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I was the opposite of all this opulence. A small-town girl with less than ten dollars to her name. All I had to go on was my love for the art and my will to work my freaking ass off if need be.
That definition seemed to have a new name as of today — Smallville. Was I that obvious?
Spinning on my heels, I lost myself in the grandiosity and purity of the light-filled place for just a couple of seconds, my head tilted back, framing every detail in my mind.
I had consumed so many pictures of this place and of Adrian Dornier’s work, it was as if I’d been coming here my entire life. Yet nothing prepared me for the overwhelming feeling I had once I was truly standing here.
This was it, this was the dream. I was just one teeny tiny step away from having it come true. Nothing major. Just being hired amongst a sea of other applicants, probably more experienced and more suitable than I was for the role. Not to mention on time and properly dressed for the part.
“Ma’am.” The mid-fifties lady sitting by the edge of the counter snapped me out of my reverie. “Do you have a purpose for being here, or should I call security?”
“What? No, no.” I jogged towards the desk, realizing I had wasted even more time, as if I had any to spare. She met my gaze with a raised eyebrow, still waiting for my full reply. “Hum... I have an interview at AD today?” It came out more as a question, unconsciously. I wasn’t sure the appointment was still up.
“Under what name?”
“Jamie Harden.”
“Fifty-fifth floor. Check in with the front desk, they will tell you where to wait.”
“Thank you.” I got nothing above a curt nod and a finger pointing towards the pair of stainless-steel doors to my right.
A damn elevator! Of course. How had that escaped every dream I’ve had of this day?
My heart skipped a couple of beats as I tried to get a grip on the crippling panic that tingled its way up my fingers, through my arms, and straight to my chest.
I hated closed spaces, and elevators were just the worst kind. It was like dangling over a death sentence. At least if it came to that, I’d be long passed out before the end arrived.
I had managed to overcome my fear just enough to start using these things again, but stairs would always be my first option, given the chance.
But going up fifty-five flights of stairs was a solid no. Hopefully, I won't be suffering in vain.
Just keep your thoughts elsewhere, and you’ll be fine.
I watched the numbers on the display above count down until they reached one. My oxygen intake decreased at the same rate those numbers did until the doors opened smoothly without a single sound.
I took a sharp inhale of courage and stepped inside, the fear now slowly spreading from my chest to my legs, too.
I looked around, trying to focus on the details so that my mind kept away from its ride to Panicville.
Focus, Jamie.
I willed my eyes to see beyond the cloudy fog of fear, focusing on the details.
Even the simple elevator matched the rest of what I’ve seen of the building so far. Luxurious and high-tech, all covered in white glass, light wood, and stainless steel.
The numbers were displayed on a touchscreen on the right, where I typed the floor number to start my dreaded ride.
I took a step back, leaning against one of the walls, both my hands gripping the metal bar so hard we were almost fused together.
This isn’t working. Think about something else. You’re in another place, somewhere nice and safe.
I focused on breathing slower, my eyes shutting tight not to face the closed space as I pulled my mind off the ledge, forcing better images into it.
Anything would do right now.
Almost without a struggle, my mind roamed off to that hot, rude dickhead I ran into earlier. I couldn’t believe my knees even gave in when I was pressed against his hard, warm chest.
I could still feel the pressure of his arm around my waist, wrapped in a tight grip that stirred my insides. His alluring green eyes hypnotizing me into a land of lust and longing. I had never been that struck by a man before, never mind a total stranger.
