“Well …” she begins again.
“Well, nothing. Whatever he wants can wait, thank you, Lizzie.” I’m just about to hang up when I hear a commotion coming from down the hallway.
“I told you, Car, something is wrong. Maybe you should spend less time reprimanding me and pay attention to what is going on around you. She doesn’t belong here,” she warns.
My fist clenching the phone, I bring the mouthpiece to my lips as I rotate the earpiece away from my range of hearing. I’m not interested in what else Lizzie has to say.
“You’re right, she doesn’t belong here, that’s why I don’t plan on keeping her here for long,” I say as I slam the phone down.
Chapter17
Sienna
I must be cursed. That, or I am out of my Goddamn mind. If I’m being honest with myself at this present moment, I think it’s safe to say that I am probably both.
The fact that I had such a visceral attraction toward Carmine last night at the bar solidifies the ill-fated feeling I now have as I reflect on the last twenty-four hours. Granted, that was before I knew the fucker was my boss. But still, what are the chances my first night in the city I meet someone who ignites such carnal desire and curiosity in me, only to find out that he is the one who sought me out, and even worse, knew who I was the whole time he played coy?
Ah, I could strangle him for being so deceptive. He knew exactly who I was when I saw him last night, yet he still insisted on playing his games with me.
My head has been spinning as I try to piece together moments from last night and this morning with Carmine that I pay no attention to the button Natasha pressed in the elevator. As the doors open, my ears are met with an abundance of noises. Phones ringing endlessly, people talking amongst themselves, printers and fax machines chirping. All causing my head to begin hurting before we make it out of the elevator.
Assuming we are headed to Natasha’s office, I continue to follow her through the sea of curious onlookers who sit in their cramped cubicles as we walk by. Not much taller than myself, Natasha practically disappears amongst the tall half-walls that surround each of the desks we pass, creating a claustrophobic hallway. If it wasn’t for the distinct grey of Natasha’s tightly wrapped bun she has secured to the top of her head, she would disappear in the crowd of employees we pass by.
Oblivious to the inquisitive eyes that gawk at us, Natasha continues her new employee spiel as I trail slightly behind her.
“Okay, so, I went over all the basic info, if you need me to repeat anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” she says.
Yes, if you don’t mind, I need all of it repeated, because I retained none of it. Thanks.
“Thank you, I will,” I lie, following her into what looks more like a dressing room than the bland Human Resources office space I was expecting.
“Excellent,” she says as she leads the way into a brightly lit room that reminds me of a boutique that I went to years ago with Mama. A mannequin with a tape measurer wrapped around the bodice stands in front of rows of carefully curated garment racks.
Natasha walks past the racks of clothes as she reaches for a pen on the sewing table that was hidden amongst the garments hanging. She lifts the clip of the board in her hands, placing the pen beneath it. “While you fill this out, I will grab Elaine so she can confirm your measurements.”
“Measurements?” I ask.
She raises her softly wrinkled brow. “Yes, your measurements. Didn’t Mr. Moretti tell you?”
I squeeze the clipboard in my hands, bringing it closer to my chest, wishing it was Carmine’s head. I want to shout at her in my frustration because this man has told me nothing, and even if he did, I feel like everything that comes out of his smug mouth is a lie, anyway.
Reading my exasperated expression, she places her wrinkled hand on my arm. With slight pressure, she brings my arm down so the clipboard is once more in front of me, where I can see it, and not clenched against me.
“I take it he didn’t tell you,” she says warmly.
I shake my head, unable to speak through the frustration I feel.
“Your presence has been requested this evening at the Halloween Gala, Ms. Ricci.”
“The gala?”
She releases her grip on my arm and walks to the sewing desk, where she retrieved the pen from earlier, and toward the intercom that rests on the corner of the table. Her head bobs around, looking for this woman, Elaine, I assume.
“She must be in the back storage room. Hold on a second, let me ring her.” She presses the intercom button as a loud beeping noise comes through the speaker.
Before Natasha can say anything, a voice says, “I’ll be right up.”
Natasha nods and presses the button once more. “Thank you.”
