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“Too late.”
She giggles, rolls her eyes, and jogs into the building.
On the streets of Boston, there aren’t too many places to have a private conversation. But the weather has kept a lot of people indoors, and building awnings provide enough cover to stay as close to dry as I can. I’m sure I’ll be soaked through by the end of the conversation, though. The rain is blowing a little sideways today, and it’s icy because my day couldn’t possibly get worse.
I dial them up and, to my surprise, a man answers. I’d expected to go round robin on a phone tree system like every other place I call. “Chamberlain Museum. How may I direct your call?”
“Uh, well, I’m not sure. I was at the auction last Friday, and?—
“Please hold, and I will connect you to our auction acquisitions department.”
“But—"
Nope. Hold music. I huff a puff of foggy air in frustration. This is already going wrong.
“Acquisitions, Miranda speaking.”
“Yes, hi. I was there for the auction?—"
“And you’re missing an item? Your name?”
“June Devlin, but I?—"
“You’re not in our system. Did you win or lose your bid?”
I groan my irritation. “Neither. I was there for the first auction and the second one. If you catch my drift.”
“I am afraid I do not. There was only one auction here last Friday. A silent one. Are you certain you have the right establishment?”
I want to scream at her, but it’s entirely possible she has no idea what I’m talking about. “Does a man named Cesar work there? He knows all about this.”
“No one by that name, I’m afraid.”
“Fuck.” I lean on the brick building behind me.
“There is no need for that kind of language?—"
“Sorry, sorry. That wasn’t directed at you. Thanks for your help.” I hang up and want to throw my phone, but I can’t because it’s expensive and unless I get my money, I cannot afford to go throwing phones around.
I need my money. My life cannot change without it. Moreover, I earned it, dammit. And at this point, it’s the principle of the matter. How dare they set this up so that people who need money the most get taken advantage of by people who can afford it the most? This is just wrong, and I’m not standing for it.
A quick Google search tells me something I didn’t want to know. Anderson West’s family firm is within walking distance of my office. I’m marching down the sidewalk before I can talk myself out of this.
I hate when people show up unannounced to see me. It is one of my top five stress triggers. An unexpected knock at my door, a phone ringing, a text from an unknown number, any time someone tries to get my attention without some kind of warning, it all makes me flash back to when Anderson used to sneak up and pop my bra strap, and I fucking hate it.
So, I’m going to sneak up and pop his metaphorical bra strap.
By the time I reach his father’s steel and glass building, I’m soggy and I don’t give a shit. I’m so pissed off I might actually spit nails at Anderson. But I’ll have to get past the security desk first. Two guards, both guys, one younger than me, and the other a few years older. They’re wearing that cocky grin guys get when they look at a dirty magazine and are huddled over something interesting on the younger one’s phone. The moment they notice me, the younger one shuts it off.
Great. Two horned up guys, and I need to get something from them. Huh. Good afternoon. Sorry to bother you?—"
“Who are you here to see?”
“Anderson West, but it’s a surprise. Is there any way you can skip buzzing up?”
“I’m afraid not, miss. Protocol.”
“Of course. I understand. It’s just that … if you buzz up,” I heave my shoulders and let my voice shake as I quietly tell them, “then the surprise is ruined, and I’m already running late because of this awful weather.” I untie my trench coat and my thin sweater dress is clinging to me, garnering their full attention. “I’ve never done this before, and I’m going to get fired if I ruin the surprise.”
