The VIP Room(145)

He stands and offers his hands. "I'll take you to work. My driver is around the corner."

I pick my purse up off the ground and slide it around my shoulder. "I can walk."

"I'll walk with you."

I take a long look at Blake. His expression is impossible to read. The strong, silent type. Not that I care what type he is.

He seems safe. Maybe not safe, but not dangerous.

"Don't make me insist," he says.

I nod and take a soft step. As little weight on my foot as I can manage. It hurts, but only enough to be twisted.

Blake's voice is commanding. "You shouldn't walk on that."

"That's none of your business."

"I bumped into you. That makes your injury my responsibility."

"Nope, my ankle, my responsibility." My fists curl into tiny balls. Who the hell does this guy think he is? "Whatever your noble intentions are, I'm not a damsel, and I'm not in distress. So mind your own damn business." I take a faster step. The pain isn't so bad. I've dealt with far worse.

"Kat. Wait."

Fat chance.

He grabs my arm. "I appreciate your desire for discretion."

That's a strange way to apologize for being nosy, but Blake doesn't strike me as the apologizing type. I offer him my polite smile, the one I use with customers. "Thank you."

"Don't fake smile at me. I can't stand it."

"Then let me continue on with my life."

He pulls something from his pocket and presses it into my hands. A business card. "Give it a few days and let me how you're doing."

"You mean how my ankle is doing?"

He holds my gaze. There's something in his eyes--some tiny hint of vulnerability. I look at the pavement, then back to his eyes. That vulnerability is gone. Replaced by pure determination.

"That's my personal number. Text or call anytime." He takes a step back. "Be careful."

I nod. "Thanks."

He turns, walks around the corner, and he's gone.

I look at the business card.

Blake Sterling. CEO of Sterling Tech. They're huge, the biggest competitor to Google. Lizzy is obsessed with their web services. Uses them exclusively.

Blake is the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the country.

And he wants to know how I'm doing.



* * *



It's a long night at the restaurant. By the time I collapse on the subway, my ankle is throbbing. Two people squeeze into the corner of the bench, lip locked like they'll die if they come up for air. Must be nice to want someone so badly you're desperate to dry hump on the L train.

I doubt Blake would go for that kind of thing. Not that it matters to me.

Four stops later, they're still going at it. I step off the train, onto the platform, with the lightest possible movements. My work shoes--thick, black, non-slip sneakers--aren't quite as precarious as the cheap heels, but they don't ease the pain as well as I hoped.

It's eight long, cold blocks to our place. Same little apartment where we grew up. First floor, thank God. I check the mailbox on my way in.

Great. The bill for the mortgage is already here. The horrible thorn in my side is a steal compared to rent anywhere halfway decent in the city, but it's still too much. I could afford it if I got a job like the one I lost out on today. It would be tough but worth it.

Junk mail. Catalogue. Electricity bill. From New York University.

Lizzy's letter. And it's thick-leg pad sized.

She got in.

This must mean she got it.

I rush inside, half limping. "Lizzy!"

Her bedroom light flicks on. She pulls the door open, sleepy look on her face. "You're supposed to be the one who warns me it's a school night."

I wave the letter.

"What? Hold on." She steps into her room and returns wearing her glasses. Her eyes go wide. "I can't open that."

"You have to."

"But what if I didn't get in? I won't be able to sleep. And if I did, I'll be too excited." She takes a step towards me, almost tripping. Her eyes pass over the return address. "Open it."

"It's yours." I offer her the letter.

"Please!" She presses her palms together. "I can't. I can't even think."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She bites her lip. "Do it."

I tear the envelope open and unfold the letter. Dear Ms. Wilder; We are proud to offer you acceptance-She got in. I press the letter to my chest. Thank God.

"What? Is it bad?" She frowns.

I shake my head. "Good. Really good."

She scans it carefully. "Oh my God." A smile creeps onto her face. "Kat! I... I can't believe it!"

"You worked so hard." I wrap my arms around my little sister. She got into NYU. Great school in the city. She can stay here, with me, as long as we find a way to stay in this apartment.

"But... we can't afford this? There's no way NYU is offering me a full ride. It's not like Columbia. That would have been something." She bites her lip.

The letter from Columbia came yesterday. A sorry, but no thanks letter. Apparently, my smart, hardworking little sister is still not good enough for Columbia, a school with need-based scholarships that would have covered almost all her expenses.