Tonight is my date with Lowell.
We chatted briefly on the app this morning. Lowell suggested we both think about where we want to have dinner tonight. We’ll reconnect on the app at lunch so that he can firm up a reservation.
I admit I was mildly disappointed that he hadn’t taken the bull by the horns and done that already.
My favorite restaurant in Manhattan is Calvetti’s. I can’t suggest that as the destination for our first date. Marti would tell Dominick all about it. He wouldn’t care, but I want to keep my personal life out of the office.
I walk through the lobby of the building that houses the offices of Modica Wealth Management.
The day I came for an interview, I was impressed with the polished marble floor and the reception desk crafted from imported wood. It was the first time I’d ever stepped foot in a building like this in New York City. Now, it feels like my second home.
I stroll to the bank of elevators, all the while planning out my outfit for the evening.
I’ll wear the black lace dress that Lynn showed me last night. I fell in love with it immediately. I’m going to cinch it at the waist with a thick pink ribbon.
My gaze drops to the shoes of the people standing near me waiting to board the elevator. A pair of bright red heels stands out, but that’s not my style. Tonight, I’m wearing black strappy sandals with low heels. I brought them with me from Buffalo. When I modeled the dress for Sinclair, she dug the shoes out of my closet, insisting they were perfect for my date.
I’m going for a classic, sophisticated look, and I think with the vintage silver necklace and earrings I picked out of my jewelry box, I’ll nail it.
Once the elevator dings its arrival, I crowd into the car with the others who are on their way to earn a living.
Just as the doors start to close, a hand reaches around to stop them in place. “Hold the elevator.”
I’d know that deep voice anywhere.
Mr. Calvetti and I have never arrived at work at precisely the same time.
I assumed he’d be in Boston, taking his time getting out of bed this morning.
I sigh, realizing that I’ll likely have to screen calls from yet another woman who fell under his spell after having sex with him.
As the doors slide back open, he comes into view.
Dressed all in black save for a silver tie, he looks like the devil personified.
My heart races to the point that I fear my cheeks are going to flush pink.
He’s not Lowell. Stop staring.
I silently chant that to myself as he boards the lift, turning his back to me.
As the elevator creeps its way up, people take their leave, rushing out toward their offices.
The crowd thins, and yet, Mr. Calvetti never turns around.
It’s only when we are nearing our floor that he clears his throat. He doesn’t turn around. There’s no acknowledgment that he knows I’m standing behind him before he says in a clipped tone, “I’d like my coffee in...”
“Ten minutes,” I finish his sentence. “I’ll get that for you, sir.”
The two people still on this ride with us make small talk as Mr. Calvetti shifts slightly so he can glance over his shoulder at me. He rakes me from head-to-toe taking in the powder blue dress I’m wearing under a red blazer.
“Thank you, Miss Voss.”
As he turns back to face the elevator doors, a smile blooms on my lips. “You’re welcome.”
***
I’ve packed more into this workday than I thought I would, and I still have two hours to go before I’m off the clock.
I returned close to three dozen emails. I spoke to four potential clients and five clients that Mr. Calvetti has had for years. I also arranged several important meetings for him later this week while I reorganized the top drawer of my desk.
The best part of my day so far is that I haven’t had to lie to any women about passing along messages to my boss.
Since I made the executive decision that I needed an extra boost of caffeine to get me through the next sixty minutes, I snuck back to the break room to grab a mug of coffee and a chocolate bar from the vending machine.
This will tide me over until I meet Lowell at a seafood restaurant in Times Square tonight. It was a joint decision we made when we chatted on the app during my lunch break.
As soon as I reach my desk, the phone starts ringing.
I check which line is calling. I pick up the call, thankful that it’s coming from the reception desk in the lobby and not Mr. Calvetti’s office.
I don’t want him to assign me anything that will keep me here past six tonight. I need time to get ready for my date.