Trolling for celebrity sex tapes was even more pathetic, given she was always alone in her own bed. She was too busy working to stay afloat and get the rent paid, all while spending her nights at the public library, trying to teach herself how to be a journalist. There was no time for boyfriends.
Besides, her first boyfriend had cheated on her. And the second one. He had wanted a sex tape, too. Bastard. She’d kicked him out when she found the other tapes he’d made with a dozen other girls. But she already knew the only person she could really rely on was herself. And with what had happened to her parents… well, it was better if she never fell in love. She wasn’t fit to be in a relationship. Not now. Not ever. All she would ever have was her work—and now, even that had been reduced to hacking into the personal lives of celebrities.
“You know what?” She flung the folder at her boss, and the glossies spilled out on the floor. “I’m not doing your dirty work any more, Cratchton.”
He scrambled after them, clearly not expecting that response. “Come on, Liv, be smart—”
But she was already halfway to the door, her low heels pounding on the cheap linoleum. She paused in the doorway. “You’re a sleazy little mole, Cratchton, chasing sleazy little dollars. I am not going to end up like you, sucking down vape and that scotch I know you keep in your drawer. I’m going to do something with my life that means something.” His face was turning red. She yanked open the door to stop from saying something worse.
“When you come crawling back, don’t expect—”
She slammed the door on her way out so she wouldn’t have to hear the rest. The drama caught the notice of everyone in the office—which was really just two Cratchtons-in-the-making, only younger and less lecherous, and the girl who hid in her cubicle until someone needed a computer fixed. Olivia had worked there for six months, but she didn’t really know any of them. Which was par for the course for her. She didn’t bother telling them she wasn’t coming back… she just held her head high and marched to the elevator with a glorious I quit! expression on her face. She was alone in her triumph on the ride down, and when she reached the street level, she strode out into a burst of rare Seattle sunshine.
It only took a block of striding down the sidewalk before the doubts began to creep in.
What had she done? No assignment meant no check at the end of the week… which meant no rent money. She already had been late a couple times—once more, and her landlord would just toss her out. The churning in her stomach returned with a vengeance. Which only reminded her that she wasn’t going to have much in the way of food at the end of the week, either.
She slowed her furious pace. She’d get by somehow—she always had—but she had to admit she’d never pushed it quite this far. Never quit when she had no idea where the next job was coming from. It was a long haul to her apartment on foot, and through a pretty seedy neighborhood as well, but she couldn’t afford bus fare now.
She squared her shoulders and kept marching. The walk would give her time to think. Make a plan. Figure out where to start looking for a job, any job, that would hire her right away. Then she could figure out how to do something worthwhile in the world. Something that wouldn’t slime her soul.
She glanced at the shops as she passed, looking for Help Wanted signs, but most were abandoned in this part of town. Then she realized she was near the homeless shelter—her stomach gave another lurch. She was convinced, from passing it every day on the bus, that something wasn’t quite right about the place. Now she had a decent chance of landing there herself. Maybe she could use that—go undercover, find out why there were always people being turned away, like they didn’t have enough food or beds or something, even though the place was enormous, a converted warehouse taking up an entire block. And what little research she’d done showed they had tons of money from the government.
It was a great plan—except doing an exposé on the homeless shelter wasn’t going to pay the rent. And then she wouldn’t have to pretend to be homeless. She sighed and came to a stop at the end of the long storefront of the shelter. The street was empty, and now that her heels weren’t clacking on the concrete, she heard a strange electric twitching sound, like something was shorting out. Then a low groan.
Her heart thudded. The groan turned into a grunt, then the sound of something hitting the pavement… and then a soul-breaking whimper. Her legs were locked in place—the sound was coming from the alley just ahead, a darkened space between the shelter and the next concrete building.