“Larry?” Securing the apron strings around her waist, Juliette faced the giant beast of a man dumping greasy onion rings out of the fryer. “I was wondering if I could get an advance on my paycheck this week?”

Twisting enormous hands in his apron, Larry turned to her. “You’re still paying off the last advance I gave you.”

“Then an advance on my next week pay? You know I’m good for it,” she pressed. “I’ve been working here for two years. I’m always on time and I come in every time you guys ask me to.”

“Always on time?” he mumbled with a raised eyebrow.

Juliette grimaced. “Today was an exception. I ran into some complications.”

Larry grunted and went back to scooping onion rings into a paper covered basket. “How much do you need?”

It was a struggle not to look away, to not shift uneasily. “Six thousand.”

Larry’s tiny eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. “Six thousand dollars?”

“You know I’ll pay every penny back!” she cut in hurriedly.

“What the hell do you need six thousand dollars for?”

“Bills,” she semi-lied.

“I don’t have that kind of money,” Larry shot back. “Are you crazy? Do I look like a bank to you?”

Already mortified for having even asked, Juliette bristled. “Well, what about three thousand?”

“No!” he barked. “Get to work.”

Cheeks hot, she spun on her heels and stormed from the kitchen.

The Twin Peaks Hotel was the crème de la crème of luxury and sat nestled in the heart of the city. Its gleaming walls of glass glinted in the fading afternoon light. Sparks sliced down the sharp lines in blinding winks. The building itself rose from a bed of lavish green like a sword jutting from its magnificent hilt. For miles all around, lush hills rose and dipped. Manicured bushes swayed daintily in a breeze that wouldn’t dare be anything but soothing. Even in the winter, the surrounding park and golf course remained the picture of absolute perfection. Back when life had been simple, Juliette had dreamed of renting one of the condos at the very top and entertaining the most exclusive people. She used to drive out with her friends and walk the grounds, chattering on like the world was already hers.

Stupid, she thought now as she shifted the strap on her purse higher and ducked through the staff doors at exactly five.

Unlike the cool scent of lavender, sea breeze, and money wafting through the lobby and corridors, the staff area stank of sweat, harsh cleaners, and desperation. The paint was a little duller there, the carpets a little more rundown. It was the type of place dreams went to die. But it was substantially better than Around the Bend. It was certainly cleaner.

Unhooking her purse from around her shoulders, Juliette marched into the change area and made a beeline through the rows of metal lockers and wooden benches. Her locker was tucked away in the far, left corner, away from the showers, the door, and the bathrooms. The alcove held three other lockers owned by three other women Juliette had never talked to, not once in four years. But she was fine with that. Friends required a level of dedication she didn’t have time for.

Grease and sweat left over from her six hour shift at the diner slicked the dial on her lock as she fumbled to get her locker open. It didn’t seem to matter how hard she tried, the oily sensation never left her skin.

The lock gave with an audible click and she wrenched the metal door open. Her purse was carelessly hung on one of the spare hooks while she kicked off her shoes and reached with her free hand for the maid uniform. The simple gray and white ensemble was a drastic change from her scratchy waitress one. The material was softer and comfortable with a neat little collar that matched the cuffs on the short sleeves. The flat, pearly buttons slipped easily into each hole from hem to throat. She dusted a hand along the front before tying her apron overtop and starting round two of her day.

Being a room attendant took no real brain power, but the manual exertion of it was exhausting.

Most of the customers weren’t too bad, like the older couples who were neat and orderly and only required minimal attending. It was the frat boys, the rich and sleazy assholes who partied hard on their daddy’s dollar and thought they owned the damn world that she couldn’t stand. Walking into one of those rooms always made her want to dress up in a hazmat suit first.

Used condoms, discarded panties with questionable stains, filthy clothes, drug paraphernalia, the stench of sweat, pot, and sex were just some of the things that greeted her when she opened her first room. It was policy to shut the door behind them while they worked, for their own safety as well as the privacy of their clients, but the smell was just unbearable. She wasn’t sure she’d survive being locked up in there.

Going against the rules, she propped the door open with her cart and got to work stuffing everything into trash bags. Personal items were put aside or tossed into the laundry pile. The bed was made, all surfaces wiped down and the floors vacuumed. But it was all done with a quickness she normally didn’t show in her work. Each room would take an hour, two if it was really bad, but she usually took her time and made sure she did everything perfectly.

She didn’t have time for perfect.

Checking the rooms off her clipboard, she grabbed her cart and hurried her way back down through the service elevator. Her foot tapped anxiously on the sheet of metal as she watched the numbers descend.

On five, the doors opened and one of the servers pushed his empty food cart in next to hers. He took ages aligning it perfectly.

“Busy night, huh?” he said unexpectedly as the car started its descent once more.

“Yeah,” she mumbled absently, eyes never steering away from the blinking numbers overhead.

“Are you almost off?” he asked.

She looked at him then, taking in his boyish face, mop of golden brown curls, and sparkling green eyes. Practically still a baby, she thought, judging his age to be roughly nineteen.

“Almost,” she answered.

They approached their level and he let her out first. Juliette propelled her cart straight into the stock room and hurriedly refilled everything she’d used. She emptied the trash, dumped the laundry into the chute and returned her cart to the store room manager, who barely glanced up from his magazine. With five minutes to spare, she bolted towards payroll like her pants were on fire.

“What’s the hurry, chica?”

She ignored the question thrown her way by one of the servers in passing and pumped faster.

Martin, the floor manager and all around douchebag, took his break at midnight and usually didn’t return until six in the morning. If she didn’t catch him before that, she would have to wait to see the accounting clerk and those bastards didn’t come in until nine.

“Martin!” Panting and wheezing, Juliette skidded to a clumsy halt just outside his door and doubled over. “I need to talk to you.”

“You have two minutes,” Martin stated, never once glancing up from his paperwork.

“I need an advance,” she said, staggering in a few steps deeper into the eight by eight room consumed mainly by the metal desk and wall of filing cabinets.

“I’m not payroll,” he muttered.

“No, but they need your verification.”

Round, ruddy face lifted and she was pinned by a pair of sharp, clear blue eyes. “Didn’t you get an advance last week?”

And the week before that, she thought miserably, but didn’t say as much. “It’s an emergency.”

One eye squinted at her warily. “How much?”

“Six,” she said, deciding to go with the high amount and work her way down if he said no.

“Hundred?”

Inwardly, she grimaced. “Thousand.”