My Rusty Van Owns This Street

Summary

When the sign-in sheet finally made its way to me, someone had already taken a red pen to my name.

Kat Miller — Unemployed.

I stared at the jagged, hasty scrawl. I didn’t erase it.

Rick stood in the center of the private dining room, microphone in hand, the gold watch on his wrist catching the light with a tacky, aggressive glare.

"Alright, alright! Ten years, people! Let’s do a roll call!"

"Is Kat here yet?"

Twenty-something pairs of eyes swiveled in my direction.

I pulled out the chair in the corner—the one without a name card—and sat down.