I freeze.“Okay.That’s something.”
“It is.Though there was one thing I thought was strange.When the meeting was set, Vitale made a point of asking if you’d be there.”
“Me specifically?”
“By name.”He lets that sit for a second.“Thought you should know.”
I don’t have an answer for that, so I don’t offer one.I’m not surprised they know who I am.I interviewed their head of R&D.
“How’s the Hartley profile coming along?”His shift is so clean it’s almost aggressive.
“Good.”I keep my voice professionally even.“There’s a lot to it—the writing is one thing, but the art direction alone is substantial.Locations, b-roll, sourcing footage of him on the track.It’s a full production.”
“Mm.”Noncommittal.A Toby special, giving you nothing and making it feel final.“Keep me posted.”
I set the phone down, not even sure what I was reaching for with Toby—an extension, maybe, given everything still on my plate?
No.Six weeks can’t pass fast enough.Help, then.Though what that would even look like, I couldn’t say.At least I tried.
A lot of good that did me.
A faint whiff of something curls through the air.I almost dismiss it, but then a sharper scent hits—hot metal, scorched and unmistakable.
I lift my head and look around.The only other person in the dining room is already on his feet, expression alert and puzzled, mirroring exactly what I feel.
I inhale again.The smell punches harder.
“Patsy?”I call toward the kitchen door, alarm crawling up my arms.“Everything okay back there?”
A rattled shout comes from the kitchen, followed by a sudden whoosh.The fire alarm screams overhead, sending a bolt straight up my spine, and the sprinklers snap on before I even get my legs under me, misting the room in cold, indifferent rain.
I shove through the swinging door into heat I’m not prepared for.Flames are already climbing the back wall, bright and furious, turning the air into something I shouldn’t be breathing.Smoke rolls across the ceiling in a low, choking wave, and Patsy is near the stove, coughing hard, fanning at it with her hands.
“Grace—don’t —” she hacks, but I’m already moving.
The extinguisher hangs on the far wall, and I force my shaking hands to grab it, the metal cold and heavier than expected.The pin sticks, panic spiking as the heat presses at my face and the sprinklers hiss overhead.Then, finally, it gives.
“I’ve got it.”My voice sounds nothing like me.
Patsy drops low, and I step in too close, probably, planting my feet and aiming at the base the way every fire-safety poster I’ve ever half-read recommends.The extinguisher sputters, then bursts to life, blasting white foam into the air with a bitter chemical haze.The flames jerk, resist for what feels like a decade, then eventually shrink and collapse into smoldering black.
My eyes burn.My throat stings.My hands won’t stop shaking.
Chapter14
Grace
For a heartbeat, everything inside the kitchen goes still, nothing but the hiss of the sprinklers and the scream of the alarm and the sound of my own uneven breathing.Then the back door smacks open and boots pound in.
“Fire department.”
I can’t tell whether it’s been ten minutes or two hours since the alarm went off—time did something strange in there, stretched and compressed all at once.What I know is this: There was a fire, I grabbed the extinguisher, and somehow it’s out.
They take over without ceremony, and I lean back against a stainless-steel prep table, soaked through, smoke still curling around me, lungs working harder than they should for charred, acrid air.
A tall firefighter with kind eyes and a strong grip catches my elbow and steers me away from the kitchen.“You need air and water.”
I nod, but my legs wobble like the ground has shifted under me.