Chapter 5—Willow
I apologize to everyone I push through as I exit the elevator and speedwalk to my desk.
I know Spencer is going to come yell at me, and I just hope I can switch out my shoes before he does.
I might still wear the heels I hate because they’re too small, but I brought my beat-up old tennis shoes to walk to and from the office.
I decided Sunday night when the girls and I were setting out our clothes for the week that I’d rather have comfort for as long as I can.
I won’t splurge on a new pair of shoes for at least another two weeks.
I need to make the most of what I have and teach the girls that sometimes life isn’t comfortable, but you get through it.
As soon as I put my bag and lunch on my desk, Missy pops up. “Where have you been?” she whispers conspiratorially. “Spencer was looking for you earlier.”
Of course he already knows I’m late. Probably wanting that file I already shared with Mr. Leone.
“The bus broke down on the way to the girls’ school. We had to walk the last few blocks, and it wasn’t easy with Ivy’s class project.”
I like New York, but today isn’t one of the days I love it. I don’t blame the bus for breaking down. You never expect it, but it happens. Doesn’t mean it didn’t royally mess up my morning.
No, I blame the people who wouldn’t get out of the way when Ivy was walking toward them.
It was clear she needed the space as she carried her diorama, but they kept huffing and puffing.
It got so bad I didn’t even mind when Lily started calling them out on it.
She became the “moving van,” as she called herself, walking just in front of Ivy and saying “Moooove” to every single person we passed with zero shame.
If anyone tried to speak to my child about her actions, I just gave them my best mean-mom glare, and they shut up and kept walking.
I’ve perfected it over the years since I became a mother.
Missy frowns at the mention of the girls, her heart on her sleeve as always. “Are they okay?”
“Fine. Just frazzled.” Like their mother, but I leave that part out as I take off my jacket. The mornings are always a little cooler than the afternoons, and I pack for all the comforts of the day just in case. “What’d I miss?”
“Spencer came by.” I nod, already knowing as much. “And Mr. Leone was looking for you.”
I stop cold as I move to put on my heels. “He was?” I look at her with wide eyes.
She nods. “Spencer came over the second Mr. Leone asked about you, and they walked off to the elevators. That was about twenty minutes ago. Why do you think he was looking for you?”
I shake my head. I don’t know—not for sure.
I could guess, but I don’t voice my thoughts out loud, and Missy sits back down after I shrug and goes back to tapping away on her computer.
I pull my laptop out of my bag, but that’s as far as I get before I plop down in my chair.
I stare into space, trying to figure out what it could mean for Mr. Leone to come looking for me.
Bobby.
He told me to call him that, but that was Saturday.
When he said we were friends. Are we still friends, or was that just during dinner with the girls?
I’m not sure. And I really don’t want to ask him, especially in public, because that would lead to other questions.
Like why we were together in the first place.
And why I thought it was wise to bring a strange man into my home with my little girls there.
Valid questions, though the answers are both simple and complicated.
Did he just want to go over the files again, or was it something else?
Did I make him feel uncomfortable at dinner?
I know what my home is like and what we have and don’t have.
From his town car to the laces on his shoes, it’s obvious we live in two very different tax brackets.
But he didn’t seem to mind, or at least he hid it well if he did.
Maybe he’s afraid I’m going to tell people we spent time together out of the office. I’m sure he doesn’t want some random gossip that he’s dating a single mom who works as a part-time employee in his company. He probably just wants to make sure I’m not expecting anything else from him.
Which I’m not. Much to the chagrin of my daughters. They thought Bobby was the perfect friend for me. Apparently, I have none, if you ask them.
“Get your hands off me.”
The entire floor turns toward the elevator to see Spencer storming off in a huff, followed by two men in suits.
They’re bulky through the shoulders as if they were football linemen.
Each of them has one of those earpiece things that looks like it connects to some old corded phone but only goes under their suit and not to a phone line.
The company logo is on their breast pocket.
These aren’t the same men in the grey cotton uniforms who open the door and sign us in downstairs.
This is the security team that I’ve seen every now and again when they’re doing sweeps in the building for something.
No one ever knows what they’re looking for, but we all know not to get in their way.
These are “officers” with a gun and pepper spray or whatever else is stuffed under their jackets, whereas the others just wear the uniform and nothing else.
Spencer marches to his office and slams the door shut. The two men who followed him stand outside it, as if they’re on guard.
For a prisoner.
I look at Missy, whose wide eyes match mine, before the ding of the elevator pulls everyone’s attention again. It’s so quiet in here that the usual ambient noise of the elevator opening draws the focus.
My breath stalls in my chest as I see Marco walk out, followed by three more armed security officers.
They make their way to Spencer’s office, but not before Marco turns his head in my direction and gives me a nod.
I feel myself shrink a bit as everyone looks at me as if I can give them answers. But I have no clue what’s going on.
Marco walks into the office and shuts the door behind him, leaving everyone else outside.
A few coworkers stand and start quietly gossiping about what they suspect is going on.
But when we hear a crash, followed by a bang on the door, everyone is quick to close their lips and watch, as if the entire wall might come down and we could see what’s happening.
We wait with bated breath. A second later, Marco opens the door and steps aside to let the officers in.
They say some muffled words and then handcuff Spencer.
I can barely see from the angle I’m at, but when they take him out, there’s no mistaking his split lip and left eye that’s starting to swell.
A few people gasp. I might have been one of them, but I’m too shell-shocked by this actually happening at my place of work to do more than watch while my mouth hangs open, just like half the office, as our boss is escorted out.
“Ms. Frazzer.” Marco’s deep voice pulls my eyes quickly to his. I’m so focused on watching Spencer being perp-walked out of the office, I didn’t even notice him coming over to me. “Mr. Leone would like a moment of your time. Please bring your stuff.”
I blanch at his words. Am I about to be fired?
Handcuffed? Was discovering the money issue something I should be more worried about?
You hear about things like that. People discover things they aren’t meant to, and they go missing.
Or worse, get blamed for it. I can’t leave my girls.
They can’t go live with their father. They just can’t.
“All of it?” I squeak out, fear heavy in my voice.
He glances at my stuff and shakes his head. “Just your laptop should suffice.”
I let out the breath I was holding and move quickly. I hadn’t even powered my laptop on yet, too focused on the drama of the day and being late, so all I need to do is unplug it from the cable.
Oh God, is it about me being late?
I don’t miss Missy watching me a second before I look down, only then realizing I’m still in my tennis shoes. Too late to do anything about it now, so I just follow Marco into the elevator.
“You can breathe.”
My eyes find Marco’s in the elevator’s reflection as we both turn to face the front. He stands in front of me, as he allowed me to enter first.
I huff out a breath, accompanied by an awkward smile. “Is this the part where you tell me your boss isn’t as bad as the rumors say?”
He shakes his head and then turns enough to see me square on. He looks me over, noting my shoes with a small twitch of his lips before looking back at my face. “But I’ve got a feeling you can handle him.”
That makes one of us.
He turns back around, and neither of us speaks again. Nor does the elevator stop as we make our way up to the top floor, which I know belongs to Mr. Leone.
When the doors open, Marco steps out just enough to block the door from closing, holding it open for me with an arm gesture to go ahead, mocking me like I know where to go.
Unlike the last time, the floor is busy with people moving back and forth, and not one of them pays me any attention as I walk to the end of the hall.
“Name?” someone barks at me from the desk across from Mr. Leone’s closed office door.
I was so focused on getting to the door, I overlooked his secretary.
A man who could put any fashion guru to the test with the way he wears a white crisp shirt and purple ascot.
His face is all angles—from his nose and chin to his cheekbones.
He looks pissed but poised. If The Devil Wears Prada was missing a character, he was it.
A practical twin to that Emily character, with sharp facial features and dark red hair cut and styled to perfection.
“Mr. Leone asked Ms. Frazzer to come see him at her first available moment.” Marco speaks for me.
I side-eye Marco. If I’d known that, I would have stopped to change shoes. I don’t miss his lip twitch, as if he can read my thoughts, as I stare at the man who seems to be more than just a driver to Mr. Leone.
“He’s on a call” is all the secretary says, not sparing either of us a look as he continues to type on his computer.
Marco nods before putting his hand on my back for a second to guide me to one of the two chairs, the same ones he sat in the last time I was here.
We wait just long enough for me to chew my entire thumbnail down to nothing while I tap my foot nonstop before the secretary tells us we can go in.
I stand and wait for Marco to stand as well. He looks at me and shakes his head. “Boss didn’t ask to see me.”
Right. I’ve got this.
I take a steadying breath, then straighten out my shirt as I hold my laptop in my other hand. Holding my head as high as I can, I walk toward the closed door. I knock once and then poke my head in when no one speaks.
I look around quickly, noting it’s only Mr. Leone in here, sitting at his desk with his face down over whatever he’s writing. He seems so focused that I don’t want to interrupt him, but going back out seems silly.
So, I make myself known. “I was told you wanted to see me?”
Is it bad that I hope one look at my face will make him deny his claim and I can go back to the seventh floor?
“Please come in.” He rises quickly, buttoning his suit jacket and gesturing for me to enter before he even looks at me fully. “Can I get you something to drink? Eat?”
Only then do his eyes take me in as I step inside and close the door behind me. His gaze traveling the length of me shouldn’t faze me as much as it does. So much so that I forget for a moment what he said before I look at the table he’s pointing at.
I should say no, but the sight of several pastries and coffee spread across the table we used last time has my stomach taking notice. It growls loudly, and he chuckles.
“Please, help yourself. I wasn’t able to get breakfast before coming into the office, and Marco tends to over-order. I suspect it’s because he wants the leftovers. Please join me.”
Again, I should decline, but Marco didn’t tell me I had time to change shoes, and for that alone, I want to take his food.
Well, some of it. Breakfast this morning for the girls and me was cereal.
And while we were able to get milk on Sunday, I never find a single bowl of cereal to be that filling.
It’s great for a five- and seven-year-old.
But a twenty-nine-year-old? One bowl doesn’t cut it anymore.
“Thank you.” I set my laptop down on his desk, the only free place to do so, and walk to the table. There isn’t space for it over here unless I move a pastry. Something I’ll do after I’ve had just a little.
“Will you pour us a cup of coffee?”
I’m a little thrown by his question but reel it in enough to nod.
If he were going to fire me, I don’t think he’d ask me to make his coffee.
I actually don’t think I’ve ever had a man ask that of me.
Not even my ex-husband. But he also believed caffeine was for the weak and chose protein shakes of all shapes and sizes. Green grass is yuck for me.
“How do you take it?” I ask as I pour each of us a cup from the pot.
“Black and cream enough to change the color.”
I smile at his description as I focus on my task. I take it that way as well, though with sugar. No sugar in coffee just seems silly to me. The point is to enjoy it, not muddle through it.
“Here you go, sir.” I hold out his cup to him, and he holds out a plate to me.
“And here you are.” He’s loaded it up high with more food than I was thinking of taking. But it matches his own, and I’m grateful he’s kept me from the debate I would have had with myself on whether I should take something or not.
“Thank you.”
He grins and sits. I follow suit and start eating as he does, taking dainty bites like a young lady should and not tearing half of something off in one go like I want. “Lady lessons” I taught the girls play in my mind on repeat, and I almost miss him speaking again.
“And it’s Bobby, if you recall. We’re friends, after all, aren’t we?”
The twinkle in his eyes has my breath catching as I hold the piece of muffin just inches from entering my mouth and dip my chin in slow agreement.
Suddenly, “friends” seems like the least safe thing to be where he’s concerned. Somehow, I think his idea of friendship and mine are completely different.
And I’m just not sure whether I want his version or mine.
If it keeps me from being fired, I’ll take all the friendship I can get.