Page 106 of Down Bad

And I notice she’s crying.

Silently.

A silent movie of a little schoolgirl crying.

I don’t know what possesses me, other than feeling lost and on the verge of tears myself, but I rush over to the elevators and crouch down by her. “You okay, sweetie? Something wrong?”

She stops sniffling at once and just looks at me, blinking her big reddened eyes.

“I get it,” I tell her, adopting some weird sort of dorky talking-to-children voice, like I’m a character on a corny TV kids show she probably doesn’t even watch. “Today just isn’t the day, is it?”

Her swollen eyes drop to the flowers sticking up out of the top of the box.

“Pretty, huh?” I smile. Then I reach in and slip out one flower from an arrangement, knowing it won’t be missed, and offer it to the girl. She takes it at once, eyes transfixed on the petals. “Keep it. Pretty flower for a pretty girl.” I rethink the sentiment. “Not that we should continue reinforcing this idea that prettiness is the ultimate aspiration. Sure, pretty flowers may sell more, but it’s the interesting ones I like best. They mean more. Trust me, you don’t know this yet, maybe you’ll discover it in college, but it’s a zillion times more valuable to be interesting than pretty.”

“Wish someone told me that back in college,” comes a voice.

I stand at once, nearly dropping my box. A handsome older gentleman in a smart suit with tightly-combed hair and a goatee, smiling warmly at me. The girl rushes right up to him and hugs his leg, then glances at me clutching her flower and books.

“Headed to a certain floor?” he then asks.

“I, uh … yes,” I finally manage to say, “but … no idea which.”

“Company name?”

It takes a second. “Bellamy Events.”

The man lifts his eyebrows. “What a coincidence. Me too.” He smiles again, then pats the girl on the head. “Why don’t you wait for me in the lobby? I shouldn’t be long. Then we’ll get ice cream and head home and totally not tell your mom.”

Her eyes light up like she was never crying. Then she lets go of his legs and starts off, only to stop partway, turn to look back at me, and say, “Thank you for the flower.”

“Stay cool,” I tell her with a wink. She doesn’t know what to do with that, so she just turns away, probably thinks I’m a weirdo, and hurries off.

Then I’m in an elevator with the gentleman, who helpfully pushes the button for floor 7 for me. “Joseph,” he says.

I’m so flustered I don’t realize he’s telling me his name. “Oh. I’m Wyatt. Thank you for directing me to Mr. Bellamy’s floor.”

“You must be Grant’s secret weapon florist he’s mentioned a few times.” He eyes the flowers in my box. “Your work speaks for itself. Elegant. Healthy. Not a wilted petal in sight.” He looks ahead and smirks. “You could make a killing out here in Brookfield.”

I chuckle. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“You should know.” He looks at me. “Your own worth, I mean.”

“Thank you, Joseph.”

“Nice what you did for my niece. She’s been … going through it at school, or so I’ve deduced from as much as I can squeeze out of her. Mean girls,” he says, like that explains the rest.

It kind of does. “I hope her day’s looking up.”

“I hope yours is, too,” he says back.

The elevator dings, then opens. Joseph sees himself out first, but not before smiling back at me over his shoulder, then heading on his way. After this unexpectedly pleasant encounter, I have a pinch of hope I might find Mr. Bellamy in a nice, forgiving mood. He doesn’t even need these flowers until tomorrow.

I should know better than to hope for things.

“I’m a patient man, aren’t I?” Grant asks with that same, lofty tone of voice, stirring a cup of coffee as he leans back against his desk. “I think I’ve demonstrated that enough. Or have I not?”

I already unloaded the flowers. He had some people who came to help me, which I thought was a kindness, until I overheard one of his assistants saying Grant pitied me for not having a team of helpers to do these menial tasks like Brighthouse does. Now we’re in his office, a corner suite with bright windows and two fancy chairs where he likely entertains a businessman or two to a drink as they discuss what to spend their next million on.