"I told him you were … indisposed." Marlene knows not to bother me when I'm dealing with a hybrid employee.
"I'm available now. Send him back."
Waiting by the mini bar for my brother, pick up a crystal tumbler and contemplate pouring us a couple of drinks. It's way too early, barely past breakfast time, but I need a drink in the worst way.
"Hey, asshole." I turn to see my younger brother, Beckham standing there wearing his signature smug smile.
"You're late." I sit the tumbler back down. "As always."
"Lighten up," he scoffs, trudging across the room with his hands shoved in the pockets of his linen pants.
"Just get back from Turks and Caicos?" I eye his casual get-up. "Or are you on your way there?"
"One of us needs to take a vacation once in a while."
"You get enough rest and relaxation for the both of us."
"Who was the pretty blonde walking out of your office in tears a minute ago?" Beckham has a twinkle in his eye.
"Hands off."
"Oh, is she one of your … what do you call it? Submissives?" He waves his hands in the air in a flamboyant fashion.
"Only simple minds poke fun at things they don't understand." I take a seat at my desk and pull up my email. My brother's only been here five minutes, and already I'm ready for him to leave. "When are you going to see Uncle Leo?"
It's more of a command than a question.
"Today," Beck says, popping down into a guest chair. He rests an elbow on the arm and leans against his hand, gazing out the window. I know he's not ready. He's been keeping a safe distance this entire time Uncle Leo's been sick, and we both knew this day would come. Beck's not equipped to deal with emotional anything, then again, neither am I, but I never excused myself from being by our uncle's side when he needed me most.
Beckham smacks the arms of the chair and stands.
"You going now?" My fingers stop typing against my keyboard, and I turn to watch him head out.
"Yeah," he says. "I'll be back later. Odessa's around here somewhere. If you see a sassy redhead wandering the halls, she's with me."
"Ah. You decided to make it official with her?"
Beckham cracks a smile and points his finger at me. "Don't."
The second my brother leaves, I head to Bellamy's office. Maybe I should've have been so intense with her this morning, but I said what I said, and there's no taking it back. I'm not above apologizing, and it isn't my intention to make her sulk the rest of the day.
I rap on her door but receive no answer, so I show myself in.
She's gone.
THIRTEEN
BELLAMY
"Excuse me, are you crying in there?"
I dab my eyes and stare at the space beneath the stall door to see a pair of peacock blue pumps. I'm not sure if it's Harlow or Brenna or Caitlin, but I'm not about to let them see me like this.
I hold my breath, hoping that will force the heaving to stop, but it only makes it worse.
"Hello?" The girl knocks on my stall door. "I hear you in there. Open up."
I don't want to deal with the mean girls, and I don't want them ask what happened. To be honest, I don't know what happened. There's no reason for me to be in a toilet stall crying my eyes out like the homecoming king just dumped me on football Friday night.
"I'm Odessa," the girl says.
So it's not Harlow, Brenna or Caitlin?
"You going to come out?" The toes of her blue heels lean forward like she's standing on her tiptoes. "I'm really tall, and I can see over the door, so you better come out. Okay, I'm not that tall. Never mind."
I dab my eyes once more with the generous, four-ply toilet paper Townsend Towers keeps stocked in the bathrooms, and unlock the door.
"Thank you, yes, there you are." Odessa stands with her hands on her hips and a relaxed posture, and immediately I can tell she's the kind of girl who's not afraid to take on the world. A blanket of shiny auburn hair frames a creamy, flawless complexion and her dark green eyes are framed with the longest lashes I've ever seen. "Got a name?"
"Bellamy. Do you work here?" I thought I'd met everyone, but maybe not?
Her lips pinch. "Sort of. I work for Townsend Energy Holdings but not here. I'm out of the New York office."
When I inhale the air cools my lungs and almost makes me forged I'd just been crying. "Oh, do you work with Beckham?"
"You know Beckham?" She says his name with an eye roll and a bitten smile. "Or do you, like, know Beckham."
"I'm not sure I follow."
Odessa bats her hand. "Forget I said anything."
I step past her and wash my hands at the sink before taking a cool, wet paper towel and patting it against my warm cheeks. Walking back to my desk is going to be difficult, especially knowing I have to pass the reception desk where the other girls hang out.
"You're crying over a guy, right?" Odessa stares at my reflection in the mirror.
"Maybe."
"He's not worth it, whoever he is. They never are."
"I know."
"If you know that, then why'd you let one get you all worked up?"
"It wasn't really him; it was mostly the way he spoke to me. It was hurtful, and he wasn't supposed to hurt me. At least he said he wouldn't."
She rolls her eyes again. "That's what they all say, and you know what? They're all a bunch of fucking liars. Pardon my French."
I suppose she's right.
"You want to get coffee or something? Are there any good coffee places around here that don't have a green mermaid as a logo?" Odessa points to the door.
Dane would be livid if I just walked out of here without saying anything. "I don't know. I should get back to my desk. My boss is probably wondering where I am. I've been in here a while."
"Who do you report to?"
"Dane."
Odessa grins wide. "Oh, I've got this. You're going with me. I'll deal with him if he gives you any shit."
Somehow I don't think that's how it works with him.
She takes my arm and drags me out of the restroom and toward the elevator.
"I don't have my purse," I object.
"Good thing I have a company credit card."
***
"How long have you been working here?" Odessa pulls out a chair at a table next to the front window of a small coffee shop. "I don't remember seeing an email about you?"
"This is my first week." I sit down and take a sip of my hazelnut latte. It's my second one today though I hardly touched my first one. Cortland made us stop and get coffee together on the drive in this morning. He thought it'd be cute, and he ignored me when I pleaded with him since we were running late. "I'm his concierge."
Odessa sits her cup down and squares her shoulders, the corners of her mouth curling a moment later. "You're shitting me."
I shake my head, looking from side to side. "No."
"I mean, I'd heard rumors that he did that, but I didn't know it was really a thing."
Shit.
The non-disclosure agreement. I should've memorized the damn thing because I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to disclose that I'm on the payroll for sexual favors.
My hand claps over my mouth. "Odessa, please don't tell anyone what I just told you."
"Were you crying over Dane?"
My chin dips, and I glance out the window.
"Please, tell me you weren't crying over Dane."
"He's intense," I say. "We have an agreement, and I'm just not sure I'm what he needs, and I need this job."
"You're exactly his type." She angles herself in her chair, and her tone is flat. "Blonde. Blue eyes. Pretty. An innocent ingénue ready to be shown the world … "
"I didn't know he had a type." Do I have a type? I guess if I did, he'd be like Dane, but nicer. A little less arrogant and a little more transparent. Someone I could get to know on a deeper level and without being on all fours.
"Why do you need this job so bad? There are millions of other jobs out there. Don't work for someone who treats you like crap. You've got to have more respect for yourself."
"It's complicated." I lift my Styrofoam cup and swirl it around to gauge how much is left. "Again, just please don't tell anyone, okay?"
"Anyone I might tell probably already knows." She shrugs and takes another sip, her eyes following a striking man in a gray Macintosh jacket and wayfarer sunglasses who walks by and smiles at her.
"Who would you tell?"
"Well, Beckham," she says. "We tell each other everything."
"Are you and Beckham together?"
Odessa's mouth drops and she lets out a robust laugh that causes the couple at the table across from us to stare. "Absolutely not. And please don't ever ask me that again."
Her laugh suggests I've just assumed the most outlandish thing in the world.
"Been there. Done that. Got the t-shirt." She pulls her small clutch from her lap and yanks out her phone. "Speak of the devil."
I try not to watch as she feverishly types back a response to Beckham's text.