“Almost,” Julian responds, then looks at me with slightly narrowed eyes. “Sooooo, yellow, then?”
I will my feet to move forward and start walking towards Mave. The first couple of steps are stiff, because I’d been holding myself too tight in my mom’s presence, so any kind of movement I’m making now feels like a damn consolation of sorts. But my steps get more and more effortless and freeing as I keep going.
Mave opens the door for me, and I look over my shoulder at a still-waiting Julian.
“Silver,” I tell him, then grin. “And make sure it’s extra cool-toned so that it doesn’t clash with my complexion. The rest of the details remain as is.” I turn and head out of the room, with Mave right behind me.
“Are youserious?!” Julian hollers. “You can’t just throw the silver card at me and walk out on me like you’re Cruella de Vil or some shit!”
I chuckle. “You rock, Julian!” I call out. “I know you’ve got this.” I head for the elevator, just as its doors open for me. We’re on the 5thfloor, which is practically the designing floor.
A few of the stylists smile at me and greet me good-morning, while the others wave my way and compliment my dress. And all of this is genuine, so I have no hesitation in reciprocating it.
The constant hustle and work enthusiasm here is addicting, but I can very clearly see a subtle dimness in everyone’s eyes as they go about their business. They’re happy to be working atLure, that much is obvious, but they don’t likewhothey’re working for. It’s visible in their drooped shoulders, occasional frowns, and, dare I say, their infrequent glances, which are full of fear.
I’m helpless when it comes to aiding their comfort. The only thing Icando is ignore and proceed.
Unfortunate, I know.
And, despite how much shit I give my mom and how much I complain about certain things, I really do have dreams of my own forLure– a different vision, perhaps. There are things here I’d like to change, vibes that I would love to mend. But I’ve never really had the drive to let Mom know about any of that. It’ll be a waste, really; she’ll trash the idea even before I’ve finished proposing it to her.
Like I said before: unfortunate.
Mave and I get into the elevator, and I press the button to the 3rdfloor.
The doors close with a smoothswish, and the overhead fan turns on, blowing my hair over my face.
“You okay?” Mave asks from next to me.
I give myself a mock once-over. “I mean, I haven’t fallen in shambles at your feet just yet, so…”
“Nettie,” he says in warning.
I sigh and push my hair away from my face. “I’ll live,” I tell him. “I just…” I cross my arms over my chest. “I just need a couple of espresso macchiatos to get my head on straight.” When Mave lifts both of his brows at me, I click my tongue and say, “Fine, I’ll need at least 3 of them to get through the morning. I’ll let you know the afternoon and evening doses as per my recovery rate.”
He laughs. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit overdramatic?”
“Have Ieverjoked about my caffeine intake?”
He puts his tongue to his cheek. “Not exactly, but–”
“Then I’m not being overdramatic, sir,” I quip, just as the elevatordingsand the doors slide open.
Mave and I step out, and I’m about to face him, but stop when my phone vibrates in my dress pocket.
I pull it out and glance at it, only to suck in a breath when I see Dorran’s name on the screen, along with a text message.
Dorran:You know, I just realized something.
I swallow and lean sideways against the wall next to the elevator. I know Mave is watching me, and I also know that he has sensed my instant change in behavior, so I try to keep my expression neutral as I read Dorran’s text again.
The 3rdfloor is just as abuzz with activity as the others in the HQ are. But, being as it is the floor designated for both the IT and social media departments, you get to hear more keyboard taps and mouse clicks than you do the sound of fabrics being cut and sewing machines being worked.
I clear my throat and finally respond to Dorran.
Me:Did you, now?
He responds a few seconds later.
