Pride and Papercuts by Staci Hart

Author:Staci Hart [Hart, Staci]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Staci Hart Novels

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The morning flew by in a rush. Jacob was right—there was always something to do, whether it was loading or unloading the industrial dishwasher or setting dishes out at the window to the cafeteria where we served. Moving lunch to the window or prepping for dinner. Mopping up or wiping down. And I settled into the rhythm with the ease and contentment that came along with busy hands and helping others.

When the lunch hours were over, I made my way back to my bag, checking my phone for the first time in what felt like ages. My plan had been to text Marcus—I’d been looking forward to getting off my feet for a little while now—but instead, I found a string of messages from my mother.

They started off cursory, shifted toward brusque, leaning into impatience before reaching her final stage—infuriation. Was I at my adorable little soup kitchen? How long of a lunch was I taking? Ignoring her wouldn’t get me any favors, she’d reminded me. And the final messages were a string of demands regarding my mandatory presence at a board meeting I’d never heard about.

With a sigh, I gathered my things and said my goodbyes, hurrying to the curb to hail a cab. I’d missed my lunch date with Marcus, too busy to message him, so on my way to whatever doom my mother had in store, I texted Marcus with my apologies and to chat about my day, lamenting over my mother in between. And by the time we pulled up to the building, I’d been sitting still in the quiet cab long enough to leave me exhausted, body and mind.

As I exited the taxi, I gave myself an inward slap to wake myself up.

Who knew what I was about to walk into, but I couldn’t imagine it would be pleasant. Not after ignoring my mother all day.

I wished terribly I was headed anywhere but to her, a wish not quieted by the opening and closing of the elevator doors that gave me glimpses to other floors, happier places. In a particularly mocking gesture, the universe made sure to stop at my floor—the charity floor.

I gave it a longing look until the doors closed again.

That tease was a direct representation of my mother’s intentions—give me a taste of what I wanted before taking it away.

The stark administrative floor hummed, its elitist occupants and the air they breathed sharp with pretentiousness and condescension. There seemed to be a permanent upward tilt of every nose paired with side-eyes and side-talk. Fitting that my mother had hand-picked every employee on this floor. I was sure she felt right at home.

I, on the other hand, felt the slime of this place clinging to me well after I’d gone.

Shelby greeted me, the only decent thing on the entire floor.

The concern on her face was not reassuring.

“She’s been waiting on you to get here. The front desk saw you and called up, so she knows you’re here. I—”

The double doors of

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