Two
The revolving door glides around after I pass through it, returning to work at Layton Interiors. I’ve left my gown with Roxie. She wants to tighten in that barely-there back. Probably so my ass doesn’t fall out next weekend and shame us both, or maybe even cost her a job.
Roxie is a personal assistant at the ultra-posh Hall and Brexton enterprises down the road. A dominating, entrepreneurial kingdom of two men. The name is known for its luxurious import shops. Stores where, if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it.
Alas, I’m but a lowly accountant and sometimes designer for an interior decorating business.
We only know each other because we met at a bar four years ago. We got wasted, complained about boy problems and our crappy lives, and have been joined at the hip ever since. Sometimes, when she convinces me, I go as her plus one to events in lieu of a boyfriend. This highly exclusive charity gala included — one which will be hosted by Hall and Brexton.
I’m still wary about going due to the inevitable circumstances now looming over my head. He has to be getting out soon. I’ve tried not to think about it all day, especially while dress shopping, but the moment of being alone is making the nerves at the base of my neck pinch.
I’ll have to check Google later for a status update. My stomach churns at the idea.
I smooth out my pencil skirt while I make my way to reception, brushing the thoughts aside as my pumps click on the lacquered wood floor.
“Hey, Kitty.” I greet my work wife, biting back a snort as she dives into an éclair. “Indulging in the food of champions, I see.”
“Mmm.” The sound is disgruntled, her natural come-hither tone dipping low. “Comfort food,” she says through a mouthful.
My brows meld together. “Why, your lunch date go bad?”
“He never showed.” She stands, smoothing out her smartly tailored burgundy suit dress. “Stupid bastard encourages me to get all dressed up, promises me sushi, and then never shows.” The corners of her baby blue eyes turn downward. Her line of vision drops to the floor with a head slump.
“Ouch.” I grimace. “Sorry, sweetheart.” I feel horrible for her, because Kitty is the sweetest soul I’ve met in this life. A classic buxom blonde out of a 40s flick with a heart of gold. “Some idiots don’t know a good thing when they see one.”
She says nothing. Instead, her piercing gaze meets mine, and she sizes me up. “You look tired.”
I sigh. “Don’t start.” I hate hearing that from anyone. She knows this.
“Fine then, I won’t.” She ducks her head, giggling. “What does your dress look like? Did Roxie pick out something daring?”
“You know it.” I gaze skyward. “What else does she force me to buy? It does look good, though.”
“Still jealous you snagged an invite.” She slicks back a flyaway near her forehead. Humidity isn’t cooperating with the natural wavy locks she tries to banish. “I think I’ve hit up every decent single suit in town, and no luck.”
“Yeah? Keep in mind, I’m going with a girl, and one who could put Giselle to shame at that. Plus, I’ll be hiding the whole time. No one will notice me.”
“Ha.” She picks up a manila folder from her desk. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.” Her ever-immaculate French manicure flashes when passing off the folder. “Mr. L wants to talk with you.”
“The big man himself, huh?” I peek inside at the job I’m about to take on. Looks like I need to find a chic vase, and a new Moroccan style coffee table for a little side job I’m doing. One of my favorite shops comes to mind. I make a note to call the owner when I have a chance, but Mr. Layton is first. I head for the elevators. “I’ll catch ya later, Kitty. You free for tea later?”
“Maybe.” She flashes a smile and bids a quick goodbye as the phone rings.
I round the corner, disappearing behind the sleek wall of black gleaming tile and come to the elevator door. The button lights up, then a chime follows.
Rising to the third level, I finger comb my medium length chestnut locks, not spending much time on it, since the waves will do what they want. Besides applying some powder from my compact, that’s about all I can do. There’s no food or sleeping available at present, unfortunately. I wonder how refreshed I look since I’ve been running on neither. Hopefully my olive skin and green eyes hide the fact that I passed the empty mark on R&R long ago.
After reaching the third floor, I take a hard right, and knock on the only door here.
“Come in, Liv.”
I obey the summoning, turning the knob and stepping inside to see him standing in a spacious monochrome office of navy blue.
Stories of how people get nervous while meeting with their boss fail to resonate with me. I love coming here. The kind man and his serene color pallet act like a Xanax to the soul. Soothing, relaxing, and a remedy for high blood pressure.
“You just missed someone important.” The jacket to his pinstriped suit is unbuttoned and reveals his impeccable matching vest. Aging skin around his eyes fold with a smile. “You want coffee?”
“No. Thank you.” I shake my head and smile. Ever informal. More like a dad. I love it. “You wanted to see me?”
“You’ve heard of the new high-rise apartments being constructed?” He points to a paper on his desk.
“You mean, near Olive Way?” I ask, going for the nearest wing-back seat. “I think a lot of folks have.” Those apartments are going for an arm, a leg, and your firstborn. Nothing I could ever dream to afford. I sink down in the padded seat, thankful for the comfort after a jostling taxi ride.
“Yes,” he says, circling around to his desk. “Someone bought the top floor last week.” Manicured hands adjust the slipping frames on his nose. “The owner of the penthouse wants us to decorate and furnish the place. Top to bottom. And Olivia?”
“Yes?” The darkening in his question sends my fingers clamping around the hemline of my skirt, his pregnant pause doing nothing to distill the apprehension floating in the air.
“I want you to oversee it all.”
My heart plummets to my stomach, before leaping up in my throat. “You-you … what?” I lose my breath at his happy nod.
It’s the opportunity of my dreams, but me?
“Sir, I haven’t enough experience. I don’t—”
“You have great style, Liv.” Faint lines around his eyes deepen with a smile. “Think of it as a promotion—a well-deserved one after your work last summer. I’m gently booting you from accounting.” He reclines farther into his office chair. “Someone with your taste shouldn’t be overlooked.”
A promotion. Wetness in my gaze blurs the room as I stare across the desk at Mr. L.
I’m for sure not living my dream—that died so, so long ago. However, what I’m being handed now is beyond my expectations after having to rebuild the scraps of life.
I have friends, a place I feel secure at, co-workers I talk to who know nothing about all the hell that broke loose. And it all happens in a building that stays pretty much under the radar. More than I could ever hope for five years back—and this promotion is the pinnacle of my new existence.