The entirety of my employment at the Branson Advertising Agency had been spent in the studios located on the bottom two floors of the skyscraper, with the exception of a visit to HR on the fifth floor to do some paperwork on my first day.
As I entered the glossy, luxurious lobby on a brisk autumn morning, it already felt like a strange place in which I didn’t belong. My heels echoed on the marble floors as my gaze snagged on a few palm fronds fluttering in an artificial breeze in the corner.
The security desk was to my right, with the elevators directly in front, behind a row of electronic gates. I took a deep breath.
“Everything will be fine,” Phil Phillips told me reassuringly. “Let’s just hear them out. I’ll cut in if I think they’re trying to do something that isn’t in your best interest.”
He was a tall, wiry man in his early sixties, with kind brown eyes and a full head of hair. His suit looked expensive-bespoke, probably-and he wore a designer watch. He moved easily, like he knew he belonged in spaces exactly like this one.
I was glad to have him beside me. “Okay. Thank you for coming,” I told him.
The older man inclined his head, then strode to the security desk to check in.
I scurried after him, stopping at the chest-high piece of marble. The man behind the counter had dark-brown skin and close-cut hair. His beard was trimmed to millimeter-precision. He looked as glossy and attractive as the rest of the people who worked in this building, and I wondered how I’d snuck past that particular filter to get a job in the first place.
But I was here, and there was an expensive lawyer beside me, so I might as well see why Branson had set this meeting in the first place.
“Nikita Little here to see Jared Branson,” I told him, my voice wobbling a tiny bit. “I have an appointment.”
The man nodded and tapped on his computer. “He’s expecting you,” he said, then shifted his gaze to the lawyer beside me. “And you are?”
“Phil Phillips. I’m representing Ms. Little.”
“Of course. Please fill out the tablet in front of you to sign in, and I’ll issue your visitor passes.” He gestured to the device bolted to the check-in desk, then waited patiently for us to finish the sign-in process. Once we were done, he gave me an encouraging smile as he handed me my visitor pass. “Take the elevator to the forty-second floor. Someone will be there to greet you.”
“Thank you,” I said, then took a deep breath and passed through the gates that granted us access to the elevator bank.
“Iris?”
I turned to see Eleanor struggling through one of the doors leading to the ground-floor studio at the back of the building. She had an unwieldy cardboard box in her hands, and I hurried over to help her with the door.
“What are you doing here?”
“I have a meeting with Jared Branson,” I explained.
She looked at me like I’d started speaking another language. “What?”
I laughed. “I know.”
Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ballerina bun. She blew out a breath and shook her head. “Good luck. You want to grab a drink or something this week? How’s the hand? Have you heard about them offering everyone full benefits this week?” She glanced behind me and shook her head. “The elevator’s here. Call me when you’re done! We’ll go out tonight and you can tell me everything.”
Smiling, I nodded and hustled over to where Phil held open the elevator door. One of the security guards swiped his pass and pressed the button for the forty-second floor for us before stepping out to let the doors close. I noticed it was as high as the numbers went. We were headed to the top of the building.
“What was she saying?” Phil asked. “The woman you were speaking to.”
“Who, Eleanor? She just wanted to grab a drink with me later.”
“No. The other thing.”
“Oh. Apparently they’ve offered everyone full benefits, or something? I didn’t have time to get the full story.”
A slow, victorious smile stretched over Phil’s lips. “They’re covering their asses.”
The screen above the door flashed with increasing numbers as the elevator shot up through the core of the building. “What do you mean?”
“Everything is going to be fine. They’re scrambling, Iris. We have the upper hand. Now look sharp,” was all he said.
The elevator slowed so smoothly I barely felt it, and then the doors opened to reveal a bright white lobby and a woman of about forty, staring at us from behind thick-rimmed glasses. She wore a dark-green dress with an asymmetrical neckline and a perfectly tailored waist. I wanted to ask her where she got it, but I doubted I’d be able to afford it even if I knew. Her brown hair had golden highlights that had obviously been done by someone who was an expert colorist.
Her gaze was sharp as she took in my appearance. I’d chosen a black tweed dress that fit close to the body. It was piped in white and had big, white, fabric-covered buttons. It was fabulous, even if I’d bought it for less than twenty dollars in a bargain bin and had to do some major repairs to the aged fabric. Whether or not the woman agreed was hard to tell.
All she did was nod and say, “Ms. Little. Mr. Phillips. My name is Clara. Mr. Branson will be with you in just a moment. Please follow me.”
I was impressed she knew our names-especially Phil’s. Then again, she’d probably been notified of us signing in, which meant she-and Jared, and whoever else would be attending this meeting-now knew I had brought legal representation.
My heart thumped as we crossed the white space. Two white leather armchairs were clustered around a heavy-looking wooden coffee table. The walls had a few large pieces of art to break up the blank color scheme so that the overall effect of the lobby was one of money, prestige, and-to me-intimidation.
I took a deep breath and trotted after Clara, my heels clacking in time with hers. Beside me, Phil stalked, utterly calm-almost serene. A small smile teased the corners of his lips.
If only I could have an ounce of that confidence. As it was, I felt like I was walking deeper into the dragon’s lair. Danger lurked just beyond my sight, but I could sense it.
I didn’t belong here.
“Please,” Clara said, gesturing to an open door. We entered a medium-sized conference room with a great view of Manhattan.
I drifted to the windows to glance down at the world spread out below my feet, then turned when Clara cleared her throat.
“Can I get you coffee or tea? Water?”
“Water’s fine,” I said.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.