Once Upon A Time(22)

Must. Not. Vomit.

The elevator doors opened and my gaze landed on the expansive foyer of Black Enterprises as I kept breathing through my nose. The entire space was wall-to-wall black. Black walls, black floor, black reception. There’s even black flowers sitting in the middle of a glass table near a seating area. Someone clearly had a love for black.

I walked with newfound determination to the reception desk to what looked like a very disinterested receptionist. What the hell was it with these people?

I stood awkwardly for what felt like minutes, the woman sitting behind the desk clearly ignoring me. What the hell?

“Excuse me, I’m here to see Mr. Black?!”

Her back straightened as I finished and she finally peeled her eyes from her nails long enough to notice me. Rude!

“Take a seat.”

She indicated with her eyes that I should park my ass on the black leather sofa behind me before turning back to her nails. Was everyone so freaking rude around here?

“I—“

“Take. A. Seat,” she spoke as though she’s talking to a toddler, her gaze still not meeting mine.

“Thanks.” I turned, about to take a step towards the seating area but something stopped me.

No, not now. Filter, don’t move. Stay right where you are… oh, you’re going? Like, now?

I turned back to the rude receptionist and slapped my hand against the glass counter of her desk. She nearly fell out of her seat and I couldn't help but chuckle softly.

Payton: 1 Receptionist: 0

“I don’t know what’s jumped up everyone’s ridiculously tight ass this morning, but the next time you treat me like I’m worth nothing more than the grimace on your face after walking into a pile of steaming shit on the sidewalk, I assure you, your overly made-up face will see the heel of my Louboutins.”

With a wink, I turned and sat my ass down on the sofa, lingering long enough to see the shocked expression on her face.

Sheer Prada blouse: $700

Ridiculously high Louboutins: $1,200

Shocked expression on a receptionist who needed a personality transplant: Priceless.

I pulled out my phone as I felt the burning from the receptionist’s eyes. I restrained myself from flipping her the bird and sent a text to Kylie.

Me: So I may have just threatened the receptionist’s face with your shoes.

Her reply was immediate. Of course it was; I was talking about her twelve hundred dollar Louboutins.

Kylie: If you scuff them, I'll kill you. And why the hell are you threatening the receptionist?

Me: Relax, they’re fine. I think I got all the dog crap off on the way in…

Kylie: You’re fucking hilarious. Anyway, receptionist?

“Ms. McKenna?”

Huh? Oh.

Me: Gotta go!

I threw my cell back in my purse as I stood and noticed a short blonde woman stepping towards me.

“Kate McKenna?” She smiled. At least someone knows how!

“Sorry, I’m Payton Miller. I've been sent in Ms. McKenna’s place due to a last minute meeting she couldn't get out of.” I placed my hand out and she shook it warmly. “I hope that’s okay.”

Kate better damn well thank me for that. They have no idea Kate is more than likely having a five hundred dollar facial while ordering around a group of flustered women in the salon.

“We can work around it, Ms. Miller.” She smiled.

“Please, call me Payton.”

“Okay. Well, if you’d follow me, I'll show you to Mr. Black’s office, Payton.”

With a kind nod, I followed the well put together blonde through a set of black wooden doors. The doors opened up into an even larger foyer, the design still pretty much black, giving a sense of flow about the place.

My gawking came to a stop the minute we came to a single black door. I noticed the doorknob wasn't the norm; it was silver letters that spelt "Black" in a scripted font. So this was how you knew you’d made it in the world, when you’re pompous enough to have your name made into a doorknob. This Mr. Black must be trying to make up for something he’s clearly lacking.

“Mr. Black’s ready for you,” the blonde said from my right. I took my cue and placed my hand on the compensational door knob, taking a large gulp of air. “Door open.”

Huh?

With a yelp, a stumble and some choice words, I’m catapulted into the room, falling onto my hands and knees with a large thud against the black wood flooring. Heat ignited my cheeks and I held in the urge to cry, knowing I’d totally screwed up the meeting. Oh my god. Kate was going to kill me. Oh no, what if she fired me?

Stupidly, those thoughts were the only thing running through my mind. Nope, I didn't once try to stand up; instead I froze on the spot, looking like a baby learning how to crawl. Great. Fantastic. I should probably move.