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I wait for him to complete the question, but silence hangs between us.
Does he mean, “How do you do?” Seems a little formal, given how frantic he was when he burst into the office.
Or maybe “How are you doing? It’s so good to see you again.” Ha! That makes me smile. Not bloody likely.
“How are you enjoying the program? Is John mentoring you well?”I like that one and am about to answer, but Mr. Liu comes around from behind his desk, hand outstretched.
“Welcome home, Mr. Power. Exceptional talent in the program this year. Well chosen.” Mr. Liu drops Mr. Power’s hand and moves his to my shoulder, patting in a fatherly way. “And this young filly? Your talent identifying dark horses never ceases to amaze me.”
Mr. Liu extends his arms, palms up and open, in a silent invitation for him to speak.
Mr. Power’s eyes move between Mr. Liu and me three times. I hold my smile; Mr. Liu drops his hands. Then finally, finally, Mr. Power snaps to life, grabs my elbow, and pulls me beside him.
“Thank you, John. I’d like a private word with the surprising and talented Ms. Beach.”
This is it. My inevitable, undignified escort from the building. In my mind, I’d pictured the security guard at the front desk as the person called on to humiliate me. Never did I imagine I’d have to endure a repeat performance of that day onstage. Will he lock me in the giant nest that hangs in the lobby and have people point and laugh until I have a lawyer in shining armor arrive to rescue me?
“Thank you for everything, Mr. Liu,” I call over my shoulder before the door closes behind me. I stumble to keep up with Mr. Power’s long strides, his hand still firmly around my arm. “Bye, Amanda. Nice meeting you. Thanks for being you,” I call in the direction of her desk.
“Stop yelling,” Mr. Power growls.
“I can see myself out, thank you very much.” I twist my elbow free and wave my building access pass so he can see it.
He grunts. “That pass does not give access to where I’m taking you.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “I didn’t do anything illegal,” I say, no louder than a whisper, not wanting Amanda to overhear. “You can’t arrest me.”I hope.“I mean, you did give me a golden ticket, even if you didn’t intend to. And what kind of entrepreneur would I be if I didn’t seize every opportunity? Those are your words. I simply followed your coaching. Can’t arrest me for that.”Boom!
“Stop. Talking. Get in the elevator. I’m taking you to my office. Your Guest Pass doesn’t give you access to my floor.” He closes his eyes and sighs. When he opens them again, he tries to smile, but it looks pained. “I’m not having you arrested. I just want to talk.”
The ride to his floor, whatever floor it is—the stupid elevator doesn’t have normal buttons, so unless you know the code, you aren’t going anywhere—is quick. And silent. And smells nice. He smells nice. A fresh, floral scent. Unexpected. I tilt my chin up and sniff the air near his neck.
“What are you doing?” he asks, stepping away from me.
“I like your cologne. I’m trying to get a better smell. I assume you put it on with the intention of people smelling it.”
“Are you always so direct? It’s off-putting. Dial it back.”
The elevator doors slide open, and Mr. Power motions for me to leave before him. I step into a brightly lit foyer on what appears to be one of the building’s top floors by the fact that not a single other building blocks my view of the North Shore mountains.
I clear my throat so he’s sure to hear me and deepen my voice. “If what you’re doing makes people uncomfortable, keep doing it. It means they’re paying attention. That’s the first step of success: getting people’s attention.”
Mr. Power spins on his heel. “Are you quoting me to me—as a challenge? Is that supposed to bemyvoice?”
I smile because the look on his face makes me want to laugh out loud, but that might be a bit rude.
He shakes his head, but his lip tips up enough for me to notice. “The Tragedy of Lord William. I believe that’s the cologne I put on this morning.”
“I like it,” I say, stating the obvious after being caught inhaling as deep as my lungs would allow.
“It’s my favorite too,” a woman’s voice says. I hadn’t noticed her sitting behind a desk to the side of an office door twice the size of Mr. Liu’s.
Compensating for something?I think.
Mr. Power grunts, then opens the massive door, which suddenly makes sense given the size of the office. It’s twice as big and ten times nicer than my entire apartment with Georgia.
Mr. Power walks to the wall at the end opposite his giant desk. It appears to be a wet bar—a sink, fridge, espresso machine, and other chrome gadgets sit on a counter that looks like polished maple wood.
I wait ten seconds for him to ask me to sit, but he seems to be making himself a coffee, totally ignoring me.
