Page 11 of The Dis-Graced
“Excuse me,” I say rising from my seat, “but I think you might have the wrong office—”
“No, I think I’m in the right place,” the woman cuts me off.
I rise from my seat to escort her to Edna’s desk, or security if the situation requires.
“I must insist that you—”
Beneath the shadow of her bonnet, I see a pair of thick-framed glasses.
“Grace, why the hell are you dressed like a Puritan?”
“Ummm, this is Amish chic. Get it right.”
My jaw drops and my brow furrows in confusion. “Why the hell are you wearing a twenty-pound black dress in the middle of summer? Why would someone ever wear that?”
“The last time we met, you expressed concern that I might not be able to actprofessionallyaround the upstanding men and women you associate with. As you can see, I have no intention of drawing attention to myself.”
“Holy Christ, you think an outfit like that isn’t going to attract attention? There’s literally a porn category for everything. This is only going to make men more interested in what you’re hiding beneath that-that—” I gesture to her dress.
“Hiding beneathwhat?” she returns with a cocked brow.
I run my fingers through my hair and decide it would be best just to dive right into work, though I’d much rather be diving into her.
Down boy!
“Let’s take a seat, shall we?”
Grace reclaims her chair from earlier in the week while I busy myself making two cups of coffee.
As much as I’d love to say I’m immune to Grace’s charms, there’s something about her that makes it hard for me to concentrate when she’s in the room. I can barely work the damn coffee maker, and it’s only a three button process.
“I signed all the applicable legal documents after our meeting on Tuesday, but no one has so much as given me a hint as to what I’m going to be working on. I assume it’s more than a print piece, and if it is, I’m going to need some equipment.”
After entirely too much time spent trying to remember the sequence of buttons I need to push in order to get my morning cup of coffee, I wing it, immediately regretting my actions when I’m given just half a cup.
“Fear not, your questions will be answered shortly,” I call back over my shoulder.
Don’t let her see you this worked up.
I cast her a smile, then put another mug under the coffee maker’s nozzle. This time, I remember which buttons to push and in what order, delivering to Grace a perfect cup.
“Thank you,” she says, sprinkling in some sugar.
I take a seat, not bothering to add cream or sugar to my cup because there’s no way in hell I’m drinking whatever ungodly concoction I’ve created.
“So, there’s been a security lapse,” I start in. “Do you have anything you’d like to say?”
She looks up from her cup, blinking at me as though I were crazy. “What are you talking about?”
“Over there, on my desk,” I point to the stack of magazines and newspapers, “there’s a picture of you going into your apartment building on Monday after you arrived in New York City.”
She purses her lips and glares at me critically. “Are you suggesting I told people that I’m in the city and where I’d be staying? I’ve literally spent three days holed up in my new apartment because I’ve been told not to leave my room. I even had to have my new dress Amazoned to me.” Grace gestures to her body. “I’m not about to waste this opportunity.”
My gaze never leaves hers, but I allow silence to speak for me.
Grace rises from her seat, her face contouring from shock to fury. “I can’t believe this!”
Without thinking, I say, “You can’t believe I think you’d try to get yourself a bit of press? I mean, we both know what you’re willing to do to get ahead.”
