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Instead of the usual black gym shoes, the man’s shoes are red. I don’t know how I missed it before.
I drag my eyes back up his body with a grin, and he gives just the slightest roll of his eyes to indicate that he’s noticed my slow perusal and isn’t fazed in the least.
“You went shopping, Dorothy!” I say happily.
He stares at me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t catch the Wizard of Oz reference. “I don’t shop.”
Of course not. Far too frivolous.
“No, that makes sense,” I say, pointing at his feet. “Glinda would have given these to you.”
Andrew looks down at his Rolex watch. “I’ve got to go. Ramon, have a good day.”
“You too, Mr. Mulroney,” Ramon says with a deferential nod. “Enjoy your workout.”
“Yes, do,” I say, turning and watching as Andrew moves toward the front door of our building. “What’s on the schedule today? Treadmill, or just skipping down the Yellow Brick Road?”
Andrew Mulroney, Esq., doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even turn before pushing through the revolving doors and stepping out into the still-dark autumn morning.
Now, come on. Tell me that wasn’t at least a little bit fun, despite the ungodly morning hour.
I turn back to Ramon, who’s once again picked up his donut. “You don’t have to kiss his ass, you know.”
Ramon gives the slightest smile. “I do if I want a Christmas bonus.”
I lay a hand over my chest in mock affront. “You don’t kiss my ass, and I’ll still give you a Christmas bonus.”
“Respectfully, you’re a bit different from most of our residents, Ms. Watkins.”
“Does that mean you’ll call me Georgie
?” I ask hopefully.
He merely smiles wider. “Enjoy your morning, Ms. Watkins.”
I sigh. “Thought so.” I push the box of donuts toward him. “Give these to the other guys when they come in. And don’t forget to take one home to Marta.”
“Thank you, Ms. Watkins.”
I pluck my cranberry-colored clutch off the desk and walk backward toward the elevator, not even the slightest bit unsteady in my sky-high Jimmy Choo’s. “Enjoy your ‘weekend,’?” I tell Ramon, knowing that although today’s Tuesday, Ramon has Wednesday and Thursday off.
The second I step into the elevator—the button for the eighty-sixth floor already lit up, courtesy of Ramon and the building’s fancy tech—I start to anticipate the prospect of crawling into bed, getting a few hours’ sleep before my hair appointment at four.
And if for a second my mind registers the depressing thought that the most exciting part of my day has already come and gone, I push it away.
