Page 52 of Mr. Perfect

Just the tippy top of this world where Mac exists. I get in one of the glass-walled elevators and take in the scenery as we ascend. I’ve never paid much attention to the building while on the elevator before. Usually when I come up here it’s for a meeting I’d rather not be at. But now… this is my new world.

Well, for another week, anyway. I’m still quitting.

But it’s nice while it lasts. I really have to hand it to Stonewall Senior. He made Stonewall Entertainment a very nice place to work. And even though I didn’t enjoy many of the perks over the years since I was out at the airport, I appreciate the fact that he went to so much trouble to make work pleasant for his employees.

I probably could've walked up faster, that’s how long it takes to stop at every floor, but then I’d be all sweaty and out of breath when I saw Mac. So I stand patiently as people get on and off, and when we finally do reach the seventh floor, it’s just me getting off.

I smile at Stephanie as I approach the corner offices and she nods as she talks on the phone. Mac’s door is closed, but mine isn’t. So that’s where I go.

My office is bright and cheery. I absolutely love it. It’s so me. How did he know what style furniture I like? The white writing desk has an antique finish that complements the shabby chic feel of the place. I drop my purse on the desk and sink into the leather chair. It’s not as big as Mac’s, but it’s far better suited to a woman and this office. And it feels wonderful on my back.

I have to shake my head a little as I picture my old office down at the airport. The metal desk, the creaky chair. I never spent much time down there because it just wasn’t a place you wanted to be. Walking guests around campus was better than being in that depressing space all day.

A knock at my door pulls me back to attention and my heart flutters for a moment as I call out a cheery, “Come in!”

Mac opens the door connecting our office, walks in, closes it, and then takes a seat in one of the two chairs in front of my desk. He crosses a foot over his knee and leans back, looking a little blasé and cool as he folds his hands in his lap.

And even though I’m the one sitting behind the desk and he is the one sitting in front of it, I suddenly feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office. “Um,” I say. “Is everything OK?”

He smiles, but it’s not the charming smile I’ve come to expect from Mac. “How was your weekend?” he asks.

“It was nice,” I say, immediately suspicious. “How was yours?”

“Oh,” he says, picking a piece of lint off his light gray suit and then smoothing the fabric with a brushing motion. “Slightly boring.”

I’m relieved. “So you didn’t take anyone else out in my place?” I ask, hinting around for answers.

“No,” he says. “Nope. Sure didn’t. Just sat at home in my apartment. Looking out the window. Talked to an old friend last night though. That was enlightening.”

“Oh,” I say, getting another very weird vibe from him. “Did you learn something new?” His silence is making me uncomfortable. It’s making me feel like I did something wrong.

“I did. In fact, my friend said he was in Vegas this weekend. Were you in Vegas this weekend, Ellie?”

I shake my head with a smile. “Nope. I sure wasn’t.”

“Well, that’s interesting. Because my friend said he saw Andrew Manco there demonstrating some tech thing at a conference.”

Shit. “Mac, I never said—”

“I realize that,” he interrupts. “I absolutely realize that, Ellie. You never said it, you never confirmed it, I was the one who made up the weekend with Andrew. So not that I give a fuck anymore, but who were you with this weekend?”

Not that I give a fuck anymore? What the hell is that? His tone has turned hostile and I squirm in my chair a little. “I wasn’t with anyone. I was just at home alone.”

“So you lied to me.” His manner is clipped and quick.

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” he says, almost growling the words. “And you know what, Ellie? Whatever the reason was that you didn’t want to see me this weekend, I would’ve been OK with it if it had been the truth. But I can’t deal with liars. I’ve had a lot of experience with lies in my life and I don’t put up with it. Not even small ones. So whatever your reason was for lying to me, I don’t care. I’m only in your office to give you this.”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small gift wrapped in white paper and tied up with a pink satin ribbon. He places it on the desk and pushes it away from him with one finger. Like it’s toxic and he doesn’t want to touch it.

“Do whatever you want with it,” Mac says. “I’m done.”

He gets up, buttons his suit coat, walks through the connecting door, and then looks over his shoulder at me and says, “I want every business contact you have on that computer before you leave at the end of the day. And before this week is over, you will have brought Jennifer up to speed on your schedule and how you run things so that next week you can introduce her to all our past, present, and future guests as the most competent person to take over your job. I wish you much success, Miss Hatcher. Perhaps we’ll see each other again, but I doubt it.”

He pulls the door closed behind him and there’s the tell-tale sound of a deadbolt lock clicking into place. A deadbolt that was not even there last week.

I just stare at that door. For whole minutes. Wondering just what the hell happened. He’s mad at me for telling him the equivalent of, “I can’t go out because I have to wash my hair?”