3:10 PM. The Hartwell library. I sat at an empty table in the back corner, a calculus textbook open in front of me that I wasn't reading. My phone screen displayed the message I'd sent at 2:45 PM.
To: DO NOT CONTACT UNLESS EMERGENCY - Library. 3 PM. Tutoring.
Read at 2:47 PM.
Ten minutes ago, I'd called her number. It rang twice before going straight to voicemail. The universal sign of "I saw your call and actively chose to ignore you."
Professional.
I tried Harlow next. Voicemail. Right. Fashion Club meeting. I'd literally just organized her schedule and already forgot.
So this is the game she's playing.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling tiles that probably contained more asbestos than the EPA would find comfortable. Seven previous assistants had quit. Seven people who'd probably started exactly where I was now, sitting in an empty library, waiting for Cassidy Valentine to show up to something she had zero intention of attending.
