“Actually I don’t today, but I already know that I want to do more than just your standard five sessions, so no worries. We’ve got tons to do together, Cora.”
More time with Charlie Gill and his adorable puppy. It didn’t feel like work, but she needed to keep it strictly business, despite what was starting to percolate below the surface of their interactions. She’d handled boundary-pushing clients before, bored middle-aged dads and diplomats’ lazy sons. But none of them, not even the very handsome and very married restaurateur who offered to prepare oysters for her in his Georgetown brasserie after-hours, had ever taken up residence in her thoughts the way Charlie Gill had.
TEN
Cora’s ancient hand-me-down Volvo shuddered to a stop in front of the new high-rise just outside Old Town. The building looked like it wouldn’t be out of place among the skyscrapers of New York, which made it stick out in quaint Alexandria. She was back in Virginia to meet with Beth Ann Devlin, a new client referred by Fran Channing. The dog in question was a year-old miniature poodle named Chanel that was barking at every noise in the hallway, a problem with no easy solution in a busy building, and on top of that, Cora’s initial phone conversation with Beth Ann had been stilted and awkward, not a good sign.
She called Beth Ann when she was in the lobby, per her instructions. The call went to voice mail—Cora could barely hear Beth Ann’s message over the pounding dance music in the background—so she typed out a quick text as well. When she didn’t get an immediate reply, she took a seat on one of the fierce-looking wood-and-steel benches arranged in the lobby. It was an upscale, modern building with a disinterested young security guard and few defining features other than the gleaming marble floor and modern art on the walls that looked like neon honeycomb. The formality of the building made Cora feel like she was getting ready for a job interview, and her stomach flip-flopped reflexively. She would’ve rather been in Wade’s cozy kitchen, or even Fran’s posh living room, than in the unwelcoming skyscraper.
She was pondering Charlie’s compliment for the millionth time when she heard someone call her name. “Cora, is that you?” She looked up and saw the Human Blur from Fran’s office standing in front of her.
“Oh, hey! You’re ... Evan, right?”
“Close—Eli Crawford. Nice to see you again! I was hoping I’d run in to you today.”
Cora was confused. “Wait, how did you know I’d be here?”
“I see Fran didn’t tell you. Beth Ann is my neighbor down the hall, and I’m the reason you’re here today. Chanel’s barking is driving everyone on our floor insane, so I told Beth Ann to get in touch with you. I’ve never even met the dog, but she’s made quite the impression on me.” Cora remembered Beth Ann’s rushed introduction on the phone, and that she had mentioned the hotel association but had mumbled something unintelligible after it. Cora had just assumed that Fran was the one who had referred her.
“Well, thank you for thinking of me! That’s so nice of you.” Cora looked down at her phone. “We were supposed to meet fifteen minutes ago, and I called and texted her but I haven’t heard back. I might be getting ‘porched.’ ”
Eli looked at Cora questioningly. “Porched?”
“Yeah, that’s when you make an appointment with someone and they don’t show up—you end up sitting on their porch. Or in this case I guess I’m being ‘lobbied.’ ”
“It’s funny how every industry has its own buzzwords. I love that insider stuff. What are some other secrets?” He sat down on the narrow bench next to her.
“Umm ... you put me on the spot, so of course I can’t think of anything good right now!” said Cora, startled he actually wanted to keep her company while she waited. “How about the hotel world? What are some of your industry secrets?” There, back on solid footing, shifting the conversation away from herself.
“Boutiquehotel. There is a difference.”
While Eli launched into an animated overview of what qualified as a boutique hotel, and why the distinction was so important, Cora took the opportunity to study him. Tall and scarecrow-skinny, he was wearing a cornflower-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and heavy canvas dress pants. His pants were narrow and slightly cropped, exposing navy argyle socks and scuffed bowling-style shoes. Cora couldn’t tell if his geek-chic look was calculated or accidental. He was a tweed cap and vest away from aNewsiescostume, but she supposed it worked for him.
“When we have more time, remind me to tell you about ‘key bombing.’ And did you know that you should never drink out of those glasses that are in your room at big chain hotels? They’ve got those little paper hats on so youthinkthey’re clean, but they don’t actually wash them! They use”—he paused to let her curiosity build—“furniture polish! How disgusting is that?”
“Um, it’s horrifying, because I drink out of them all the time.” Cora hid a grin, amused by the way Eli didn’t just tell a story, but actuallylivedit as he spoke, gesturing dramatically like an actor.
“And you’ll never guess what’s all over ninety percent of the TV remotes in hotel rooms.” The words were coming out quickly, as if he couldn’t keep up with his thoughts.
“No clue.”
“Urine and semen.”
His words hung in the air for a moment before Cora burst out laughing.
“Wait, did I just say that?” Eli asked himself. “Did I really just say the wordsemento you? Oh my God, I am theworst.” He leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling.
“I get it, humans are gross, that’s why I hang with dogs,” Cora said, trying to ease Eli’s embarrassment. She glanced down at her phone again and was surprised at how quickly the time had passed in his company. “Wow, she’s over twenty minutes late. It’s time for me to hit the road—”
“Not so fast,” Eli said quietly, staring across the lobby.
Cora followed his gaze to a young woman staggering toward them, loaded down with shopping bags. Her dyed blond hair had what looked like a days-old blowout that was starting to go greasy at the roots. Attractive in a slightly puffy, too-much-makeup kind of way, she wore gold mirrored leather high-tops, tight jeans that emphasized her thick legs, and an expensive-looking chunky white sweater coat that was too warm for the temperate spring day.
“Are you Cora? You must be Cora. I’m so sorry I’m late!”
“Hi, Beth Ann. I was just about to leave, I thought you forgot about our lesson. We’re really behind schedule, and I have another client booked right after you, so we can get started on Q and A and paperwork, but I have to leave on time.” Cora had little patience for people who didn’t respect her time. Plus, she noticed a blinged-out phone in Beth Ann’s hand. She had her phone and didn’t even have the common courtesy to text that she was running late.
Beth Ann furrowed her brow. “Okay, okay, that’s fine. Let’s hurry then.” She turned to face Eli. “Thanks for helping with this.”
