“I would love to not sleep on this couch. Maybe if you helpCarol with the trunk-or-treat, you could help persuade her to let me stay there?” I took a slow breath. “I would help you plan the trunk-or-treat, Europe, and any other planning needs you require.” I bumped her leg with mine.
Marissa’s pink lips took a bite of the maple bar and sighed.
“What do you think?” I leaned toward her and bumped her with my shoulder.
“Carol has done a lot for me, for everyone really.” She looked up at me. “Only if you promise to help with the whole planning thing. Deal?”
“Deal.” I tried to keep my voice neutral. If she knew how much I had riding on this, she may change her mind.
“Any list of plans for Europe?” I picked up a maple bar and bit down on the warm maple frosting.
Marissa pulled out her phone with its sunny case. It fit her. She was like a magnet of sunshine, radiating warmth and smiles. “I have a Pinterest board with some ideas, but not much.”
I held back my screams of terror as I glanced at the home screen of her phone. It was covered in icons, not in folders, and had a bubble that said she had over two hundred unread emails and fourteen voicemails. And that’s what I saw at a glance.
Not my circus, not my monkey . . . I kept my mouth shut. Or I guess not my messages, not my business. Did she know there was a folder option that could organize it all?
Chapter Eleven
SCOTT
I flexedmy fingers to calm my jitters and pulled into the visitor parking spot. The tall building screamed its importance to all the surrounding smaller buildings. The Raymond & Johnson Law sign was bright for all to see. Even on a Saturday afternoon, the parking lot was full of shiny cars, tailored suits, and stiff ties.
For once, my car fit in versus standing out.For once, I would fit in too.
I stepped out of my Mustang and took a deep breath, reminding myself that, according to this last months magazine, a good part of landing a job was believing in yourself. I straightened my lucky blue stripe tie, which was tied to perfection in a Windsor knot. My shirt was wrinkled under my gray suit jacket, but after driving all morning, it couldn’t be helped. Thankfully, the dry cleaning had gotten out the pumpkin stains.
Confidence shines bright.I envisioned my success. My life. The penthouse, big office, winning a prestigious case, my name in the paper as a top lawyer of the Raymond & Johnson Law firm.This was the life I wanted. This was the life I would receive. I merged into the other suits like a chameleon heading for the front doors.
Inside, the foyer was large, with expensive leather couches, polished floors, and industrial lighting. I walked over to the reception desk with purpose.I belong.Three women with dress suits, tight buns, and scowled lips eyed me with suspicion. Marissa with her faded jeans and a bright smile flashed into my mind. She greeted everyone like a long-lost friend.
This office was different, but different was what I wanted.
“Hello, my name is Scott Elliot. I have an appointment with Clyde Johnson.”
The blonde frowned and scanned me from head to toe. I knew she could sense my shirt’s wrinkles under my coat. She looked down without saying a word and began clicking on her keyboard. I clenched my hand tight on my briefcase. Do I ask her again? Was she looking it up?
Don’t squirm. She can smell fear.
Confidence.
I belong here.
She glanced up and nodded at the elevators down the left hall. “Fifth floor. Conference room 532. I’ll let Mr. Johnson know you are here.” She looked back at her screen in dismissal.
Her stand-offish, rude behavior wasn’t helping me feel confident at all. Mom always said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, not that I even wanted flies.
“Thanks.” I tried to imitate my twin brother Michael’s charming smile.
She went back to ignoring me. I walked toward the elevators and joined a group of suits and briefcases. They were confident, oozing professionalism, and ignoring me.
Was their firm big enough that they didn’t recognize new faces, or did they not care?
A man with stiff hair and shoulders began looking around the elevator. “Does it smell like pumpkin in here?”
A woman with short black hair scoffed. “Becky probably spilled lattes again. The girl is a wreck.”
I eased to the back of the elevator and tried a subtle sniff. I couldn’t smell pumpkin. Could it be my suit?
