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I love my sisters, I do, but sometimes I want to smack each of them. I know what I’m doing is potentially reckless, and maybe, in a month or a year, I’ll regret it. Except deep down, in my heart and soul, I don’t believe that will be the case.
I’m still miserable about their doubt, nonetheless. It’s been apparent on my face and in the way I’ve been treating everyone all day. I’d been suffering some serious guilt until a group of men came in for a late lunch, and one of the assholes decided to grab my ass and tell me I’d be prettier if I smiled.
The soup that dropped in his lap was mostly accidental. I didn’t do it on purpose, but I wasn’t upset that it happened, either. I asked to leave after that. I’m just not in the right frame of mind to be around people, which is why I dread entering Heart Construction.
I long to see Roman, but I don’t want to sign in with the guard or interact with anyone walking around the busy lobby.
Wrapping my tartan coat tighter around my body, I pull open the glass door and step inside. Plants discreetly decorate the inside along the walls. A coffee shop is to the left of the security desk, and the elevators are on the right. Elegant artwork hangs from the walls, and plush white leather chairs make up a cozy seating area in front of a large fish tank housing tropical fish.
“How can I help you?” the man behind the desk asks, his eyes gliding up and down my body, appreciation making his lips twitch.
“I’m here to see Roman Heart.” I suddenly wonder if I’m supposed to have an appointment.
“Name?”
“Valentine Joy.” He snorts, and I grind my teeth.
“Tenth floor. He’s in a meeting; his secretary will let you know when you can see him.” Nodding my head, I smile my thanks as I walk away, and I hear him mutter, “Hot for his flavor of the month.” I don’t react, but once I’m on the elevator, a sinking feeling cramps my stomach.
Comments like that don’t ordinarily come out of nowhere. I hadn’t thought about Roman dating other women, about him having a reputation that would bite me in the ass, but I think I might need to ask him about that before things go further.
I’ve never considered myself a jealous person, but if his past relationships are going to be thrown in my face, it could turn into a problem for me. One I’m not proud of, but it can’t be helped.
The ride up to the tenth floor feels like it takes forever with the number of people getting on and off. I suddenly wish I’d taken the stairs; I could have avoided some of the strange looks I kept getting. I know it’s because they’ve never seen me around, but surely, they’ve encountered new people here before.
Finally, I’m the last person remaining, and there are no stops between floors eight and ten. As the lift approaches, I expect to go down a hallway or for there to be cubicles of people in front of me, like several other floors. Instead, the bell chimes, and the doors slide open to a lobby. A woman sits at a desk with a sign reading Heart Construction in silver and black lettering on the wall behind her.
She looks up, her face blank as her eyes peruse my body. Hair to toe and back again. As I step out, I fight the urge to squirm under her gaze, and the doors close, heading back down with a quiet whoosh.
“Welcome to Heart Construction. You must be Valentine Joy. If you’ll have a seat, Mr. Heart is on a conference call and should be finished within the hour.” Her tone is cold, her eyes glaring, and the set of her mouth screams that she’s forcing herself to be civil.
Which means one thing. She’s in love with her boss.
I suddenly think, maybe Christmas and Winterwereright. This might be a mistake. Maybe I’m not ready for the kind of relationship he requires. Fifteen minutes into his world and I’m miserable. The people that surround him are wretched.
Presuming he and I have a relationship, these are people I would likely have to interact with on a regular basis. I can’t and don’t want to be around this kind of hostility. Nobody should have to be. But then I wonder if he notices it.
Roman appears to be a no-nonsense kind of man, and I’m curious if he picks up on the calculation in the guard’s eyes downstairs. Or that the secretary has feelings for him.
“Could you let him know I’m here, please?” I flash her a friendly smile, despite her eye roll, and take a seat in one of the checkered chairs by the window with a view of downtown.
“He already knows. His call is important. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.” The snark in her tone masks her deception. To most people. But I grew up in foster care and have seen a lot of nasty parents. Nastier kids. And uncaring social workers. I know a lie when I’m told one.
“Sure, of course.” Crossing my legs, I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Callie because even though Roman and I shared a lot last night, somehow, we never exchanged numbers.
Me: Is the secretary always so rude?
Callie: Yes. I hate her. She’s been in love with him since the day he hired her but he waves me off when I mention it. Are you going to?
Me: Would she lose her job?
I don’t want to be responsible for that.
Callie: He’d probably transfer her to someone else and have you hire someone you’re comfortable with.
Giggling quietly at her comment, I feel the woman in question glaring at me again.
Me: What about the guard at the desk? He was kind of cold, calculating. Made a comment as I was walking away about me being the new flavor of the month.
