“It can hear you, you know?”

I flick my head over my shoulder and see one of the new interns, Paul. He's tall and thin. Long arms, even longer legs, with a lean, oblong face. His eyes are brown, and they bulge from the sockets like he's always surprised. There's a bump in the center of his nose, and the tip comes down into a point.

The hem of his pants comes up almost to his ankles, and he looks like he's swimming in his jacket. There's a button missing from his shirt, the second one down from the top, and light wrinkles line the edge. He's carrying a tray of coffees, and awkwardly positioning a pile of folders against his chest.

He's awkward. One of those people who are socially odd, and some have a hard time understanding. Paul's fresh out of college, and is the new gopher of the office. He makes copies, runs errands, and picks up the mail for everyone. He does everything no one else wants to do, all with the hope of landing some permanent position in the future.

Editor, that's what he wants to become, an article editor for some of the opinion pieces we run. Although I highly doubt my boss will ever offer him that position. That's one area that the boss does on his own. And I get it, this place is his creation, his baby, his life. You can feel Mr. Reeves all through the office. There's a tone to the magazine, and Mr. Reeves is going to see it stays that way.

“What are you talking about?” I ask him. I'm not in the mood for small talk, so I don't try to hide the impatience in my voice.

“The elevator, it can hear you. It might not come down if you call it names. It might make you take the stairs.” He laughs.

“Right, okay, well the stairs are out of the question.” I point down at my feet as I say, “I'm already late, so if these doors don't open, I'm going to blame you, and these heels might just come flying your way.”

He smiles, a thin, wriggly smile. “Well, that would be bad for me. I guess you're not only late, but you forgot your sense of humor at home this morning.”

I roll my eyes. “I left it home on purpose.” The doors open and a rush of people get off, almost trampling me in the process. I step to the side, giving them room to go by. The second it's clear, I'm in. I press the number for our floor, and lean against the wall.

After Paul gets in, I lift my finger to push the button to close the doors. “Wait,” he says, and looks out into the foyer. “There's a few more coming. Hold it for them.” I look out and see a handful of people coming toward us.

Sure, why not? I'm not in a rush.

The people load in, and I anxiously watch what floor they hit. I'm going to the twenty-first floor. The less floors between here and there would be great. Of course, luck keeps escaping me.

It feels like the elevator is taking forever, and more and more people keep getting on. It's like we're stopping at every floor in between. My fingers are tapping against my thigh as we're packed like sardines in a tin can.

The elevator dings, the light for the twenty-first floor finally ignites, and I start to push myself forward through everyone else. As the doors open, I attempt to step out, and so does Paul. We bump shoulders, causing him to twist around and face me. At the same time, someone else trying to get on, catches Paul as he almost falls out, and gives him a light shove forward.

“Ah!” I call out as Paul's tray of coffee tumbles forward, spilling all the way down the front of my white blouse.

“I'm so sorry, oh my God, I'm so sorry,” he says apologetically as he pulls a napkin from the tipped tray and attempts to wipe my shirt for me.

I stop him with a firm hand, yanking the napkin out of his fingers. “I got it, thanks.”

“I really am so sorry,” he says.

“It's fine, don't worry about it,” I say. I know it was an accident. And to be honest, I'm not even surprised. It's like the mirror I broke years ago is finally catching up with me, taking seven years of bad luck and cramming it all into one day.

But maybe it's not so bad. The hall for my floor is pretty empty, and it just so happens that a spare shirt in my desk means I'm not going to have to wear this coffee-stained shirt all day.

Thank God I have that shirt. I can't work like this.

On my first day I brought a spare shirt. I wasn't sure what to expect, and I wanted to be ready just in case I dressed too fancy. The shirt's been in my desk ever since. Rolled up and tucked into the back of the bottom drawer, it’s finally come in handy.

Tags: Penny Wylder Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net