Fanning the Flames
SIENNA
I didn’t need this job. Not that f*****g badly.
The day had been a bust. After begging Carlos for the day off, catching a cab into the city and having a homeless man or two rub against my wool skirt, I had walked into Lower Manhattan with an attitude that could part a busy New York City street with one stare.
An hour later, I was practically running out the way I’d come in, my tail tucked between my legs, tears brimming on the edge of my mascara-extended eyelashes. Tears that I refused to let f*****g fall.
Not on these crowded streets. And definitely not in front of that misogynistic senior director, a slick-talking FBI agent who’d sneered at me the second I stepped in, his tone condescending. His haughty eyes looked down on me as his shaky secretary ushered
