Page 42 of Ruins
“I’m so sorry I’m late, my name is Olivia. Olivia Baker.”
She extends her hand and I ignore it.
“You are late Ms. Baker, and the position has been filled, thank you.”
Her eyes widen and she deflates, “Already?”
“Yes already, you’re over fifteen minutes late, do youalwayslack punctuality? It won’t bode well for you if being a secretary is your preferred job.”
She sighs defeated, “Are there any other positions? I would do anything, and I mean anything.”
I raise an eyebrow in disbelief as a wave of shock rolls over her face.
“No!” She says her face turning mauve, “Not like that, I meant I would clean toilets if it meant I could have a job.”
“Unfortunately, Ms. Baker this was the only position, and it has been filled.”
She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders.
“Thank you for your time,” with a polite smile Olivia Baker gathers herself and leaves promptly.
The rest of the day passes in a whirl of emails, phone calls, and meetings. As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, I lean back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose to stave off an impending headache. From the corner of my office, I hear a soft knock.
Looking up, I see Sandra peeking around the door. “Mr. Amato, your six o’clock canceled. Your evening is free.”
“Thank you, Sandra,” I say, but the relief in my voice unsettles me.
As the door closes behind her, I stand, turning to the window. Hands in my pockets, my gaze sweeps over the city.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her.
I shouldn’t still feel the ghost of her presence in my office—the way her soft perfume lingered in the air, the way her gorgeous, hopeful eyes searched mine like I was somethingmorethan I am.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
And yet, before I can stop myself, I pick up my phone and dial.
It rings twice before she answers.
“Hello?”
“Vasilisa,” I mutter quietly, I should have more control over my voice.I don’t.“It’s Santo.”
There’s a slight pause before she replies, soft, almost teasing. “I know. Your number is saved, remember?”
I falter.
Idon’tfalter.
But I do now.
Something shifts inside me, something I don’t know how to name. My fingers tighten around the phone, my jaw locking, my body suddenly too warm, too aware.
Why did I call her?
Ishouldn’tbe doing this.
“Right.” The word is clipped, an attempt to regain footing. “Good.”
