Stiletto Sisterhood

Chapter Three

Nausea was a bitch that wouldn't quit, twisting Priya's tequila-pickled stomach into a mess of nerves. The elevator rocketed up to the thirty-seventh floor, and she raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a booze-soaked burp as the urge to let it all spew out sat at the back of her throat like a finger hovering over the button of a detonator.

Waiting to be pushed.

Oh please, let me get through this nightmare without puking.

The doors pinged open when she reached her floor—so high up she'd swear the building swayed under her feet. Bright lights bounced off white walls, floors, and furniture. Stark as an art gallery without a hint of color or contrast aside from the polished wood receptionist desk and the impeccably dressed young Black woman manning it.

On a Sunday . . . ?

Wincing against the glare, Priya approached the desk, and the receptionist lifted a single halting finger in acknowledgment as her other hand raced across the keyboard. When she was finished typing, she shifted her gaze to Priya, and, to her credit, barely blinked.

"You must be Ms. Seth." A welcoming smile brightened her luminous skin. "I'll let Ms. Nagao's assistant know you're here." Her fingers flew once more over the keyboard but stalled when her eyes landed on Priya again. "Something wrong?"

"I'm just . . . confused," Priya whispered, like a sinner afraid to be caught in church. "It's Sunday."

"Defense doesn't rest," the receptionist intoned. "More than just our company motto. Marek, Nagao & Silver has a vast, rotational staff to ensure the office can remain open and operational through weekends and holidays, when needed." She removed the headset from her ear. "Heather will be with you shortly. Is there anything I can get for you in the meantime? Water? Cappuccino?"

Spare panties? The weight of dread—and impending vomit—kicked Priya's tonsils, and she did her best to swallow it all back down. "Water would be great."

"Still or sparkling?"

"Sparkling."

"Wonderful. Ice?"

"Sure."

"And would you like a slice of lemon or lime?"

Seriously? "Just the water, please. Thanks."

"Certainly. I'll just be a moment." She was gone in a flash of long legs, high heels, and a soft gray suit that Priya was debating how to bribe her out of when the glass doors beyond the desk opened and a stern, red-lipped blond strode out, looking as sleek as a model.

Brown eyes fell on Priya, and her stride faltered, like she'd skidded on wet flooring, before recovering. Barely. "Ms. Seth?"

"That's me." Priya extended a hand. "You must be Heather."

"Are you insane? What on earth possessed you to waltz in here like—?" Heather's gaze raked her from head to toe, scathing with judgment. "No. No. No. I can't accept this." She flapped her hand and set the other to her brow, eyes pinched shut. "Turn around and leave this instant—before someone else sees you. I'll tell Ms. Nagao you had an emergency and couldn't make it."

Priya's mouth tumbled open as her dreams popped like a filmy soap bubble before her aching, undoubtedly bloodshot eyes. "What? No. No way. I'm here. On time, might I add."

"A clear mark of stupidity. Leave, now, before I call security to escort you from the building. For your own good."

Considering the matter closed, Heather whipped around and Priya scampered as fast as she could to head her off. "I don't think you understand what I've gone through to get here, both personally and professionally. I can't—won't—let you send me away. I can't blow this."