A sharp laugh slipped out from the velvet-chaired waiting area.

The receptionist blinked, her expression freezing into a mask of corporate pity. “An interview?”

“Yes. Nora Bellamy. 8:45 with Human Resources.”

She typed something into her sleek monitor, her eyes flicking to my ruined blouse. “You’re late, Ms. Bellamy.”

“I know.”

Her gaze swept over the sludge dripping onto the imported marble. “And there is a strict dress code.”