Page 59 of When Glitter Meets Gold

Walter clears his throat. “That’s because restaurants aren’t potential business. Going to that launch party was just good exposure for us.” He steps around his desk, tucking a couple of documents under his arm. Then he grins, nudging me playfully. “Street vendors, remember? Not restaurants.”

I breathe out a slow-motion laugh. “I remember. But you must admit the revenue we could be generating by expanding our services is quite significant.” He doesn’t lookup at me, but I keep going. “Not to mention, this could be an opportunity to work with a different type of clientele, the fact we were even invited to the Midas launch suggests we’re already on the radar of this type of business. Look, I’ve been running some numbers?—”

“Hold up.” Walter cuts in, heading toward the door. “I like where your heads at. Sure, growth is key, but you don’t want to be scaring off the interviewers at this early stage by yapping about how much business they’re losing. Let’s focus on what we’re gaining. Understand?”

I keep my hand in my pocket, tightening my grip on the note cards as I try to keep the disappointment from reaching my voice when Walter grabs the doorhandle and exits his office. “Of course. I understand.”

A second later, his face reapers from behind the door, and I feel a smile tug at the corner of my mouth when I think he’s reconsidered hearing me out.

“Almost forgot, Francis was trying to get hold of you,” Walter says. “Go see what he wants, would you?”

I give him a thumbs-up as I follow him out of the room.

Grinding my jaw the entire way to reception, I’m torn between giving up pitching my idea, and holding onto it until Walter is in a better mood before I attempt to broach the subject again.

As I approach reception, a guy from tech support calls to me in passing, “Heard about that hike, how was it?”

“A humbling experience I won’t be repeating for a while.” I call back the practiced phrase I’ve been telling everyone who asks.

Francis rolls his eyes at me from behind his tall white station behind the reception desk. The neon-orange lights from around the edging light up his round features, and I notice that the concealer around his eye area is a shade toolight, which for Francis, is very unusual. Keen not to get on his shit list for today, I don’t mention it.

“Why the eye roll?” I ask as he continues to type.

“You’re feeding everyone the same line about the hike. It’s rehearsed. Perhaps more rehearsed than Broadway.” He moves away from his keyboard, then rattles his cup of iced coffee for dramatic effect.

“What’s your point?” I move a pile of documents on the clear white surface of his desk. Francis snatches them back, the control freak in him rearranging them to his liking.

“My point is, rehearsed lines are for people who want to keep to the script. And a script is a made up story.” He clasps his hands on the desk and eyes me from over the rim of his cat-eyed glasses. “You, Sara Kirby, are a woman trying to keep her story straight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that I know you didn’t go on that hike.” His chin lifts.

“I most certainly did.” I pat my hips to retrieve my phone before realizing it’s at my desk. “I have photos.”

“And I have photos that say my waist is three sizes smaller than it is. What’s your point?”

I fire back with an eye roll of my own. “What’s it to you what I did or didn’t do?”

His eyebrow lifts dramatically. “So, you admit you didn’t go?”

I shoot him a scathing look.

“Okay, then at least tell me why Drew went all the way out there to see you. The other night he said he was in your hotel room. Kandi thinks it’s bullshit, but I think otherwise. Did you hook up? Was that why you went all the way out there? A dirty, secret rendezvous?” He grabs two balls of rubber bands. One small, and one large that looks like he’sbeen working on it all year. He holds out the smaller ball. “Was he garden snake?” He then presents the larger one, biting his lip and grinning. “Or king cobra?”

“Francis!” I shriek. “There was no hook up!”

Francis leans back, crossing his arms over his pastel-blue shirt. “I will get it out of you.”

He has a determined look in his eye, and I know I must sink low in order to get him to back down. “You should worry less about who I’m sleeping with, and more about that undereye concealer. Did you do that in the dark this morning?”

He gasps, immediately raising both index fingers to cover the space just below his glasses. “I…I was running late.”

I purse my lips together, delivering him a smug look.

“Anyway, Walter said you were looking for me.” I sigh. “Did you have something important to tell me, or was gossip the only thing on your agenda?”

Francis pats at his concealer, pretending I don’t exist.

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