Making eye contact with Eric, who is still peering in the rearview mirror back at me, I smile. “Hey.”
Keeping a stoic expression, he answers back, “Hey.”
“Done being a dick?” I tease.
He lets out an aggravated sigh. “That depends. Are you done pretending like you care?”
Before I am able to unravel that loaded comment of his, we pull up to Marked Inc. I look out the car window and stare at the modern, nondescript building. Unlike The Sandy Claws’ gothic charm from last night, this building looks boring and sterile, almost.
Back to our silent gig we have going, Eric opens the car door for me as I follow his lead. We make our way through the lobby, which is minimally decorated. Not much to settle the eye on, other than the shiny, marble flooring and a sleek, black desk located by a set of black elevators. I was expecting the lobby to be bustling, kind of like how I remember the lobby of Runway, when Andy had her first day of work in “The Devil Wears Prada.” But there isn’t a soul in the lobby, except for Eric and me.
“Your floor is on the 15th, Mr. Moretti’s floor,” Eric mumbles as he presses the button.
“What was that?” I ask playfully, hoping to warm him up a bit. But to no avail, he isn’t impressed, and instead, remains closed off to me.
When the doors slide open, Eric gestures his hand out for me to get in first. “After you.”
I nod as I walk in, Eric following behind me. I glance over at him, noting he has his hands clasped together at his front as he rocks onto the balls of his feet.
We make awkward eye contact, which brings his rocking motion to a halt.
“Sorry, still working off the booze from last night,” he says with a half-smile.
“You didn’t drink at the bar last night, cut the shit,” I joke.
But he isn’t laughing. In fact, my joke somehow makes him look more upset with me.
“Yea, well, I drank when I got back home by myself.” He rolls his eyes, letting the last part of that sentence linger slowly off his tongue. No doubt, he is trying to make a jab at me for not giving in to his need to hook up.
When we reach the 15thfloor, Eric motions for me to step out of the elevator ahead of him. Just like the empty lobby, this floor is quiet. Too quiet. I walk down the hall with its floor-to-ceiling windows on either side making me feel like I’m suspended midair, instead of walking in an office building.
There is a round reception desk across from the elevators, which I assume is Mr. Moretti’s assistant’s desk. I hear a woman’s voice come from the other side of the desk, which is so high that it’s difficult to make out who is sitting there.
As my heels click closer to the reception area, the woman hangs up the phone before making her way to the front of the desk. She is stunning with her thick, flowing auburn hair with large doe-like eyes. She is wearing a skin-tight dress that hugs her enviable curves.
Despite her beauty, her face remains stone cold, and more notably, she gives Eric a mischievous nod before fixing her gaze back on to me. I can tell from her body language she is irritated by my presence.
“Eric,” she says with another nod, this time more flirtatious than the first. Another moment passes before she acknowledges my presence.
Great, I’m back in high school. Except, this time, the mean girl is a fucking model.
“You must be Sienna.” She quickly scans me up and down. “I’m Lizzie.”
“Yes, nice to meet you,” I say, reaching out my hand for her to shake. Except, she doesn’t. The disdain seeping from her pores is palpable.
“You’re late,” she hisses. “You should have been here ten minutes ago, but you can take that up with Carmine.”
For someone who seems to be such a stickler for the rules, she seems unusually comfortable calling her boss by his first name. Her smirk, while rolling his name off her tongue, suggested that she may be more than just a receptionist.
“Follow me this way.” She remains cold as she motions her hand for me to follow her down the hallway to the office door.
Before she heads toward Mr. Moretti’s office, she looks back at Eric, who is standing with his hands in his pockets.
“Don’t you go anywhere; I’ll be there to help you once I take care of her.” She winks at Eric, who suddenly refuses to make eye contact with me.
Just outside of Mr. Moretti’s office door, she knocks once, not waiting for a response before she takes it upon herself to swing the door open. She sways her hips exaggeratedly into the office, where Mr. Moretti, upon first glance, is nowhere to be found. As we enter the office, I scan the room when I notice a high-back chair, where I assume Mr. Moretti is sitting. It is turned, overlooking the expansive windows that line the entire area behind his desk.
I expect the chair to swivel in our direction, since the collective clacking of our heels, as well as the door swinging open, should make it obvious enough that he is not alone anymore. However, his chair remains facing away from us. Lizzie walks over and leans over whispering something in his ear, not breaking eye contact with me. I remain in the threshold of the doorway, waiting.
