17. Katherine
17
KATHERINE
Roman escorts me to the office, and I think about Shon’s words the entire way.
Is she right? Was I subconsciously worried about one of them winning over the other?
I don’t think so. That part of the evening is hazy, but I distinctly remember an overwhelming desire for both of them to save face. For there to be no winner and no loser.
But now, as I push my way through a sea of humanity, I’m glad I didn’t find out who would have come out on top. I don’t ever want to know. In fact, I don’t even want to think about it.
It’s raining, again, which suits my mood. That doesn’t stop a handful of photographers from loitering on the sidewalk in front of my office building. The lobby is crowded as people rush to work.
Shon’s second choice in footwear is perfect. The black stiletto heels have a ring of silver spikes around the edge, and they make me feel like a total badass. It’s likely the only way I’m going to survive the day when I really just want to go back to my apartment and be all cozy and carefree.
But cozy and carefree don’t pay the bills, so here I am, jockeying for a spot in the throng waiting for an elevator. A couple of people pay me a little more attention than usual. No one I know, of course. It’s always the strangers who think they know you so well and are all too happy to play armchair quarterback.
Just a little pet peeve of mine.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man lift his hand. Before I can turn my head, Roman’s sliding away from me. He grabs the man’s arm, twisting a phone out of his grasp and shoving him around a corner.
A murmur sweeps through the crowd, and several heads pivot my way.
“Ain’t you that two million dollar girl?” a guy holding an armful of donut boxes asks. “Too rich for my blood.”
The man next to him snickers.
I keep my expression carefully neutral and slowly turn to see where Roman is. I don’t want to be in the elevator alone with these guys. My fingers relax around my purse straps when I see Roman’s dark-clad body around the corner.
The elevator behind me dings, and the doors open.
“Too good to talk to us, too,” the donut man says, sort of elbowing the guy next to him. Typical. No one ever wants to stand alone while harassing someone. They need a pack. A posse. A horde to help carry the pitchforks.
Roman calls my name and I turn to find him standing on an empty elevator, staring down the mass.
I glance at the man hiding behind the boxes. “My name is Katherine Montgomery. How would you like it if I called you Donut Dude?”
His jaw drops, but I don’t wait for a response. I don’t expect or want one from someone like him.
I step in next to Roman and breathe a sigh of relief when the doors close, and we’re soaring skyward.
“Thank you,” I say, relishing the quiet and peace of having an elevator all to myself.
“No problem.”
Ding.
The doors open, and I battle my nerves as we step onto the dull gray carpet. A cloud of lemon-scented furniture polish assaults my nose. The entire building needs a facelift, but my grandfather wouldn’t hear of it. He said the place had history. I think he didn’t care for change.
We pass a half dozen cubicles, then a series of desks that flank offices. My assistant is at her desk, glaring down her nose at her monitor.
“Good morning, Charlotte.”
“Good morning, Miss Montgomery.” She pushes away from her desk, and her gaze flicks to Roman. Her brows lift as she smooths a hand down her skirt.
“This is Roman Castrillo. He’s here to keep an eye on me.” I offer Roman a small smile. “Roman, Charlotte Rossi.”
He gives her a nod as she murmurs pleasantries, but his attention is everywhere all at once. Her attention is squarely on him.
I peg Charlotte as in her early forties. She came with the job and does good work, doesn’t gossip, and never fails to alert me when my mother is on her way down. And she’s taken great care of the little philodendron I gave her last Christmas.
“Charlotte, can you have a chair brought by? Something comfortable? Not those bony metal atrocities from the lounge. You can camp in my office until then,” I tell Roman.
“I can stand.”
He pulls his shoulders back, and I swear I hear Charlotte’s thighs clench.
“Suit yourself.” I turn for my door and my tiny bit of sanctuary in an often turbulent sea.
She grabs a stack of memos from the corner of her desk and scurries in behind me. Always efficient, she gets my tea going and then turns to me with the messages as I’m getting settled in.
I rub a finger between my eyes and fight back a growl. Then I hold up a hand, silencing her. “Which three are most urgent?”
“Your ten and eleven o’clock canceled. Mr. Brinkley wants to see you ASAP, as does HR.” I’m not surprised that my boss is in the queue. Or human resources, for that matter. My moment in the spotlight has no doubt ruffled plenty of feathers.
“Great,” I grumble, standing in front of the windows, staring out at the skyline. “Nothing from my mother?”
“You asked for the most urgent three.”
My frown lifts.
“You’re the best,” I tell her as she brings my tea. “Would you close the door on your way out? Thanks.”
Alone in my office, I settle in my rolling chair and take a deep breath. Outside, the city is gray and dreary, a caricature that falls flat and lifeless. I wish I could pinpoint the moment that coming to the office stopped being exciting.
There was a time in my childhood when I wanted nothing more than to be exactly like my mother. Dressing to the nines, always smelling amazing, her name on everyone’s lips. She was so clever, and everyone liked her. Or so I’d thought.
Ah, the rose-colored glasses of youth.
Can I do this for the next thirty years?
My stomach clenches.
I reach for my tea, eyeing the worn carpet. I tried my best to give my little corner of the world a facelift.
My desk is new. The heavy contemporary piece was a gift to myself when I started working here because I’d hoped the combination of metal, glass and polished wood would liven the place up. Some soothing artwork and, of course, my favorite plants also help.
But that’s the problem. Everything about Chanler & Cort is old. Old-fashioned. Worse. It feels lifeless. Dying.
Does anyone else see what I see?
My mind races with ideas and plans, ways to perk things up. To breathe fresh life into a sinking ship. Grandfather was happy with things so long as he was making money. But surely he’d seen the growth drying up.
Maybe he’d been too old and out of his mind to care.
Do I care?
I don’t think I’ve ever wondered that before and it’s as if a lightbulb goes off above my head, filling me with warm heat.
Swapping my teacup for my cellphone, I pull up my texts. My mother’s name is third from the top, and my heart seizes.
That’s not a normal response. I breathe through it. One deep breath. Hold. Let it out. Hold. I can’t hide from her forever. I know that.
But I also don’t know how to move forward with her.
How do you trust a person who’s shown you who they truly are over and over again?
And at what point is enough enough?
I’m full of questions this morning and type out another to my bestie.
Katherine: did you ever think about anything other than law?
Shon’s response is immediate.
Shon: not really. . . it fits, you know?
True. My girl’s smart, loves her research, bossy when she needs to be, and can hold her own in any discussion. She once had an argument with a squirrel who kept trying to steal our pretzels, and I’m pretty sure she won because the squirrel ran up his tree and left us alone for the rest of the afternoon.
Her answer brings a fresh round of numbness. And not in the blissed-out, Gabe-just-gave-me-the-most-amazing-orgasm kind of way. This is that blank space feeling I got when my mother went behind my back and signed me up for the auction.
Which reminds me. Charlotte said nothing about my weekend, which has definitely earned her a bonus in my book.
This is the kind of numbness that creeps in slowly but oh-so-surely until there’s nothing left.
Shon: what’s wrong?
Shon: do I need to come kick some booty?
I chuckle, my fingers hovering over the virtual keyboard.
Katherine: fine. just tired. day’s only started.
Shon: tell one of those fine ass men to come give you an O to wake you up.
Katherine: Os put me to sleep.
Shon: sad face emoji
Katherine: boss wants to see me. HR too. face with rolling eyes emoji
I put the phone down, turn on my computer and give myself a quick mental pep talk. I’m a smart, capable woman. Maybe if I repeat that a few hundred times, it’ll sink in.
Before I pull up the calendar I share with Charlotte, I reach for my phone and ask one more question.
Katherine: have you ever heard of a slut era?