Page 24 of The Physical Attraction Seminar
“Knock knock.” A familiar feminine voice comes from behind me, followed by the tapping of fingers on the glass door.
With a twist of my body, I glance over my shoulder, and my eyes immediately meet with a face I’d recognize anywhere. “Wait… Aspen?”
“Oh my god, Lyla!” She moves so quickly that I barely have time to blink before she pulls me into a tight embrace, her arms squeezing my neck. “Since when do you work in this building?”
“Today’s my first day, actually,” I explain, hardly ableto scrounge out the words because she’s crushing my windpipe. “Camila is here in the legal department too. I had no idea this is where your office is.”
Aspen Spears is arguably the nicest girl on Earth. If you met her while strolling down the street, your immediate impression might make you believe she works in a daycare center or rescues puppies from burning buildings for a living. You’d never be able to tell if you met her, but she founded a multi-million-dollar investment banking firm, and now she’s one of the wealthiest women under the age of thirty in the country. Somehow, in the midst of running an empire, the girl still finds the time to teach pilates every Saturday morning at a small studio in East Village.
At the start of the new year, much like many others, Camila and I set out to prioritize our health. We were going strong with weekend pilates classes until about six weeks ago when we were too hungover from a friend’s birthday party to even attempt to go to class. And well… we kind of, sort of, never went back.
“I haven’t seen you two in class lately. Where have you guys been?”
“Oh, you know…”
Sleeping in. Grabbing brunch. Lounging on the couch like sloths with a bodega bacon, egg, and cheese in hand while we catch up on trashy reality T.V. shows. Really, any other Saturday morning activity other than sunrise reformer pilates that leaves my body aching in places that I didn’t even know existed.
“Well, we’ve missed you in class. Youguys should come back soon.” She stands and places a hand on my shoulder, offering a tender smile before turning her attention to Barrett. “Sorry for pushing back our meeting. We’re getting audited, and everyone is on edge.”
“They seem to be sweeping all the tenants in the building. Didn’t the people on the 16th floor undergo an audit a couple of months ago?”
“They must know something we don’t.” Aspen shakes her head and does a little hop of her shoulders.
Barrett lets out a long, exasperated sigh before dragging his gaze over to me. “Lyla, can you fill out that paperwork and bring it down to HR whenever you’re done? They’re one floor up to the right. You can’t miss it.”
I nod, saying a quick goodbye to Aspen as we trade seats.
“Lyla?” Barrett calls my name once I’m halfway out the door, and I turn over my shoulder to look at him. His face remained impassive and distant, revealing no emotion. “It’s important that you read over the first document thoroughly.”
I give him a reassuring nod before settling back into my chair, placing the manila folder on top with a soft thud. Leaning over, I grab a black pen from the wire mesh cup. The sound of the metal clinking against the other pens fills the air while I offhandedly open the file.
My stomach plummets when I look at the first document, and written across the top in big, bold letters are the words:
Banks Brothers Enterprises
Non-Fraternization Policy
TEN
LYLA
They saybad things come in threes, but it turns out being late comes in threes as well.
This time, there’s no one to point fingers at but me. In my groggy state, it completely slipped my mind to set my alarm while trying to get to sleep early for once. I simply forgot. That’s it. That’s the truth. God, how embarrassing is that? Sometimes, I wish the earth would open up and swallow me whole to escape another embarrassing situation with Barrett.
Today, out of all the days, I can’t believe this is happening. I needed to be in the office early so I could secure tickets for Barrett and me to attend his annual work conference. I planned on arriving at work by 8 a.m., an hour before tickets went on sale, to give myself enough time to get settled in so that I wouldn’t be in a rush. Tickets go on sale in ten minutes and I’m hastily slipping into a pair of pants while fumbling around the room in search of a presentable shirt.
My eyelids are still crusty with sleep because I literally just woke up not even five minutes ago. The only reason I checked my phone was because I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach, telling me my alarm should have gone off already. It was as if my body instinctively knew that I had overslept.
In my frantic haze, I snatch my phone from the nightstand, my finger trembling as I press the call button on Barrett’s contact page.
The two of us have hardly spoken since Monday. It’s like I signed the non-fraternization policy, and Barrett went mute. I’m pretty sure I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him leave his office in the last four days. Whenever he needs to talk to me or has work to give me, it is always—always—via chat or email, and it reads like a PhD dissertation.
I hate to disappoint him, especially when we’ve just started working together. Even more so when considering the fact that he had already taken the time to sit me down and emphasize the importance of completing this specific task on time. With every ring, my gut churns with uneasiness.
I know he’s going to be upset with me, as he should be, but I think it would be much better to be upfront and honest with him. The sound of disappointment in his voice will be hard to bear, but I believe it’s best to ask if someone else can handle getting the tickets. I have a feeling he’d be more upset if I came to him later, begging for forgiveness instead of taking responsibility in the moment.
As soon as he picks up the call, I hearthe bustling sounds of the office in the background, and I waste no time in blurting out, “I’m late.”
