Chapter One

SARAH

I stare blankly at the paycheck in my hand. How am I supposed to save Grandma with this paltry sum?

My eyes return to Sir Leonardo's stern face, my eyes pleading like a puppy's.

“Sir, it's a dark time… My grandma's at the hospital. And I need to come up with some serious money for her surgery. If I don't within six months, her condition will worsen… and…"

The words die on my lips as I notice his gaze has wandered south… and not to the paperwork on his desk. The pervert is openly checking me out, his eyes roving over my frontal assets.

After his little breast-scouring detour, Sir Leonardo regains his composure with a flippant question.

“Uhh, sorry, I tuned out for a sec. What were you saying?” he asks, his eyes finally dragging back to mine.

A surge of rage courses through my veins as I glare at him. I've just poured my heart out to this obtuse, self-absorbed excuse for a human being, explaining how Granny's medical bills are crippling me financially.

And what does he do? He sits there, oblivious to my desperation, his expression a mask of bored indifference. I've never wanted to deck someone so badly in my life.

With all the diplomacy I can muster, I address Sir Leonardo once more, "I'm hoping you might be willing to revisit my salary. An increase would be a huge help to me.”

He throws his hands up, letting them flop down like deflated balloons. "It's just not feasible, Sarah. A salary increase? The economy is crumbling, everyone’s pinching pennies, and yet you think you deserve more?”

He rummages through his desk drawers, pulling out the letter I'd submitted two months ago.

His eyes scan the contents, a smirk curling his lips, “75%, huh? It's simple, really. If you want a raise, you've got to earn it. But let's be honest, you could work your fingers to the bone and still not earn what you want. But if you were to show me just how appreciative you could be, I think we could find a way to make this work out for both of us.”

My internal alarm blares, “Code Red: Get Outta Here!” Every fiber of my being screams to make a break for the door, to flee this fluorescent-lit purgatory and find some fresh air.

And yet, somehow, against all logic and self-preservation instincts, I remain rooted to the spot as the old man swings his hands through the air as if they were magic wands, directing all the attention straight to my chest.

“And let's be real, those bouncy, glorious, perfectly shaped assets? Absolutely. Stunning. I mean, it's a wonder I can even focus on our conversation. You're making it very hard for me to keep my hands to myself, if you know what I mean…”

The anger, it pulses within me like a second heartbeat..

Sir Leonardo gets up, walks around his desk, and stands right in front of me. My expression is screaming, “Back off!” in a variety of different fonts and languages.

But no, he doesn't.

Rather, those wretched hands of his reach out and grope my breasts, squeezing them in a nauseating display of entitlement.

His breath, heavy and laced with cheap cigar fumes, assaults my ear as he nuzzles in closer, his leer turning into a grin. “Oh, sooo soft, aren’t they? So, what’s the color of the bra that’s so… delicately cupping these lovelies? I bet it’s a fiery red, a color that matches your passion.”

My hands grasp in desperation behind me, scrabbling for anything, ANYTHING, that could be a weapon. And as if fate herself were on my side, my fingers close around something solid, heavy, and, best of all, weaponizable.

In one quick motion, my makeshift tool is launched, finding its mark on his unsuspecting skull with a gratifying THWACK!

That sound… it rings out like the bell of justice. I stare down at Sir Leonardo, unconscious and bleeding from his overinflated skull.

“Murder? Nah, I'm not that lucky,” I think, eyeing the wine bottle in my hand.

He's still breathing, so I guess the bottle will just give him a headache instead of a coffin.

***

Two days on, I'm shaking off the past and focusing on finding a new job.

With a cup of strong black coffee parked beside me, I dive in.

Every job opportunity that pops up is a cursed jellyfish; either it's way too low-paying or it's asking for experience that's harder to come by than a unicorn sighting.

And I've got six months to save my beloved granny from a one-way ticket to the great beyond.

Without a coronary artery bypass grafting, or whatever fancy medical mumbo jumbo it’s called, Granny's ischemic heart disease will take a devastating turn for the worse, and she might die.

No, no, no! Granny cannot die!

I hastily halt my G****e search, close my eyes, and say a prayer, channeling my inner little girl who once prayed for a pony for Christmas.

I open my eyes, adjust my glasses, and refocus on my job search. Suddenly, an ad catches my eye:

'Driver Wanted.'

I blink twice, then thrice, to make sure I'm not seeing things. The salary is a staggering leap from my previous job.

I'm talking a difference of night and day, heaven and earth. It's as if the universe heard my plea and decided to send a miracle my way.

Then my gaze shifts to my closet, which swings open as if to jolt me back to reality.

My panties and bras dangle from their hangers, including my favorite red pair. Skirts, blouses, stockings, heels, and flats—all my feminine favorites stare back at me.

I blink away disappointment and adjust my glasses, refocusing.

The ad reappears, taunting me with its 'driver wanted' sign, like a playground bully dangling a coveted toy just out of reach.

'Nyah nyah, you can't have it, you're a girl!'

I'm staring at the post with major envy, tears stinging my eyes.

My tummy's growling. I decide to take a break and whip up some grub. Just as I'm slurping down a bowl of ramen noodles, Ruby walks in.

Same age, different life choices. Ruby's a stripper with a cosmetology degree. Guess someone had a few too many drinks. I stifle a laugh at her drunken stupor.

When she turns to give me that death stare, I bat my eyelashes, put on a mask of innocence, and continue slurping my noodles.

"Leonardo, he’s dead. You killed him.” Ruby declares.

With my mouth stuffed to the brim, I blink like a cat who just woke up from a nap.