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I sighed. “I know, but it’s best to go in person for this.”
Ransom’s face deflated. “I need to get you away from those soul-sucking people.”
I squinted at him with one eye. “Dramatic much?”
He rolled his eyes. “Here you can just be yourself and you’ll fit right in. They’ll love you as much as I do.”
I was a little stunned for a moment, thinking I heard him say something that he couldn’t have said. “Okay, Chief. Whatever you say.”
He harrumphed and ignored me. “I’ll pick you up from the airport tomorrow. Just focus on that.”
A tear slipped down my cheek as I smiled. “You’re a good friend. Probably the best ever.”
His lips pulled up to one side. “Back atcha. Now stop burning yourself, go get your errand done, and then pack. Don’t make Edgar wait.”
I giggled. “The driver’s name is Edgar? Oh my God! I love that!”
He shook his head at me. “I knew you would. Now get!”
I snickered. Ransom was too good to me. Granted, he was flying me to Minnesota, the land of lakes and fresh air, but it could be Siberia and I wouldn’t care so long as I was with him.
Shaking my head, I stopped myself cold. I was not getting my head into a place where I believed anything about what Ransom was doing meant he had romantic feelings for me. I knew better. I’d seen who he’d dated before. Models and stick figures. No one who looked anything like me.
Cursing without caring who heard, I finished curling my hair with a technique that ensured I no longer had fingerprints and sweated so profusely that I almost needed another shower. So, I went over to the window and popped it up, letting the fifty-degree temperatures drift in and cool me enough to layer up. I wondered why it didn’t have a screen covering it, but beggars couldn’t be choosers here in Manhattan. If you could find an affordable place, you took it however it was. As I sat on the window ledge fanning myself and trying not to notice the drop below me, I wondered what led me to be right here right now. Probably my grandmother telling me I couldn’t my last year of high school.
Raising her delicate eyebrow, she sneered. “You’ll never amount to anything anyway. At least not until you can get that weight under control. Seriously, Phoebe, when are you going to take care of that?”
I glared at the gruff woman who seemed to despise me. “Take care of it? I’m bigger-boned like Mom’s side of the family was. What do you expect, surgery to shave my bones?”
She huffed. “Bone doesn’t squish,” she said pinching my muffin top. “Get a gym membership or something. Work out and get healthy.”
Slapping her hand away from me, I shook my head. “Who says I’m not healthy? I’ve had blood work done. I don’t even have high cholesterol. I exercise and lift weights with Ransom. The weight is just part of me.”
She turned away. “Not a part anyone wants to see.”
Yep, that’s probably what took me to the opposite side of the country. When my grandmother called me a fat ass as my dad nursed a tumbler of scotch staring into space. So, I left and became the writer I always wanted to be. But the worst part was how my mind continued to replay the old conversations in my head. I wished I could just forget them and move on.
A shiver reminded me it was time to dress. After I slathered on my makeup, I pulled off my robe and tugged on a cute navy dress with puffy sleeves that covered my elbows and had an empire waist. The low V-neck showed enough cleavage to be interesting and the A-line skirt came to just above my knee.
Checking the mirror again, I looked up at the picture of my mother for strength. I hoped she would be proud of me. Today, I almost believed she would be.
The moment I left the building, I enjoyed the bite of the wind as I made my way to the offices for Fresh Faces, the fashion magazine of the twenty-first century, or some garbage. Keeping my head down, I avoided the stares and glares I felt as I pushed forward. No matter what these pricks thought as they ducked away from me, you couldn’t catch fat like a cold.
When I pushed through the revolving doors, I kept my focus on getting upstairs. I strode to the elevator and pushed the call button. With a ding, I stood back, waited for the car to empty, then stepped on.
Pressing thirty-two, I prepared myself for the long ride of starting and stopping all the way up to the office. I stayed in the corner away from the buttons to try to avoid contact with as many people as possible. I was now in model territory and actively being judged as others entered the elevator car. Trying to steel myself for the incoming glares, I focused on the ceiling for a while, then the safety warning in front of me, and then my shoes.
The more people pressed into the elevator, the less I believed I could do this. Stares, increasingly louder comments, and scrunched faces made me disembark two floors early. I’d take the stairs. I didn’t care anymore. It was too much.
On the staircase, I shucked my scarf and coat.
Once I reached the thirty-second floor, I caught my breath and darted to the ladies’ room. I leaned on the white vanity, taking a deep breath of the lavender aroma that always filled the bathroom. Taking a couple paper towels, I patted at the sweat beading on my upper lip and forehead. Then I picked up a magazine from the counter and fanned myself with it.
“Oh!” a voice said startled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I squinted at her. “Interrupt what, Jez? I’m just fanning myself. Took the stairs.”
Jezebel, one of the secretaries to the layout editor, gasped. “The whole way?”
