Page 83 of Mr. Perfect

It reeks of power. Of what obscene amounts of money means to those who hold it.

Money doesn’t buy things.

Money buys people.

Chapter Thirty-One - Ellie

I turn the computer off, toss Mac’s phone in my purse, and head down to the lobby.

George is talking to someone at the front desk when I walk briskly past him to the front doors, but I’m secretly glad I didn’t have to have a conversation. I just hand the valet a tip and get in my car, taking a deep sigh to be back on familiar ground.

What just happened?

I’m not sure. I don’t trust myself to speak. I don’t trust anything right now.

It only takes me a few minutes to wind my way around the elaborately landscaped roads of the Tech Center and get through the gates of the Stonewall campus, and a few more minutes to navigate to the Atrium parking lot, get out of my car, and be standing at the front doors of the building.

I take a deep breath and step forward, triggering the automatic doors. The waterfall sounds remind me of Mac’s apartment and I have a pang in my stomach for the loss of something familiar and soothing.

I force it away because it’s some kind of false memory. A fabrication. That’s not his apartment because his name isn’t McAllister Stonewall.

People point and laugh at me as I enter the lobby. Snickering behind hands cupped over smiles. The newsletter. Ellen sent out that newsletter.

I should feel embarrassed. Ashamed. But I don’t have time for that stupid silliness right now. My feet only have one stop in mind. I wait at the elevator, alone, and step through the glass doors, seeing the people down below as I ascend, but not registering them.

I brace myself for the dirty looks and the contempt for what was said on my behalf in the newsletter. These people were my targets, after all. I’m not sure anyone down below cares too much about what I privately think about the seventh-floor executives.

When the doors open I stare straight at Stephanie, willing myself to be invisible as I make my way to the back corner offices. My luck doesn’t hold. Jennifer slides into step beside me.

“Ellie,” she says cautiously. I picture all the times I called her Jennifer Sluts-around on that Pinterest board. “Are you OK?”

I glance over at her without stopping. “Am I OK?” I have to laugh at that.

“I’m so sorry that Ellen got your phone.”

“My phone?” I say, my steps slowing. “What do you mean?”

“She got into your phone on Friday before I collected it from your office. I’m so sorry. She’s an evil bitch. The video, the phone, the texts—” I almost die hearing that. “The Pinterest board. The newsletter. I’m just sorry.”

Well, my life here is over. I’ve been humiliated on every front. “I thought you’d be mad.”

“Mad?” Jennifer asks. “Why would I be mad?”

“I called you Jennifer Sluts-Around.”

Jennifer laughs, shaking her head. “I know, that was hilarious!”

“Hilarious?” I’m confused.

“Those nicknames were adorable. Oh, my God, we laughed so hard this morning, Mac and Stonewall Senior came out of their meeting to see what the noise was all about. You nailed it, Ellie. Those rants in that newsletter were the perfect cure for Monday morning. I’m sure Ellen did it to make you look bad, but we all thought it was ridiculously funny.”

There’s that word again. Ridiculous.

They do not care that I made a fool of myself in that meeting and got stuck in the slide trying to make my escape, that I was fucking my boss in my office all week long and got caught on video, or that I had made-up nicknames for all the higher-ups in this building.

They don’t care because they see me as ridiculous.

I am the token ditzy blonde. The girl assigned to escorting celebrities around and satisfying their whims. The girl who works out of an airplane hangar and wears second-hand designer clothes. The girl who got hired in college and never moved up. Sure, they gave me raises, they gave me titles… but I’m still doing the very same job I always did. I am still twenty-year-old college intern Eloise Hatcher. A quiet girl who can be trusted with secrets, because she lives a fictional life filled with made-up relationships.