Page 2

Luckily, my second parking attempt worked out. Relieved, I turned off the engine and reached for my light green shoulder bag, which was lying on the passenger seat.
Should have been lying.
Where was that damn thing again?
I had just spent a good twenty minutes looking for the bag earlier and found it next to the laundry box in the bathroom instead of on the coat rack. Now I quickly looked under the seat. Nothing. This damn car wasn't that big.
Hastily, I got out and opened the trunk. There lay the bag. As if it always lay there. Even though I always put it on the passenger seat. Usually. I must have been very distracted when I put it in the trunk.
Relieved, I grabbed my bag, hurried down the small side street as fast as I could, and turned right at its end. I would soon reach my workplace. A well-known five-star hotel on Crosby Street, a quieter street on the edge of New York's bustling Soho district. I liked working here because we had guests from all over the world: tourists, business travelers, and artists who wanted to be inspired by the New York atmosphere and enjoy their stay.
Nervously, I looked at the clock on my phone. SHIT. My shift at the reception had started over fifteen minutes ago. Normally, I entered the hotel through the service entrance, but since that was at the back of the hotel, it would cost me an additional five minutes.
Determined, I headed for the main entrance, which was actually reserved for guests, and hurried past Jim, the doorman, with a friendly nod. Inside, I was greeted by the calm atmosphere for which our hotel was known. Muted classical music played from the ceiling speakers, and my colleagues rushed past me almost silently. I hadn't changed yet, and my street shoes squeaked unpleasantly loud on the polished floor. Damn. I should have used the back entrance after all.
"Isabella! Finally!" My colleague Gina looked up reproachfully as I hurried to the reception. "Where have you been for so long?"
"I couldn't find a parking spot. I'm sorry," I apologized for being late and tried to continue walking. Behind the reception, a door led to the staff area. My uniform, name tag, and other shoes were waiting for me there.
"Then leave earlier next time!" Gina held me by the arm and completely ignored my words. "You're never on time."
"That..." I started to defend myself, but then stopped. Words wouldn't get me anywhere here, that much I had already learned. Gina was just Gina, and I had to take her as she was if I wanted to keep this job. And I did want to keep it.
The hotel job was a long-cherished dream of mine, for which I had worked hard. Just a year ago, I had been working in my friend Leanna's shop, first selling cupcakes and later wedding cakes. I had really enjoyed interacting with customers. But I knew my goal: I wanted to work in a hotel and have even more contact with people from all over the world. Luckily, Leanna wasn't upset that I wanted to leave my position with her; instead, she supported my plans. I had taken an evening course and then spent a long time looking for a suitable job. At first, I only got offers from third-rate motels looking for cheap cleaning staff. But after a few months, I finally found this position here on Crosby Street.
I smiled happily at the memory.
"It's really not funny that you're constantly late," Gina snapped.
"Miss Abbott!" Before I could respond, an oily, slimy voice behind me made me jump.
"Yes?" I replied reluctantly and turned around. I looked directly into the small, piggy eyes of my boss, Emmett Kershaw. The sight of him made me swallow, and a chill ran down my spine. I couldn't stand this guy. He had only bought the hotel a week ago. Since then, he'd been strutting around as if he were the Emperor of China. The King of Wall Street. The Greatest of All Time. He probably had to act like this because he was actually very short. And he probably also had to constantly belittle, insult, or unfairly criticize someone for the same reason.
"As I just heard, you're late again!"
"I had trouble finding a parking spot."
"Wasn't that the case yesterday as well?"
"Yes," I admitted reluctantly. "The parking situation isn't very good."
"You do know that you can rent a parking space in our underground garage for $100 a month? Why don't you do that?"
"I... uh... I can't afford that," I stammered embarrassedly, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.
"What do you mean, you can't afford it? Don't we pay a good salary?"
"Uh..." I said and fell silent helplessly.
"Why are you even driving a car? You always used to come by subway before!" Now Gina was siding with Mr. Kershaw too. I shot her a venomous look. She had apparently never heard of solidarity among colleagues.
"Well?" Emmett Kershaw looked at me questioningly.
I took a deep breath. "Lately, there have been more overtime hours, and I don't feel comfortable in the subway at night. So I decided to come by car."
"Are you trying to say you have to work too much?"
"No..." I began. Heaven! These two were twisting every word in my mouth.