my driver’s-side window was not polite.People & Society
It was three sharp, metallic raps delivered with the heavy signet ring of an executive who believed that glass was something you tapped when you wanted a waiter’s attention:
*TACK.
TACK.
TACK.
*
I opened my eyes.
Standing on the asphalt outside my car, leaning down with his hands on his hips, was **Nick Sterling**.
My boss.
