“Technically, yes,” Nellie said pleasantly, looking at the receptionist. “Physically, I’m standing at the front desk of your lobby, and the receptionist is declining to let me through to the elevator.”
Nellie could almost hear Martha pursing her lips.
“Which receptionist?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t get a name. Dark hair. Lots of… volume.” The receptionist in question was staring at her as if she were a dancing monkey. “She mentioned Sawyer doesn’t like walk-ins, but I think it’s because I’m not wearing a blazer.”
“I see.” Nellie might have been imagining it, but it very much sounded like Martha was trying to bite back a laugh. “Leave it to me. Stay right where you are.”
“You got it.”
She ended the call and smiled at the receptionist again, genuinely this time, in an effort to not look too smug. “Someone’s going to be in touch,” she chirped. “Should just be a second.”
The receptionist narrowed her eyes.
Approximately four seconds later, the phone at the front desk rang.
The receptionist picked it up—already in full professional form, head tilting, the standard greeting beginning—and then she stopped talking. Her eyes, which had been directed at her monitor, widened. They went to the phone receiver, then back up, then over to Nellie, in a very short, involuntary sequence that Nellie had seen before in slightly different contexts, usually when someone received information they had not anticipated. A rapid sequence of nods began. The receptionist’s mouth opened once, to produce what appeared to be the words “of course,” and then opened again for an “absolutely,” and then she was quiet for a further stretch during which her posture underwent a small but marked revision. The composed, architectural confidence of it dropped by about half an inch.
“Yes,” she said, quietly. “Of course. I apologize for the— Yes. Immediately.” She hung up. She looked back at Nellie. The meticulous smile had been replaced by something less frosty and considerably more chastened. “Ms. Fuller.” Her hand went to her keyboard, and this time the keystrokes were real. “I’m so sorry for the confusion. I’ll have a visitor pass printed for you now. Ms. Alburn’s office is on the thirty-eighth floor. You’ll take the elevator bank on your left, the one at the end.” She had already printed the pass, and she extended it across the desk with both hands, as if that had been her intention the entire time. “You’ve been granted full floor access. Martha Chen will meet you when you arrive.”
“Wonderful,” Nellie said. She took the pass. “Thank you so much.”
She swiped her way through the electronic gates and turned toward the elevator bank the receptionist had indicated. Her boots crossed the pale marble without a sound.
The elevator doors opened immediately.
Nellie stepped in and turned to face the lobby. The receptionist was already looking away, a scarlet flush creeping from beneath her starched collar.
The elevator doors slid shut.
She pressed thirty-eight.
Then she pulled out her phone, typed six words in a message to Paloma—“I am in the evil tower”—and grinned at her own reflection in the brushed steel doors as the elevator began, at considerable speed, to rise.
20
CHAPTER 20 – SAWYER
Martha knocked twice, opened the door, and there was Nellie Fuller standing in the frame of it, canvas bag on one shoulder, boots still carrying what appeared to be traces of the northern slope, and braid slightly windswept, probably from having Dolores’ windows open on the drive over. She was looking absolutely, infuriatingly, perfectly like her chaotic self.
“Ms. Fuller,” Martha said, the corner of her mouth twitching as if holding back an I-saw-this-coming smile was causing her physical pain.
“Thank you, Martha,” Sawyer said.
Martha went back to her desk. The door didn’t quite close.
Sawyer crossed the room in long strides, reached past Nellie’s shoulder, and shut it herself. Then she moved to the long glass wall that faced the open floor—the one through which forty-odd members of her executive team could, if so inclined, observe her running the company—and drew the blinds. When she turned back, Nellie was still standing approximately where she’d left her, watching the process with her head tilted, eyebrowup, the canvas bag slipping an inch off her shoulder. Sawyer closed the remaining distance and kissed her.
Nellie made a small, surprised sound against her mouth, then dropped the bag entirely and kissed her back, hands coming up to grip the lapels of Sawyer’s jacket. It lasted considerably longer than she had originally intended.
When they came up for air, Nellie’s eyes were wide and her bottom lip was slightly bitten.
“Hi,” she breathed.
“Hi.” Sawyer stepped back. “That was my congratulations. For winning our little deal.”
“I haven’t won yet,” Nellie said, immediately. The automatic modesty of it was almost charming. “Technically, the county board hasn’t?—”
