Her finger hovered over the delete button. This had to be a scam or a mistake. Companies like Sterling Hospitality didn't randomly email unemployed waitresses asking for consultations. But the email address looked legitimate, and there was a phone number, a real office address downtown.

Emily pulled up the company website on her phone. corporate headquarters four blocks from where she was sitting. She could walk there right now, just show up and see if this was real. Or she could go home, eat ramen, and keep applying to places that would ghost her. "Terrible idea," she muttered to herself.

Then she stood up and started walking. The Sterling Hospitality Group offices occupied the top 12 floors of a glass tower that probably cost more than Emily would earn in her entire life. The lobby was all marble and modern art, the kind of space that made you feel poor just by entering it. Emily approached the reception desk, acutely aware of her off-brand blazer and scuffed shoes.

The receptionist looked up with a professional smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Can I help you? I... I got an email about a consultation.

Name: Emily Carter. The receptionist typed something and her expression shifted slightly. more interested, less dismissive. Oh, yes. Uh, Miss Carter, let me call upstairs.

She picked up the phone, spoke quietly, then hung up. Someone will be right down to get you. Emily sat in one of the lobby chairs, trying not to touch anything expensive. 5 minutes passed, then 10.

She was starting to think this was definitely a mistake when the elevator dinged and a woman in a sharp gray suit stepped out. Emily Carter. Yes, I'm Sandra Woo, executive assistant to Mr. Sterling.

Thank you so much for coming in on short notice. She extended her hand and Emily shook it, confused. I didn't I mean, I just got the email this morning. Yes.

Well, when Mr. Sterling wants something done, we move quickly. Please come with me. They rode the elevator to the 38th floor in silence.

Emily watched the numbers climb and felt like she was ascending into a different dimension where people like her didn't exist. The elevator opened onto a reception area that made the lobby look budget. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked Elliott Bay. Real art on the walls, not prints, originals.

Furniture that probably cost more than Emily's car back when she'd had a car. Sandra led her through a maze of offices and conference rooms, finally stopping at a door marked private. Mr. Sterling is on a call, but he should be finished shortly.

Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? I'm fine, thank you.

Sandra smiled. A real one this time. Between you and me, you look terrified. Don't be.

He's surprisingly normal for a billionaire. Then she left Emily alone in a waiting area with chairs too nice to actually sit in. Emily perched on the edge of one anyway, her resume folder in her lap, her heart trying to escape through her ribs. This was insane.

She shouldn't be here. She should leave right now before the door opened. Ryan Sterling walked out and Emily's brain short-circuited. This was not the homeless man from last night.

This was a man in a custom navy suit that fit him like it had been painted on. Hairstyled, clean shaven. Everything about him screamed wealth and power and the kind of confidence that came from never having to worry about rent. But it was his eyes that stopped her.

Blue gray, intense, and currently looking at her like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Miss Carter, he said, and his voice was different, too. Stronger, commanding. Thank you for coming.

Please come in. Emily stood on legs that felt like water and followed him into his office. It was ridiculous. That was the only word for it.

The office was bigger than her entire apartment with that same floor-to-ceiling window view, a desk that looked like a work of art, shelves lined with books and awards and framed photos. Ryan gestured to a chair across from his desk. Please sit. She sat gripping her resume folder like a life preserver.

Ryan settled into his own chair and for a moment he just looked at her. Not creepy, just studying like she was something unexpected. I'm sure you're confused about why you're here. He said finally.

A little. Yes. I'll be direct. I'm conducting a review of service standards across all Sterling Hospitality properties.

I've been disappointed by what I've found. I need people who understand what hospitality actually means, not just people who know how to maximize profit margins. Emily nodded slowly, not sure where this was going. Your resume came across my desk.

I didn't apply here. No, but we have talent scouts who monitor the industry. When someone with your experience becomes available, we take notice. That was a lie.

Emily knew it was a lie. She'd been a waitress for 8 months. Nobody scouted waitresses, but she didn't call him on it. "What exactly would this consultation involve?" she asked.

"I want you to tell me the truth about what it's like working in hospitality. Not the sanitized version managers put in reports. The real version. What happens when guests are cruel?

How staff are actually treated? What it's like to work for people like He paused. People like Victor Hail." Emily's stomach dropped.

You know Victor? I know of him. He runs the Grand Meridian. He fired me last night.

I know that, too. The words hung in the air between them. Emily felt heat creep up her neck. So, this is what?

Pity? No. Ryan leaned forward and his expression was serious. This is me trying to understand how my company actually operates.