Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
The elevator arrives on the twentieth floor, and then we step out together.
“This way,” he says with a nod of his head.
We turn left, heading down a short hall that opens up to a large antechamber.
I follow after the security guard, slightly amazed at how beautiful everything is up here. There’s none of the starkness of the lobby. Here, the walls are paneled and painted a glossy gray blue. Plush leather chairs sit around low-slung coffee tables with trendy unlacquered brass chandeliers hanging overhead. There’s art too: sculptures and large-scale paintings. One in particular depicts a ship on rough waters. I’d love to get a closer look if I had the time.
The security guard waves me forward impatiently, toward a desk positioned in the center of the room where a pretty blonde woman sits, smiling up at me. She’s wearing cool aquamarine glasses and a black headset. When she slides it off, I catch a small hearing aid tucked discreetly behind her ear. Her fingers are covered in rings and her sweater has a tiny succulent embroidered over her heart. It’s clear she loves plants. Her desk is littered with them. One ivy in particular is starting to wind down the leg of her desk.
“Thanks, Ted,” she says, waving to the security guard.
He nods at us both before heading back toward the elevators.
“So you’re Elizabeth,” the blonde woman says when I turn back to face her, making no attempt to hide her once-over of me.
I force a smile even though I feel slightly caught off guard.
“Oh, duh, sorry. I’m April,” she adds with a huge smile. “We talked on the phone a while back? I’m one of Walt’s assistants. I man the desk.”
“April!” I say as the pieces click into place.
She laughs. “Yup.”
“Cool. It’s nice to put a face to the name.”
“Ditto. I mean, I’ve seen the photos of you and Walt, but I mean, yeah, I can totally see it now that you’re here in person.”
I frown like I’m missing something. “See what?”
She shrugs. “Just…the whole thing.” She waves her hand up and down the length of me. “I can see why he stuck that huge rock on your finger. I mean look at that thing. Is it heavy?”
I brush my thumb over my ring self-consciously. “No. I’ve gotten used to it.”
“I’m not sure if he told you, but he picked it out himself. Had me set up the appointment with the jeweler, but that’s it.” She shrugs. “I think he did a really good job.”
I nod, unsure of what I’m supposed to say to that bit of information.
“Right, well, I won’t keep you. Looks like you’re on a mission.” She nods toward the pair of paneled mahogany doors to the left. “Head on in.”
I gulp like I’m about to face the boss at the end of a video game. I look from the doors back to April as if hoping she’ll be able to help me somehow, but she’s already turned back to her computer.
Great.
I force my feet forward one step at a time until I reach Walt’s office.
I’m about to turn the handle when I think better of it and knock instead.
“Come in,” Walt says, his voice barely audible through the thick doors.
I turn the handle and push the door open to find my husband sitting behind his desk, his attention on his computer.
“Elizabeth,” he says, without even looking up at me.
He’s not the least bit surprised to find me here, which means someone called up to alert him of my arrival. I’ll bet it was the security guard downstairs. Clearly, her loyalties lie with the man signing her checks. Can’t say I blame her.
“Are you busy?”
“I’m always busy,” he says, typing something.
His response irks me into action. I step into his office fully, close the door behind me, and retort with, “Well too bad.”
“Is that lunch for me?”
“It might be—if you’re nice.”
His gaze finally flits to me, and he unravels a lopsided smile. “I’m always nice.”
I snort to prove how off base that comment is.
He leans back in his chair, assessing me now. I hate how confident he looks behind that fancy ol’ desk, how little my presence has thrown him off. I wanted to have the upper hand for a moment, but it seems that won’t be the case.
“Why’d you come to my office? Just to bring me lunch?”
“Well that, and I haven’t seen you all week. You seem intent on being here all day every day, so I thought I’d come to you.”
“I do sleep at the apartment,” he points out, as if wanting me to know.
“Is that an invitation?” I ask, not quite recognizing this version of myself. His eyes spark with something, and I smile innocently. “Just kidding.”
God this is hard. My survival instincts want me to abort my mission and run right back to the apartment. I could hide in the library, work on my art, and never have to worry about putting my heart on the line.