8. Chapter 8
Ifound myself a blundering mess on the day of the meeting with Victoria. I’d spent the previous night putting the finishing touches on the bridesmaids” jackets. They’d looked good before, but I’d decided to add some rosettes. The jackets looked amazing now; the tiny flowers rounded out the names beautifully, but I hadn’t gotten to bed until after one in the morning.
I was running on coffee and adrenaline. I spilled the aforementioned coffee on my sweater, deleted an important document, and nearly forgot to attend a meeting. When I wasn’t a walking, talking disaster, I stared into space, rolled a pen, or studied the notes I was supposed to take, only to find I’d been doodling with calligraphy instead. I couldn’t stop fretting about the meeting.
It had been a little over two weeks since I’d found out the client I’d agreed to take over was none other than Victoria Atteridge, and the questions in my brain had only gotten louder by the day.
What if she knew I wasn’t Hailey?
What if she put a whole truckload of work on me that I couldn’t handle?
What if my skills didn’t match her expectations?
The saving grace of the day was Beck’s absence. I enjoyed a quiet, non-competitive swim and meetings without snarky remarks. I did find myself looking over to his usual spot. Frequent sights of his empty chair made me realize I looked in his direction way too often. And, if I was honest, the morning dragged without that secretive smirk of his or the one-eyebrow raise he used as a question mark.
With the afternoon blocked out on the calendar as personal PTO, I left and made the short drive to The Atteridge’s corporate office. I’d seen the building before, tall and shining as if to say we do important things here just by the translucence of the windows, but I’d never noticed thesubtle Atteridge over the doorway.
A secretary checked me in. Judging by the languid once-over, she seemed skeptical that Victoria would have a meeting with the likes of me—which, okay. That stung. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn the maxi skirt clad in daisies.
Now worried about my situation and my outfit, I rode up to the eleventh floor in an elevator with mirrors as immaculately clean as the exterior of the building. Did the window washers also clean the elevators? The quality of work and attention to detail astounded me.
The view of myself, however clear, was not the prettiest. I’d lost some coloring, my already pale face paling. My freckles practically popped out like a jump scare. A rogue strand of hair fell across my face, but I held a box of the newest projects—the pane of glass, jean jackets, and lantern—so I couldn’t smooth it into place. Instead, I tried blowing it back into submission.
I’d just blown the strand to the side when the elevator dinged. The eleventh floor seemed to follow the theme of the rest of the corporate office: shiny. Chrome and mirrors detailed every surface. A set of white couches sat on a fluffy rug, a cloud of comfort in all the steely, almost sterile, space. On the couch, one person waited with their back turned to me.
In front of the waiting area, a receptionist sat behind her glass desk. “How may I help you?” she purred.
If the lobby-level receptionist was the gatekeeper, this one was the hostess warm with a plate of cookies.
“Hi,” I answered, shifting the weight of the box in my hands. “I’m Hailey Lane, Victoria’s twelve-thirty.”
A chrome vase filled with white roses reflected my image, saying liar, liar, liar.
“Okay, Hailey. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
I went to nod my thanks to her, but the person on the couch behind her stood and turned. My mouth went dry.
Because standing there in one of his perfectly pressed shirts was Beckett—Beck, Senior-level Asshole, looking at me, mouth ajar, a brow cocked.
At least he looked as shocked to see me as I was to see him.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, voice low but demanding. I got closer to him, trying to keep out of earshot of the receptionist.
“Waiting to meet with my sister.” He pointed to the large door beyond the sitting area.
“Your sister?”
Then it hit me.
Beckett A.
Not asshole, as it turns out.
But Atteridge.
Beckett fucking Atteridge.
I feared I’d turn black and white like a fifties sitcom if any more color drained from my face.
“Victoria is your sister?” I squeaked, unable to manage anything else utterly intelligible.
My thoughts tangled in an incoherent mess. Of all the cruel jokes played by the universe, this took the cake.
He nodded, then cocked his head to the side. “Why are you here? And why did you introduce yourself as Hailey?”
Shit.
The door beyond the sitting area opened. Its gargantuan height reminded me of the door before a boss fight in a video game. I’d never been any good at games.
A woman in a pencil skirt and a billowy, sophisticated blouse held open the door. Her brown curls spilled out of a clip. Same color and texture as Beck’s. And then there was the sharp jaw and eyebrows. She was Beck’s sister, alright. Victoria Atteridge.
“Hailey?” she asked.
I tried my best to smile. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak just yet.
“Come on in.” Then she looked at Beck. “I promise, you’re next. This is the last one.”
I looked back at Beck, who stared like he was seeing me for the first time. He was seconds away from sounding the alarm. And why wouldn’t he? His personal pain in the ass stood in his sister’s office, claiming to be someone else. He could out me. He should out me. Ruin all my plans with one sentence: She’s not who she says she is.
He held all the power.
Victoria looked between Beck and me, sensing the tension.
“Do you two . . .” Victoria started, “. . . know each other?”
“Please be cool about this,” I whispered.
A moment passed, and I could see the questions on his brow, the conflict nearly molten in his irises. Those eyes didn’t leave me as he answered his sister. “We’re . . . old friends,” he finally said. He looked at me like he could read my thoughts if he tried hard enough. “We were just catching up.”
“It was nice to see you again,” I said to Beck, my voice sounding like a robot because I apparently had no chill.
Victoria turned as someone in her office asked her a question. I took the halt in conversation to try and move past Beck and the incredibly awkward situation I’d placed myself in, but before I could get by, Beck’s hand wrapped around my elbow.
“Tomorrow, at work,” he said with calm authority, “you’re explaining everything, Hailey.”
He let go, and I walked toward Victoria’s office on legs that suddenly felt like they belonged to a newborn giraffe.
The meeting with Victoria came upon me like a Texas thunderstorm. Gusts between Victoria and her wedding planner, Amanda, flew by me with such speed and force that I barely had time to respond. They batted back and forth about the timeline and the checklist. All of which were still on schedule, Amanda had said, beaming at me.
Then came the remaining items on the checklist, lighting up the sky with possibilities, only to be followed by the booming doubt in my head, telling me I wouldn’t be able to deliver.
God, Hailey acted like she’d sealed and finished this project by completing the invites, which I’m sure was no easy feat. But she forgot to mention the work for the actual big day: a five-foot mirror for the seating arrangement, place cards, and a collection of signage.
Needless to say, Hailey had left out some items on the to-do list for Victoria’s wedding. I’d been blindsided, but then I bristled at myself. This was so typical of Hailey. She’d always been the kind of child to ask Mom to buy the supplies for the project due the following day, and she’d still ace the damn thing. How could I be mad at Hailey for using the process that always worked for her?
The whole time, I just kept nodding and smiling like an idiot because what other choice did I have? Look confused and overwhelmed that Hailey, whom I’d already introduced myself as, had agreed to all these things? A better, braver person would have fessed up, but I couldn’t find the courage. I realized it had to do with something Victoria lacked. Because, for all their similarities, Victoria did not have the same playful glint in her eyes that Beck had. Though she gave a pleasant enough smile, her eyes told a different story. Her eyes said she was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, and she had to make decisions as such. Strike first and strike hard, Cobra Kai style.
And surely her power reached far. If Beck decided to tell her my real name, would she attack my career? Let The Arlow Group know just how little integrity one of their associates had. It seemed like a stretch, but was it really?
Just in case, I kept my mouth closed and tried to ignore my clammy hands and sweaty brow. I simply had to survive the meeting. Later, I could devise a legitimate excuse for why I couldn’t finish the job. Maybe I’d say I had to take care of a sick relative, or I’d contracted leprosy, or I’d decided to join a convent to atone for all my sins. The last one wasn’t a bad idea at the rate I was going. I’d at least tell her soon, I decided. That way, she’d have time to find someone else to do the job.
Reviewing the contract she’d made with Hailey, I knew two things: one, Victoria could afford anyone in the city for calligraphy services, and two, Hailey owed me a lot of money for taking on this job. The amount only made my anxiety skyrocket. Those numbers said a lot was at stake here.
I couldn’t wait to get far away from Hailey’s deal with these people, that binding contract, and that list of unfinished items. Beck looked up as I exited Victoria’s office, but I fled the scene, riding down the elevator with my back against the wall, heaving in breaths.
As soon as I got to the car, I called Hailey. She needed to know I couldn’t do this job and why.
She answered with a bright, “Hey!”
“So, you know Senior-level Asshole? The one who took my job?”
“Of course. He’s enemy number one.”
“He’s Victoria Atteridge’s brother. He knows I’m lying!”
“What?”
“He was there in another one of his perfect shirts, trying to use Superman vision to read my mind.”
“Superman can’t read minds.”
“You are missing the point!” I screamed at her.
“How about you slow down?”
I did not heed that advice. “Even if he wasn’t there, I can’t do this job, Hailey.” My voice accelerated as I tried to keep up with my racing thoughts. “She needs an experienced team of calligraphers for this job. Not an unseasoned me . . . I have to quit this job and do it soon so she has enough time to find a replacement.”
“Why do you think you can’t do this?” she asked slowly, delicately.
“Because I have a million things going on at work. Because lying makes me uncomfortable. Because I’m out of my league. Because . . . Because I’m not you!”
“You don’t need to be me.”
“Please, please don’t ask me to do this, Hailey.”
Silence stretched between us before she finally conceded. “Okay. I won’t.” I could tell she was trying to hide it, but her disappointment threaded through anyway.
“I’m so sorry,” I choked, the stress of the day getting the best of me. “I know how much your business means to you.”
“Don’t be sorry. It was unfair of me to ask you to do this.”
I felt marginally better after we came up with an excuse for why we had to drop out of the contract. Hailey was prepared to offer a full refund if things got ugly.
But after we hung up, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Victoria’s face when I handed over the three projects I’d brought to the meeting.
Victoria loved the jackets. She’d exclaimed excitedly at the signage and the vibrant sweeps behind her soon-to-be new last name and wedding date. Seeing her stony professionalism break for my art made my heart ascend on hummingbird wings.
When she’d unwrapped the lantern, her face fell to something more reverent. Her fingers ever-so-gently traced the name at the bottom. I knew my lettering and my style inside and out, but I’d had to practice Poppy’s name on paper several times before the paint pen ever touched the lantern. I just felt a lot of love and a lot of pain behind the gesture of the lantern. I wanted to honor that.
As tears welled in Victoria’s eyes, I wondered, not for the first time, who Poppy had been and what had happened to her. I didn’t know anyone in our generation with that name, so I assumed Poppy to be a grandmother, perhaps. Victoria had cleared her throat, eyes still shining as she thanked me.
I dwelled on that moment so much that when I got home, I dove right into the box of hexagon tiles Victoria had sent with me. The soon-to-be place cards were marbled with one half dipped in gold—a beautiful project, just begging to be completed.
And that’s how I spent the evening, ignoring important work emails to finish one last project for Victoria’s wedding.