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The outside bushes still smell like the men’s section of the Walmart fragrance aisle. I laugh every time I exit the townhouse thinking of Russell’s shocked face.
Claire’s driving borders on terrifying—especially as she merges onto Interstate 5. She is getting worse with age. Maybe she did coerce the driving instructor to pass her after all.
“Watch! You are going to hit the rail,” I warn. I hold my breath as we take the Marquam Bridge over the Willamette River to enter the downtown area of the city.
“It’s these damn shoes,” Claire explains.
“Swear word,” I fake scold.
“Oh hellyfish, I am never going to stop,” she whines.
I giggle at her attempt. “Hellyfish. Really?”
“Yes, really, Angie. I am obvi struggling and trying to ease my way into this without going completely cold tofu turkey and being miserable.”
I look over at her and bite my tongue to keep from crying and making her snap. When Claire decided on a whim to do this type of challenge, I welcomed it. Mainly because I do not have to really be involved—unlike her previous ambitious ideas.
Claire cuts off an SUV and a horn blares. Her manicured middle finger flies out the window in a fluid motion. I really should have offered to drive. Downtown’s buildings block my view of the sun but only temporarily. After growing up in the small town of Baker City, Oregon, I find Portland to be very livable. The air seems fresher and the greenery greener. It is a bit of a hippy city without a bunch of potheads. People are overall health conscious and environmentally friendly.
It is easier to make a new location home when you don’t have the other one to go back to. The other benefit is that there are fewer reminders of what was left behind.
We arrive at the huge contemporary-style building in under fifteen minutes. I admire the glass and metal structure, standing glorious in the city’s skyline. Claire pulls into the garage and swings into the first free spot she sees.
We are here.
My door pulls open, and Claire helps me out by my elbows. Her hands are in my hair, smoothing down the waywardness of the frizz.
“Oh sweetie, they are going to love you. You already have a bunch of fans from Saturday night itching to get a date with you. I’m sure those men put in a good word for you too.”
I grumble something that even I don’t understand. I have been in intense situations before and can usually handle stress; however, there is something about this potential job that has me about to fall apart.
My flats cooperate with me as I walk into the waiting elevator. The sound of soft piano music fills the silence as I fidget with the chipped pink paint on my polished fingernails. The doors open on the eleventh floor.
Sink or swim.
The warm aura coming from the track lighting soothes my rapid heartbeat. An expensive-looking white desk is the first piece of furniture that grabs my attention. Business cards—in robin-egg-blue—rest on the corner near a pen mug with the company logo printed across the side.Entice. Behind it, a beautiful woman smiles with perfect white teeth, red shiny lipstick, and expensive-looking long French-manicured fingernails. Her red suit only makes her look more legit.
“You must be Angie,” the receptionist greets, stepping around her desk. “Dominic, our CEO, is in charge of your training and style. Follow me and I’ll introduce you.”
My thoughts are in overdrive. I shift my weight from foot to foot, turning my toes inward and outward as I bounce a little on my heels.
The receptionist grabs hold of my trembling hand and leads me away from Claire into a very spacious office with plants on pedestals near the obscenely large glass windows. Other than the green from the plants, the rest of the color scheme is strictly white, charcoal gray, and blue. We turn to go down a long hallway. On the door, the name Dominic Crawford appears with the words Chief Executive Officer scripted underneath in smaller capital letters. Two knocks indicating our arrival are all that is necessary for the door to be opened by a tall, smiling man in his upper twenties with short brown hair and blue eyes. Hot damn. His charm is plastered all over his pearly-white grin. His laid-back style of wearing black jeans and a white button-down dress shirt throws off the whole boss feel. I am not exactly sure what I was expecting but someone this level of attractive was not it.
“Ladies, if you would be so kind as to excuse me for a minute, I’m just finishing up with a meeting. My apologies.”
His eyes dance to meet mine as his words echo in my ears. I can’t tell if he just winked at me or if my excessive need to blink created an illusion.
Holy hell! What am I getting myself into?
The receptionist leads me back down the hall and we make small talk about the weather, the start of my semester, and Hollywood scandals.
We are almost to the waiting area when the sound of Dominic’s office door flinging open pulls my attention back toward a tall, strikingly beautiful man. It is Mystery Man. I stare at his rumpled brown hair and crystal-blue eyes. His attire is slightly above business casual, with charcoal slacks and a light gray dress shirt. I stand like a statue as his eyes float over me like he is seeing me for the first time. Does he even recognize me from the other night? I have no makeup on and my hair is wild. There’s not much to look at but yet that is what he is doing. And unapologetically I might add. His appraisal makes me feel violated—like there is nothing I can do to stop it. I am wired with nerves.
He gives a nod in our direction. The receptionist says something softly to him. My mouth gapes and I quickly shut it, watching his retreating form exit down the corridor. So moody.
Although his escape takes seconds, his haunting presence lingers in the hallway long after his departure. The charge of the air crackles and sizzles with the energy that he exudes, making my nerve endings stand to salute the tower of a man who didn’t have the time to address me with a single word.
What in the hell just happened?
