I laughed and took another sip of wine.
I must have fallen asleep, or maybe I just passed out, because the next thing I knew the fancy alarm clock on the nightstand was blaring. It was 8 am. Obviously my wine-induced stupor hadn’t been enough to stop me from remembering I needed to be up early for my meeting with Clementine.
I sat up and wiped my lips. I’d been drooling on the pillow. My mouth was dry and felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton, and a pounding headache was starting at my temples.
I reached for my phone, which was dead on the bed next to me.
Sun streamed through the windows, and I couldn’t tell if it was because I was hung over or because it was really that bright, but it made my eyes sting.
I plugged my phone into its charger and watched as the screen came to life.
Fourteen text messages, all from Noah.
Four voicemails, all from Noah.
I shut my phone off again without reading them.
Then I dragged myself into the shower.
I turned the water as hot as it would go, but it didn’t help. My stomach lurched and I leaned against the cold tile, hoping it would settle me. But it didn’t. The room was spinning.
I thought for sure I was going to throw up, but my some miracle, I didn’t.
When I was done showering, I dried off and dressed in the same clothes I’d been wearing last night -- Noah’s sweater and my blue jeans. I didn’t have any fresh clothes, or even any make up. All I had was a hairbrush and a lip gloss I found buried in the bottom of my purse.
I swiped the gloss over my lips, but it didn’t help. If anything, it just accentuated the hollowness of my cheeks, the dark circles under my eyes, the pallor of my skin.
Whatever, I thought crankily. I didn’t have anyone to impress.
By the time I left the hotel, my stomach was settled but my nerves were jumping. I decided to walk the fifteen blocks to Professor Worthington’s office instead of taking the subway, hoping the walk and the fresh air would help me burn off some of my energy.
When I got to the building, my stomach lurched again. But it wasn’t from all the wine I’d consumed last night. It was from nerves.
Just get through this, I told myself. Just get through this, and then you can fall apart.
It did little to comfort me. I didn’t want to get through something just to be able to fall apart. It wasn’t quite the reward I was hoping for.
Somehow, I made it to the door of the office building, pulled open the door and walked inside. A sleek blonde receptionist greeted me, then led me through a pair of double doors and into a private waiting area.
“Ms. Hayes will be with you in just a moment,” she said smoothly. “Would you like a beverage while you wait?”
“No, thank you,” I said and then instantly regretted it. My mouth had gone dry and I wished I had water.
The receptionist disappeared and I smoothed at my sweater nervously. The blinds on the oversized windows were wide open, and the morning light was making my head pound.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Clementine poked her head in. “Charlotte,” she said, giving me a smile. “So nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you, too,” I lied.
“Shall we go to my office?”
“Sure.” I stood up and grabbed my bag, then followed her down the hall.
Her office was the second door on the right, and it was elegantly done in shades of chocolate brown and burnished copper with cream accents. Paintings of cityscapes hung on the walls, along with Clementine’s law degrees.
“You can have a seat right there,” she said, indicating the two cream-colored wingback chairs that were set up in front of her desk.
She crossed the room to a delicate silver tray that was sitting on an oak serving cart and picked up a carafe of coffee, pouring some into two tiny white cups. My throat was scratchy and dry, and I knew a hot beverage could only help –but I was annoyed at her presumptuousness, not even asking me if I’d like coffee, and just assuming I took it black.
She handed me one of the white cups.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re very welcome.” I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, but her voice sounded slightly condescending. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek bun, with just a few strands escaping. It was perfectly highlighted with tiny coppery gold streaks that looked natural, but couldn’t be, because no one’s hair was that perfect. She was wearing a white linen blouse and tight tan pants that were tucked into soft suede boots.
She looked casual yet elegant, and I wondered why Professor Worthington would let her wear anything other than a suit to the office. It was annoying.
“What a beautiful day,” she said, reaching up to open the blinds over the window behind her desk. As she did, the back of her shirt slid up a fraction of an inch, and I caught a sliver of a tattoo peeking out over the top of her pants. Of course she would have a tattoo. She was the perfect mix of professional and badass.