ALIANA

I’m standing in the middle of a glass-and-steel building that smells like new paint, expensive ambition, and money that can't be afforded by anyone;

Jenna turns in a slow circle, heels clicking against polished concrete.

“Okay,” she says. “If you don’t take this one, I’m disowning you.”

I laugh. “You don’t even own me.”

“I emotionally own you,” she replies. “Different thing.”

The building is the fourth one today.

Correction — the fourth after I already narrowed it down from twelve.

I rub my temple. “I don’t need five buildings.”

“You don’t need them,” Jenna says patiently, like I’m slow. “You’re choosing them for work purpose. There’s a difference.”...