Ten Days To Say I Do

Chapter 6

Kessler squinted at Jay for another few seconds and then gave up.

"Nah. Must be somebody else. Everybody's got a twin out there."

He went back to knocking on the walls. Victor didn't. He stood with his arms folded, staring at Jay like he was trying to work out a puzzle.

"Let's go, Kessler," he said at last.

"I haven't done the back room."

"Tomorrow."

Kessler muttered to himself all the way to the door. Victor stopped there and turned around, all sweetness.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Mom's throwing you an engagement party, cousin. Saturday night, Marigold Hall, seven sharp. Invitations already went out. She found half your office on f*******:, so they're coming too." He looked at Jay. "Can't wait to hear how you two met. Again."

Door. Bell. Quiet.

Elena let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding for four days.

"Do you know that guy?"

"Kessler? Never met him."

"He said he's seen you."

"I did some work for a property company a few years back." Jay picked up a book and put it down again in the wrong spot. "He probably saw me in an office somewhere. Happens more than you'd think."

It sounded fine. It sounded like something that could be true. Elena was too tired to argue, so she said okay and went to lock the front door.

They ended up eating noodles on the floor in the back room, because the table was buried in boxes of returns. It was after nine. Jay took his tie off and stuffed it in his pocket and sat with his back against a shelf. Elena sat across from him with her shoes off. Her feet hurt. Everything hurt.

"Say you win," Jay said. "What then? What do you do with the place?"

"Fix the roof, first. There's a leak right over poetry. I've had a bucket under it since March." She wound some noodles around her chopsticks. "Then a kids' corner. Nothing fancy. A rug, a couple of beanbags, a box of picture books, so the parents can browse in peace. Grandpa kept saying he'd do it and then never got around to it."

"That's a good idea."

"You think?"

"Yeah. You'd be good at it."

He didn't smile when he said it. He just said it, like a fact, and Elena felt her ears go hot and looked very hard at her noodles.

To change the subject she reached behind her, grabbed a paperback off the shelf, and tossed it across. No cover, spine held together with clear tape. "That was my grandfather's favorite. Read it."

"I haven't read a book for fun in like ten years."

"Then you're way behind."

He turned it over slowly, the way you'd hold a baby bird. "Fine. I'll read it."

"You're just saying that."

"I'm not. I'll tell you what I think when I'm done. Deal?"

"Deal."

It was the first time all week she felt like she was sitting on his side of the table and not across from him.

The next morning she had to go to work, because hiding in a bookshop for two days was already pushing it.

Halden Group had eleven floors in a glass tower downtown. Elena's desk was on six, in accounting, next to a dying plant and a view of somebody else's cubicle. She sat down and found four hundred and twelve unread emails. She counted.

Nobody was really working anyway. The whole floor was jumpy about the new CEO. Somebody had stuck a note on the coffee machine that said HE'S WATCHING, with a drawing of an eye, and nobody took it down.

Around ten, Mr. Dunlap came by. He was her manager, a round man whose tie never made it all the way to his belt.

"Brooks! You're back. Those quarterly reports, done?"

"They were done last week. I sent them to you."

"Right, right, of course." He drummed his fingers on the partition. "Heard you're getting married. Congratulations. Just don't let it get in the way, all right? Things are tight with the new guy coming."

"It won't."

"Good girl." He wandered off, whistling.

She glared at his back. Those quarterly reports had cost her three weekends. Then he'd put his own name on the summary page and sent the whole thing upstairs. She knew because she'd seen the email, and she'd said nothing, because she was busy with the funeral at the time.

She was still getting good and angry when her computer dinged.

Office of the CEO.

Her first thought was another all-staff email about the meeting. But the subject line said Personal Interview Request, and her own name was right there in the first line.

It said she'd been picked for a short private talk as part of the new CEO's review of the staff. Twelfth floor, four o'clock today. Come alone. Don't mention it to anyone in your department.

She read it three times. Then a fourth, just in case.

Nobody in accounting went up to twelve. Nobody in accounting even pushed that button. Four years she'd worked here, and the highest she'd ever gotten was the cafeteria on nine.

She looked around. Nobody was staring at her. Everybody was busy typing.

So why her? She wasn't a manager. She wasn't anybody. She couldn't even get credit for her own reports.

Her phone buzzed on the desk. Jay.

Dinner at Diane's tonight. She wants to talk flowers again. You free?

She turned the phone face down. She didn't answer.

Come alone.

What on earth did the CEO's office want with her?