Empire of Sin(Empire #2)(12)

Weaver & Shaw is a fast-paced firm, from the way they accept cases, to how they process them, and even the way they work paralegals.

Everything around me buzzes with energy. Almost everyone has a phone to their ear and something else in their hands—briefcases, case files, coffee.

I’m only equipped with my laptop bag, the strap glued to my chest. It’s the only thing I need in order to navigate in a place full of people, noise, and eye contact.

Logically, I should’ve chosen a smaller firm or one of W&S’s branches in another state—or country, but I had my reasons.

One. I didn’t want to leave New York City. The best place to hide from someone? Right under their nose.

Two. A smaller firm doesn’t have well-equipped IT departments, and I need that for my disappearance plans.

Those two reasons combined are why I chose to woo W&S. And it did take a lot of wooing to their HR department during the interview process.

My résumé is genius level, and it’s not a lie. I did skip grades and attend computer engineering classes when I was young. I may be twenty, but I have valuable skills and have completed an internship at a huge company that shall not be named.

I did mention it in the résumé, though. Because that’s where I stole my current name from.

Jane Summers.

She was an intern at that huge company that shall not be named but decided to take a break from college and travel around the world.

I figured that out from a random conversation I heard in the bathroom and built my identity around hers. I had to wait until she left, then I kind of borrowed her name.

Sorry, Jane. I promise to help you with your studies as soon as you get back.

Anyway, W&S’s HR board wasn’t really convinced, because of my age, so they decided to put me on a month’s trial to see how I’ll do.

I’m going to prove that age is just a number.

It’s one of the few things I believe in from where I came.

After surviving a crowded trip in the elevator, in which I had to fix my glasses a few dozen times and touch my chest a hundred more, I finally arrive at the IT department on the twentieth floor.

I release a long exhale at the sweet sound of silence. There’s no fast-paced rhythm and no shuffling of feet.

And definitely no eye contact.

There’s just a clean office with marble flooring and blinding natural light coming from the open window at the end of the hall.

My gaze shifts to it and my chaotic brain revs to life like an old engine. My fingers shake on the strap of my bag and my short nails dig into my palms. Why the hell is that window open? Don’t they know how risky it is?

“You must be Jane.”

I startle from my mini panic attack at the soft voice of the middle-aged woman who’s sitting behind the receptionist desk. They did say that I’d have someone from the IT department tell me about the building.

“Yes, that’s me.” I approach her with slow steps, though I really should stop thinking that one of the people here will bring out a gun and start shooting the whole building down.

This is not the dangerous world I came from.

“My name is Jill and I’m the secretary of the technicians’ side of the IT department.” She stands, and to my surprise, she’s about my height. That’s rare as hell since everyone is always taller than me.

Always.

Jill is wearing an orangey lipstick and a scarf that matches it, but it’s tucked neatly in her jacket since I’m sure bright colors aren’t exactly welcome in a law firm.

“This is where you’ll be working.” She leads me to an open area with countless screens hanging on the wall. Two men who appear to be in their thirties are already seated in front of their own multi-screens.

One of them wears frameless glasses that seem to be part of his face, and the other is wearing a plaid flannel shirt that’s stained—with coffee, I believe.

Both of them type at a rapid speed and monitor the screens, and I instantly feel a sense of belonging. The sound of a keyboard has always made me feel at peace, even in the midst of chaos.

“This is Chad and Ben. Guys, Jane will start working with you today.”

They don’t acknowledge me. Not even a twitch of fingers or the eye contact that I hate so much.

“Don’t worry about them, they’re nerds,” Jill tells me with a laugh to hide the awkwardness.

I’m a nerd, too, so I don’t offer her a reassuring smile, and that instantly makes her uncomfortable.

People are like that. They expect you to comply with what society wants and to avoid confrontation. But I’m done being a doll for show.

I’m done bending myself to fit in settings that don’t fit me.

Jill clears her throat. “Anyhow, the cafeteria is on the seventh floor. Your card gives you access to all floors except for the top tier where the managing partners’ offices are. You’re not allowed there unless they specifically ask for you and grant you security access. You might be called to the partners’ floor now and again to take care of computer problems. If you have any questions, let me know.”

And with that, she leaves, the clinking of her heels echoing in the silent space like ominous music from a movie.

The two guys are still not acknowledging me, so I sit in the one available seat in front of three switched-off monitors.