As I walk to the elevator, the same elevator where I was held at gunpoint by a psychopathic socialite, the staff eye me as I pass. I'm an international celebrity now, I had to get used to it. The pregnant woman in the wheelchair keeps glancing at me in the elevator apprehensively, as if my unluckiness can be spread like a virus. Got used to that too. She's wheeled off on the maternity floor.
I'm off on good old twenty-six. It's changed a lot since I first saw it almost a year ago while being pulled out of the elevator shaft by the murderous bastard supervillain Alkaline. I always get a chill when I step onto this floor, as if a part of him is still here. Guess he kind of is. We never would have built this place if not for him. If he hadn't raped and murdered Rebecca, Justin never would have thought to build it. Now families who either can't afford months in a hotel or just need to be around for their child, who is getting long term care at the hospital, have a place to stay. I've had crews working around the clock for a year to build this place. Money was no object. Gone is the storage space it once was, replaced with a high-tech dorm with twenty separate, two bedroom one-bath suites, communal living room and kitchen with a doctors and nurses station at the end. The parents can be with their kid 24/7, nurturing them through their illness. At least some good sprang from the whole ordeal.
Movers, contractors, painters, decorators, and nurses are all hard at work whipping this place into shape as I make my way down to the living room where my assistant extraordinaire Shannon directs traffic while texting. She was Justin's assistant before, and she's the only reason I haven't bankrupt the company yet. She knows all the ins and outs, all the players and their spouse's names too. As always, she's dressed in sensible designer pumps, pencil skirt, with matching vest and white shirt, brown hair in a chignon like mine. I learned to dress like an executive from her, though I try to avoid skirts. My legs are too stout to pull them off.
"Isolde called," Shannon says as I approach. "She needs to move your appointment to four, not three. I told her it was fine."
"Couldn't she just send the clothes?"
"The suits from Paris arrived, and they need to be tailored." She hands me my phone to pull hers out. "Lane also called. The Japanese deal is going through."
"Wonderful. How are things here?" I ask, scrolling through my twenty new e-mails this hour.
"We're having artwork issues. They need your approval on which paintings to buy."
"I could give a shit. Let the decorators decide, that's why they're here. Just nothing depressing or scary." My phone buzzes, and the display pops up. Harry's calling. My stomach used to clench when I saw his name but since Step Nine, make amends, and he forgave me, I'm happy to hear his voice.
Looking back on it we were doomed from the fucking start. Forgetting that he was my boss, I was in love with another man, he was considerably older than me, and the timing sucked, we were just too damn different. We both thought the other would change. He's a hopeless romantic who does all he can to see the good in people. It'd take a memory wipe and personality transplant to make me that way. Just not how I'm built. And besides the job and great sex, we had little in common. He read books, I shot guns. I love to travel, he hasn't left this coast in years. He began mentioning kids, I began mentioning goldfish. But if I'm honest, it really came down to the fact he was too good for me. Way too good. Me cheating and him forgiving me just proves it. For whatever reason some people just have a darkness inside them. It can be tiny and it certainly doesn't make you evil, but those without it can never understand or relate. Harry was all sunshine, and I damn sure didn't want to dim that. He's fine though. About a month after we broke up, he began dating this cute ADA who always had eyes for him. They moved in together last month. I had Shannon send a goldfish.
"Joanna Fallon."
"Jo, it's Harry."
"Hi. How is my favorite ex doing this fine day?" Shannon smirks before walking away. The consummate professional.
The elevator door opens and a strange man in a lab coat steps off, looking around. Probably a doctor who got off on the wrong floor. He's vaguely familiar, but I can't place him.
"Well, thank you," Harry says. "I just wanted to let you know I received another interesting e-mail last night. Informative too."
He and I have had this conversation dozens of times. He'll tell me to stop, threaten to turn me in, say he's worried about me, and in the end thank me. I'm only half paying attention. For some reason it's really bothering me I can't remember who that doctor is. This is why Shannon has to accompany me to events, otherwise I wouldn't know who the hell I was talking to. "Really? I love those types of e-mails. They're usually so helpful."