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of her mother. Mama warned that no matter what dream she chose over sensibility it would end badly because of her immaturity.
    And there was no real justification for her return to the Waldorf. The man clearly wasn’t interested. The Battaglias wouldn’t give her the job she sought. All that awaited her would be drama. 
    What made her desire to connect with men physically instead of emotionally? What made her throwaway years of the best schooling to chase her dreams? She sighed. The cab raced from one light to the next. Music in a foreign language burped out of the speaker system and the stale odor of the cramped backseat filled her nose. Kyra tightened her coat around her and stared out of the cab window. She wanted to see Renaldo again. Talk to him. Why not? He was charming, mysterious, and sexy. And if the office gossip was true he was also dangerous.
    Tonight she couldn’t walk away without a fight. He was the way in.
    The cab weaved in and out of traffic, only slamming on the brakes when they reached the next traffic light. Kyra opened her purse. She removed her mirror compact case and dabbed on a fresh coat of lipstick. She was shocked at the raccoon eyes staring back at her. “Shit!” she wasted tears in front of the man. No wonder he turned her down. She shuffled through her purse trying to find a tissue. She instead found some concealer and tried her best to cover the dark circles under eyes. She refreshed herself with some powder.
    Friday night in New York was filled with people, honking cars, and bright lights. Kyra chuckled to herself. That truly could be said about any night. She looked up at the counter and saw the meter slowly ticked close to forty dollars. She only had sixty to her name. She wouldn’t touch Jamie’s money unless absolutely necessary.
    If it weren’t for the brisk weather she’d have gotten out of the car and took to the sidewalk. In her stupid haste she ran for a cab instead of the car the company had for her that night. Stupid! Kyra looked between the driver’s and passenger seats and through the front passenger window. She could see the lights of the Waldorf. They were close enough. She dug in her purse for her money. “Here! I’ll get out here.”
    She shoved the bills on the man and got out of the car without waiting for change. She closed her coat to the brisk wind and started to march back toward her destiny. Sidewalk traffic bumped her left and right as she hurried. Kyra was grateful for the wind. It blew away any traces of doubt or caution. She hurried up the steps and through the revolving doors of the hotel. The place was grand and polished with its marble floors and huge chandeliers. The first time she arrived her nerves had blinded her to the glamour. As she approached the main reception area it dawned on her that she didn’t have Renaldo’s room number.
    Kyra paused.
    She had to be creative and think of something plausible. She heaved down a big sigh and stepped to a woman at the concierge desk. “Ah, excuse me, hi.”
    “Hello,” the woman said with a smile. “Welcome to the Waldorf Astoria, how can I be of assistance?”
    “My name is Kyra Okeeno. I work for Theodore Tate and the House of Mirabella’s. Tonight we had a private event for the Battaglias on the 41 st floor this evening?” Kyra smiled. She reached in her purse and removed her company identification.
    “Ah yes ma’am, I believe the event has come to a close.”
    “It has. We have the Battaglias on a private floor. I will need key card access. Please.” Kyra sat in the chair before the concierge desk.
    “Well I…” the woman hedged.
    “I am to see to their needs. I will check in on them and then leave. I forgot my key.”
    “Just a minute.” The woman handed back the identification and typed on her keyboard. She reached in her drawer and then punched a key card in a little slot box on the desk.
    “Renaldo Cracchiolo,” Kyra said. “What room is he in?”
    The pretty black woman