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I looked okay, not my best, but it hadn’t been the best year either.
I missed him.
I missed what we had.
And realized on a daily basis what we both did wrong without even realizing it at the time and now had literally no way to contact him.
Whatever, now was not the time.
New job. New life. No thoughts of the past.
I opened up the glass doors to Emory Hotels, the Seattle Flagship for the Pacific Northwest, and walked toward security only to be suddenly stopped by a man in a black suit, black-rimmed glasses, dusty blondish brown hair and a smile that looked like it actually hurt because it was so fake. I mean, even his eyebrows, though really groomed, looked like they were in pain as he kept his eyes as open as humanely possible.
“Hi!”
He didn’t have to yell. I jerked back a bit, not sure if I should hold out my hand, wave, run, or call security.
I tilted my head, was he lost? “Um, yeah hi.”
I tried to politely sidestep him.
He moved with me, then chuckled, his hands held out a bit, was his thumb shaking? He quickly shoved them into the pockets of his black trousers and flashed me another fully white-toothed painful grin, then awkwardly shoved his black glasses up his nose at least twice before clearing his throat like he was catching a cold or was seconds away from pulling out a hanky most likely with his initials on it. “So.”
I almost said: How ‘bout those Mariners?
Because really, other than the weather, what did this odd man want? My kidneys?
“I’m Dustin.” He nodded emphatically, like I should know who he was. “From HR and Marketing at Emory Hotels and well I wear a lot of hats, beanies, socks…” He laughed at his own joke, I simply stared in disbelief. “In the er… company, and I’m here to give you your employee badge, go over everything HR sent and introduce you to the team.” He jerked at the badge around his neck and tapped it. “See? Laminated. We’re fancy.”
Wow, maybe this would be poor life choice number five hundred and seventy billion because if this was the guy that they sent down for orientation…
He lifted his arm partially into the air before I stopped him by saying. “Please, if there’s a company cheer, I don’t think this is the place to shout it.”
He looked around. “Right and yeah, we change it every season based on the boss’s mood, real great company to work for though, not stressful at all.”
I frowned. “Did both your eyes just twitch at the same time?”
“Never!” He blinked and turned around. “So we’ll just hop onto the elevator and go to floor number thirteen.” He shuddered. “We use it for the interns, so you get the unlucky number and future of knowing that you can only go up from there, but sitting in cursed silence is the only way to obtain it.”
My jaw dropped.
“Sorry.” He coughed into his hand. “I tend to overshare, probably why I can’t make it past forty-seven, I mean, son of a bitch, is it too much to ask to just make it past forty-seven?”
The elevator doors closed as he hit number thirteen like he wanted the button to break.
I took a few steps away from him and leaned against the wall. “What’s past forty-seven?”
He gawked at me, his glasses slid down his nose again. “What’s past forty-seven? That’s like what’s asking what happens when you die, my friend. Anything past forty-seven is like getting handed a brand-new car, a million dollar bonus, a free puppy, food for life, and the best of all—“
I waited for it.
He nodded his head, his light eyes misting. “Validation.”
“From God?” I guessed, okay who was this guy, for real, was this a test?
He visibly paled. “Almost, almost.”
Maybe in the end I’d think back and go hmm, red flag or green?
