6. Now
SIX
now
After the initial pang of heartache subsides, I’m pissed .
“Egotistical, heartless, self-absorbed, yuppie son of a?—”
I turn toward Bryant Park and start the six-block schlep to Idealogue. A decent ad agency with a horrible name. After working there for sixteen months, the play on words still makes me roll my eyes every morning.
But I’m just an assistant. What do I know?
Idealogue has five floors of prime Midtown real estate. And I have to admit, our building is one of my favorites. Forty stories of translucent blue glass that gleam from every angle, reflecting the cloudless morning.
But I couldn’t be less in the mood for gorgeous pre-fall weather.
I manage not to trip in my heels as I hurry through the gray granite lobby, flashing my security badge at the front desk. My stomach growls as the elevators ascend, reminding me that I forgot to grab my usual bagel on my way into the building. I try to ignore the hunger pangs while I smooth the front of my black sheath dress and pick lint off the hem.
Idealogue’s third level features a mix of splashy colors and modern lines. It’s reserved for “rising stars”—ad execs with a few big accounts under their belts who are still clawing their way up the ranks. In addition to their own office pods, each one also has an assistant.
I work for Marjorie. With an attitude for miles and a mind as sharp as her claws, my boss perfectly embodies the word “ambition.” She’s always dressed to kill and has a way with young up-and-coming CEOs. Over the summer, she snagged six new accounts, all with presidents under thirty-five.
I take my seat in front of her office pod just in time. Three minutes later, her Louboutin’s echo off the elevator platform. The cobalt heels contrast her asymmetrical, neon-yellow dress but match the dyed ends of her black hair. The spikey gold choker around her neck gives a fashionable air of danger.
I do my best to smile as she approaches, but my heart isn’t in it.
“Has Parker been by this morning?” she demands, walking right past me.
I jump to my feet and scramble after her. “Um, no,” I admit, hanging her red YSL bag on the hook next to her door. One glance across the office space tells me Parker is late; his lights are still off. “He’s not in yet.”
Marjorie rolls her almond-shaped eyes. “Figures. Men. They come in later, go home earlier, and still take 95 percent of the credit.”
Men. They ruin your life, break your heart, ignore your existence, and then buy the building across from yours just to put their name all over it .
I don’t say it out loud, but my face does.
Marjorie pauses, tweaking up her tweezed black brows. “You’re not your usual perky self today,”
With a single nod, she tosses a credit card at me and turns away to fire up her computer. “I like it. Take my card. Go get us a round of coffee, on me.”
By the time I hike to Starbucks and back, I somehow calm myself down. I decide not to let Grayson’s company business ruin my big day. I worked hard on this book—I want to be excited about it.
I feel excited. Tingly, even…
Though that may just be the extra caffeine from my cold brew.
After dropping Marjorie’s regular order off on her desk, I slip back out to mine and dive into my call list. Six messages later, Parker approaches out of the corner of my eye.
Yesterday, I might have gotten a thrill from him coming toward me. Most women would. He’s undeniably handsome—blond, with warm hazel eyes and a strong, stocky build. He always wears a pair of black brow-line reading glasses while he works, and he tends to favor eclectic business attire.
Today, his hunter green vest and tweed slacks make me think of fall. I feel a pang. Autumn is always the hardest season for me… aside from Christmas.
Swallowing hard, I force a grin. “Good morning, Parker! Looking for Marjorie?”
Parker has a habit of sitting on the edge of my desk. It used to bother me, but I’ve gotten used to the intrusion… along with the way my stomach flips whenever he grins back at me. “Looking for you, actually. ”
I try to sneak a deep breath. You knew this was coming , I coach internally. He’s been flirting with you for months .
I even consulted my therapist about him on several occasions. Dr. Laura encourages it—in my self-imposed limbo, I haven’t gone out with anyone in almost three years. She thinks a casual date would be a good exercise for me.
Oblivious, Parker goes on, still smiling. “I’m wondering—are you free for lunch tomorrow?”