His Secret, Her Salvation

The security guard at the Grand Orion Hotel stopped me cold, demanding an invitation I didn' t have.

My simple suit and comfortable shoes screamed that I didn' t belong, and his dismissive glance confirmed it.

Then came the grating voice I knew too well: Brendan Riley, my former supervisor, flanked by his snickering sycophant, Kevin Miller.

They oozed smug superiority, relishing the sight of me, the unemployed junior marketing assistant he' d unjustly fired a month ago, standing humiliated at the hotel entrance.