47

Rita

I stand outside of a chic office building in downtown Dallas, willing myself not to sweat as I hide in the shade. I'm in an outfit Scar bought me for this occasion—all designer, all absurdly expensive, but too flattering not to wear. The garment bag appeared on the back of my door yesterday, and while I was tempted to throw it back in his face, I have to admit that it was an incredibly sweet gesture.

And says a lot about how well he knows me. Considering everything fits like it was tailored to my body.

Also, I look great. That helps.

I'm nervous. I want to march in there, head held high, ready to live up to Scar's expectations and nail this interview. He offered to do some mock practice sessions, but I told him no thanks. I figured I'd only end up crying if we did that, and besides, I already sat through one interview with him already. That's more than enough for a lifetime.

Now that I'm here, I'm tempted to turn around and go back to the apartment.

I don't have to go in that bui