Page 21 of Sin in My Inbox (Sexting Spark #1)

Like a puppet on strings, I walked over stiffly and dropped into the seat.

The plate in front of me looked like a work of art—perfectly fried eggs, bacon cooked just right, and several slices of buttered toast giving off an enticing aroma.

A small plate of fresh fruit sat beside it, along with a steaming cup of coffee.

I couldn't remember the last time I had sat down for a proper breakfast.

"Take your time," she said, her voice smooth as silk.

Take my time? Hell, I was about to shove the whole damn plate in my mouth!

I snatched the fork, practically stabbed the egg, and crammed it past my lips.

No time to chew—I grabbed the bread, tore off a chunk, and stuffed it in, too.

Food jammed in my throat, and I pounded my chest, choking out a pathetic groan.

Petty, cool as ever, slid a glass of water my way. I snatched it, gulped it down like a lifeline, and forced the food down my throat. Then I coughed, hacked like I was about to lose a lung.

Once I caught my breath, Petty acted like nothing had happened. "Miss Solovyeva," she said, calm as a damn monk, "no need to rush. Mr. Belov had it handled. The driver would get you to Commerce Tower on time."

My brain short-circuited. Commerce Tower? That swanky downtown skyscraper? So Ella worked there, living the high life, all corporate-chic and city-slick. Meanwhile, I, Avery Carter, slung plates at a hotel ten minutes away, just a regular nobody. The gap between us twisted my gut.

But what really made my stomach churn was figuring out how to ditch the car and sneak off to Aisley Resort without anyone noticing.

Five minutes later, I had wolfed down breakfast under Petty's wide-eyed stare and was sitting in a car worth more than my yearly paycheck, staring out at the city blurring by. The driver was a middle-aged guy, all business, not even trying to make small talk.

"Sir, could you pull over at the next intersection?" I said, keeping my voice steady.

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, professional but skeptical. "Mr. Belov instructed me to drop you right at Commerce Tower's entrance."

My heart skipped. I scrambled for an excuse. "I just needed a quick coffee. Had to get my head right."

He gave me another look in the mirror, then nodded.

When the car rolled to a stop at the intersection, I stepped out, cool as I could manage, and nodded thanks to the driver. I forced myself to stand there, watching the sleek car pull back into traffic, disappearing into the flow until it was gone.

The second it was out of sight, I dropped the act.

I bolted.

My heels clacked against the sidewalk, no grace, no poise—just pure desperation as I sprinted toward the hotel. The morning breeze slipped under my collar, a sharp reminder I was racing between two worlds.

People stared, but I didn't give a damn. My lungs burned, breaths came short and ragged, sweat beaded on my forehead. My bag swung wildly on my shoulder, keys and loose change jangling like a warning bell.

Two blocks to go.

My calves started cramping, but I couldn't stop.

I hit the hotel's back door like a battering ram, practically crashing through it. I was gasping, chest heaving, heart pounding so hard it might've leapt out of my throat .

A few early-shift coworkers in the hallway turned to stare. My hair was a mess, cheeks flushed from the run, but I didn't care—I glanced at the wall clock.

8:58. Two minutes to spare.

Yes! I mentally high-fived myself. Nice work, Avery Carter. Maybe I should've signed up for that LA weekend marathon.

Grinning, I hustled toward the locker room to change into my uniform and clock in. But as I passed the edge of the fancy lobby, a voice I hated cut through the air.

"Avery Carter! Get your ass over here!"

My heart damn near stopped. It was Jimmy. Freaking Jimmy. Didn't he have anything better to do than make my life hell?

I turned slowly, bracing for the lecture. Jimmy stood in the archway between the lobby and the backrooms, face red as a beet, eyes practically shooting sparks, hands on his hips like the smug bastard he was.

"You know what time it is now?" he barked, stomping toward me, his greasy face twisted with rage. "A probationary employee showing up late? You thought this was your mom's living room?"

"Wait, I wasn't late, I had two minutes—" I started, but he cut me off.

"Oh, you were questioning me now?" Jimmy's voice dripped with barely-contained fury. He shoved his watch in my face—9:03.

Shit. I had forgotten the lobby clock ran five minutes slow.

Jimmy pocketed his watch, each word like a venomous hiss. "I'm heading to HR right now to process your termination. This'll be your last day."

"Please, Jimmy, let me explain—" I tried, desperate, but he had already turned away.

I was left standing at the edge of the lobby, heart hammering, palms sweaty. I was screwed. Jimmy had had it out for me forever, and now he had his excuse. He'd make sure I was out the door.

This job wasn't just a paycheck—it was the only thing keeping me and my mom from falling apart. Losing it meant we were done for.

Ten minutes dragged by, each second feeling like a lifetime.

When Jimmy came back, his face was… weird. Twisted, like he was ch ewing on something sour. He walked up slowly, looking like every word was being yanked out of him with pliers.

"Avery Carter," he said, voice flat but bitter.

I held my breath, waiting for the axe to fall.

"Congratulations. You've been made permanent ahead of schedule."