Until We Confess¹ | EXCERPT ONLY (f.k.a. Princess)

One | Amy

Damn Murphy and his stupid law.

How can so many things go wrong in a single morning? After my hair straightener bails on me, I intend to wash down my frustration with a sip of coffee. But the hot liquid burns my tongue instead, and I spill it all over my favorite lilac blouse. My toaster mocks me further, spitting out a charred slice of bread, and as I rush to the bedroom to change, I stub my toe on the dresser.

With a groan, I drop onto my bed to assess the damage and massage my aching foot until the pain subsides. I wiggle my toes, and they all move as they should—dodged that bullet.

This Monday couldn't have started any worse; this Murphy guy was right: anything that can go wrong will go wrong.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I hobble to the closet to pick my second favorite shirt and examine my outfit in the floor-length mirror. Great, dull white blouse and simple black skirt it is. My long hair tied back in a plain ponytail doesn't do much to enhance my appearance either. At least it's summer and too hot for tights; with my luck, I'd spot a run or two in them.

Another sigh passes my lips, turning into a groan. I might be too hard on myself, but it's not every day that I start a new job; I want to look perfect. Describing the circumstances as nerve-racking only scratches the surface when I consider my new workplace to be one of New York's most successful advertising agencies.

Wilson & Partners has been on the list of top companies for over three decades, and I landed the job as a personal assistant to one of the two partners. Saying I'm nervous is a massive understatement, so I blame my morning chaos on extreme jitters.

I draw in a few calming breaths, smiling at myself in the mirror. "You can do this, Amy," I tell myself, noticing with a peek at my watch that I must leave right now or I'll be late.

After snatching my purse off the kitchen counter, I head out the door, ignoring the thermal mug containing the last of my morning coffee—it's not worth the risk.

The subway ride to Manhattan is smooth, and I arrive in front of the large glass doors of Wilson & Partners with a few minutes to spare. With a deep breath, I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt and enter the spacious lobby.

Everything around me buzzes with activity; men in expensive suits and women in elegant dresses come and go, phones ring, and soft chatter fills the air. My gaze lands on the reception desk, and the corners of my lips lift when I recognize the blonde next to it.

Lauren.

Like me, she's in her mid-twenties and the first friend I made since moving to New York two months ago. Our connection was instant when we met in a yoga class, and her quirky and cheerful demeanor is a welcome morale booster to my sometimes gloomy mood.

We also bonded over our jobs and found it amusing that we both work as personal assistants. Lauren is Greg Aberdeen's PA, and when his partner, Luke Smith, needed a new one, she informed me about the job, so I owe it to her that I'm here.

Striding up to Lauren, I straighten my clothes and clutch my purse, repeating my mantra for today—you can do this. Her familiar face eases my nervousness, but my heart still pounds in my chest.

As soon as our eyes meet, she beams at me. "Amy, hi! I'm so excited you're here."

"Hey, Lauren! I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you. Thanks for coming down to meet me."

She waves off my remark. "No problem. I figured you'd appreciate a friend to greet you on the first day of a new job. I remember how nerve-racking my first day was."

Her overwhelming kindness makes me feel much better, and the knot in my stomach loosens. I stumble after her into the elevator and lean against the cool metal wall, letting out another deep sigh. Lauren presses the button for the tenth floor while I smooth down my blouse with a grimace. "Gosh, I'm so nervous."