TWO
By the time I got to work it was almost ten on Wednesday morning, and I felt like turning around and going back home.
Riding into the city on the L was usually almost fun.
I liked seeing all the same faces every morning and talking to people I barely knew.
The problem was we’d had an icy rain that morning that had made everyone soggy and cranky and impatient with the routine inconvenience of being packed together like sardines. Being tired helped nothing either.
On the fifty-ninth floor were the architects who managed individual projects and teams, and oversaw budgets and schedules.
It didn’t seem like the fun part of creation.
There were people who worked on design concepts there as well, but they were mostly there for landscape and interior design.
My boss didn’t have a whole team of people who came up with ideas for him.
His brain would have exploded. He worked best alone.
There were other folks on the lower floor: interns, drafters, IT, the Building Information Modeling team, and those who churned out the technical drawings. There were a ton of administrative assistants and typists there, as well as the marketing department that Dane also wanted nothing to do with.
Lots of people waved as I walked through, and I understood.
I was Dane Harcourt’s assistant, and he was the biggest deal in our firm.
I liked the main floor; it bustled with sound and life.
Up on the sixtieth, it was quieter. That was where the three architects had their offices, along with their assistants and typists, and the accounting and billing department.
When you got off the elevators, the name of the firm was on the wall to either your left or right, and the same was true of the horseshoe-shaped raised marble and glass desk of Piper Dowling.
She was the receptionist who transferred the calls to one of the partners once they’d been screened by the main desk downstairs that was manned by four people.
There was a lovely seating area there, all leather club chairs, vintage desk lamps with warm amber lighting, thick rugs, and the giant electric fireplace that now, in the fall, was going all the time.
After walking around behind her desk, I stood there and shook like a dog while I took off my topcoat and stamped my feet. Piper turned in her ridiculous burgundy leather swivel chair that looked like it belonged to the lord of the manor to watch me, giggling the whole time.
“What?” I asked, looking over at her. She was a vision, like she was every morning, all big honey-blonde curls, soft blue eyes, and flawless makeup that accentuated her peaches-and-cream complexion.
“You look really good all wet, angel.”
I shot her a look that sent her into peals of snorting laughter. When she recovered, she let me know that the coffee was still hot in the break room.
Walking the length of the enormous suite, I passed Miles Brown’s office, got a wave from Celia Johnson, his assistant, and his typist, whose name I could never remember, then by Sherman Cogan’s office, and got a two-handed wave from Jill Kincaid and a big smile from Lainey Riotta, his typist.
“Morning,” Sonja Lawson called out to me as I ducked into the entryway of Dane’s office, smiling at me from her desk as I walked by.
“Hey,” I greeted her, smiling. “How are you this morning?”
She shrugged, and I stopped before I hung up my coat on the vintage hat rack.
“You all right?” I found myself asking before I could stop myself.
I didn’t really care what was wrong; I found her altogether boring.
She didn’t date, didn’t buy designer clothes or shoes from thrift stores, and most importantly, didn’t watch any of the same shows I did. We had absolutely zilch in common.
“Well, we’re coming up on three months, J, and I still don’t know if I’m staying here permanently or not.”
I had no idea either.
“I mean, the only reason I’m even here is because his office is ten times busier than any of the other partners’. Everybody wants him to do their homes, not Mr. Cogan or Mr. Brown.”
“Sherman Cogan is a landscape architect, Sonja.” I sighed, having explained that to her, like, a million times. “And Miles Brown’s an interior designer. They don’t all do the same thing.”
“No, I know, but Dane’s office is the busiest because he’s the best.”
As usual, she didn’t get why that was, the differences between what they all did, but I was too tired to go over it again, so I just let it go.
“Jory, I want to stay here.”
“Yeah, I know.” She’d only told me that every single day since she started. From the day Dane had come into the office and she had looked up from her desk into his cool gray eyes…from that moment she had wanted to stay.
She sighed heavily. “I love everybody here.”
I knew exactly who it was she loved and wanted to be loved by in return.
“Jory, please.”
“The decision has nothing to do with me.” I shook as much water off my coat as I could before walking over to my desk, squishing the whole way.
“What’d you do, swim to work?” She chuckled, momentarily distracted from her campaign to stay in Dane’s office.
I grunted. “Yeah, it felt like that.”
“You know what I’d really like?”
“I have no idea.” I looked over at her.
“Your job.” She smiled big.
“And what would I do?”
“My job.”
“Yeah, right. Can you even imagine me being cute and perky all day long?”
She laughed at me as I cocked an eyebrow for her benefit. I gave her a lot of credit for the smile she kept plastered on her face for eight hours a day. No way was I capable of such forced charm. My job had more wiggle room to be bitchy.
I got to contact clients, sit in on initial meetings, go with my boss to clients’ homes, and make sure no one without an appointment ever got to see Dane Harcourt in the flesh.
I also made a lot of trips to the dry cleaners and ordered flowers for whomever he was dating at the time.
Picking out birthday and Christmas presents also seemed to be in my job description.
I didn’t particularly mind that, though—it was fun.
Besides, I liked it when people complimented Dane on his taste and he had no idea what the hell they were talking about, because he’d forgotten to ask me what I’d bought.
Since I carried a platinum American Express card with my name on it, and I was the one who reconciled his statement, nine times out of ten he had no idea what he had spent or on whom.
It was nice to be trusted implicitly, and I found that I was somewhat addicted to it.
When Sonja’s intercom buzzed suddenly and an annoyed voice asked her if I had arrived yet, I was amazed at how quickly all my good feelings fled.
“Yes, I have,” I answered loudly, letting out a deep breath and raking my fingers through my damp mane before flopping down into my chair
“Come in here now,” Dane snapped brusquely, and the intercom went dead. I groaned loudly.
“Shhh,” Sonja warned me.
“Why?”
“He’ll hear you.”
“And if he does?”
“I just think you should be sweet to him.”
I was instantly suspicious. “Why?”
“Because he might have had a long morning.”
“Why?” I repeated, and I could feel my brows drawing together.
“Well,” she began hesitantly, “Therese Warner called, like, an hour ago and told me she was coming by.”
“That wouldn’t do it.” I stood up, fussing with my sweater and my dress pants, checking my shoes, making sure I looked good before I walked into his office. “Unless you let her talk to him.”
Silence, so I looked over at her. She looked guilty as hell.
“Oh shit,” I groaned. “Are you kidding me?”
“What’s the big deal?”
“Sonja,” I whined. “C’mon.”
“I forgot that you told me she wasn’t to be put through.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “So when she told me she was coming by, I asked her if she wanted to speak to Mr. Harcourt.”
“Perfect,” I grumbled. Wednesday was getting better and better. “Anything else you wanna tell me before I go in there?”
“I put Mr. Reid through too.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and counted to ten.
My friend Evan always said that it was about visualization.
You had to imagine your happy place and you would be there instead of in that moment.
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working.
It really wasn’t such a big deal that he was irritated; he was irritated with me ninety percent of the time.
The problem was sitting through the lecture that always followed. The man lived to reiterate my mistakes.
“I’m dead. I’m so dead.”
“Why? It’s my fault, not yours.”
“But I’m responsible for everything that happens to him at work.”
She giggled. “C’mon, J. You’re taking yourself a little seriously right now.”
I shook my head. “No, I mean stuff that has to do with the office, that’s my baby. I’m supposed to make sure things run smoothly here.”
“I don’t think it’s really that big a deal.”
“If you knew him better, you’d know what this is really about.”
“What’s it about?”
“Following directions,” I told her just as the door to Dane’s office opened and he filled the doorway. I couldn’t stifle my groan in time.
“Has the meaning of the word ‘now’ escaped you completely?”
“No, sir,” I mumbled, following him into his office. I was careful to close the door quietly behind me.
“I want you to make arrangements with the temp agency to have Miss Lawson transferred out of this office as soon as possible. I think our contact over there is Darcy something. Call her.”
“Pardon?” That, I hadn’t expected.
“I want her out of my office. Preferably today.” His words were clipped, and really, it was so early for that.
“But she does such a good—”
“I don’t care where she goes,” he said crossly, cutting me off. “I just want her out of here. She can’t follow simple directions.”
I knew it. Directions. It was a thing with him. Well, to be fair, most bosses liked whatever orders they gave to be adhered to, but that wasn’t what he meant in this instance. Not as it pertained to her.