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It’s identical to the Felici Building. Even has the F above the door same as before. The only difference is this place is full of people.
They all look busy and important. Suits more expensive than mine, business dresses that scream, “Take me seriously,” and, “I’m far more educated than you.” Even the receptionist looks like a supermodel.
“I’m way out of my depth,” I whisper to Cathy, watching as an endless stream of people come and go out of the revolving doors.
“Join the club,” she replies. “I’m never going to be able to afford a place in here.”
“Maybe this is just where the meeting is. Maybe the office is somewhere else.”
“I guess so. Shall we go in?”
Part of me wants to say no. Part of me wants to just turn around and go home, forget his offer, get on with my life. Get my book written. Get a job, any job. Bar work, cleaning, anything that will make ends meet. I don’t need hand outs from him. I don’t need a step up. I can do this on my own. Well, me and Cathy anyway.
Then I think of him. He’s somewhere in the building, waiting for us to appear. I look at the time. Four minutes to nine. “Let’s do this,” I say, taking a deep breath before heading inside, joining the mass of people already deep in quiet conversation.
I head to the reception desk over to the left of the entrance. Behind the desk is a stunningly beautiful red headed woman no older than me. She takes a look at my tied back hair and my attempt at makeup.
I can tell she’s comparing it to her own immaculate style. I’m comparing it too and coming off worse in the battle.
“Can I help?” she asks, her smile fixed, not reaching her eyes.
“Hi, we’re here to see Mr. Felici. Ophelia Addams and Cathy Greene.”
“Of course.” She sounds like what she wanted to say was, “I very much doubt it.”
She picks up a phone in her slender hand, pressing it gently to her ear. “Is Mr. Felici expecting anyone?”
Her brow wrinkles slightly as she listens before hanging up. She looks back up at me, examining me closely, like her opinion just changed. “Take the express elevator,” she says. “On the right. He’s expecting you.” She waves to a man standing in front of the nearest elevator. He nods back, pressing the button to open the doors.
My heart races as I look at the elevator. “I’m not sure I can do this,” I say to Cathy.
“Sure you can,” she replies. “I got you.”
She takes my hand and guides me over.
We step inside and the man climbs in with us, turning a key in the panel in front of him. He says nothing. He’s taller than both of us but nothing compared to Mr. Felici. The elevator shoots upward a moment later and I have time to glance at Cathy who whispers, “What are we doing here?” to me before it glides to a halt.
The man opens the door for us, nodding our way a single time.
“Which way do we go?” I ask.
“In there,” he replies, pointing to the corridor in front of us.
We step out and what he said makes sense. There’s only one corridor. The walls are lined with paintings. There’s a Van Gogh, a Constable, and I notice a Benn, one of her early pieces. A naked elderly woman on a chaise longue.
A beautiful painting. Imagine being brave enough to pose nude for a work of art like that. It boggles my mind to think how courageous a thing that is for anyone to do. I never could, that’s for sure.
We keep moving down the corridor. At the end, there’s another reception desk, manned once again by a gorgeous woman with flawless skin. I half expect to see a serial number on her arm when we get near. No one human looks this good.
Her hair is snow white and perfectly straight, not a single flyaway.
She looks at us both as we approach, her smile at least appearing more genuine than the one that greeted us down in the lobby. “Take a seat,” she says, waving toward a pair of sumptuous red leather armchairs. “Can I get either of you anything? Coffee? Orange juice? Croissants?”
“I’m good,” I reply.
“Coffee,” Cathy says. “Thanks.”
She gets up and walks over to a panel of buttons on the wall beside her desk. Pressing one, she returns to her seat a moment later. From a door I didn’t even notice, a short man in a waiter’s outfit emerges, carrying a tray with a tall white mug of coffee. Cathy takes it from him and earns a sweeping bow in return. He disappears as swiftly as he came.
