CROSSED PATH
7:52 and that stupid espresso machine is literally screaming at me.
Like SCREAMING. Eeeeeeeee. And I'm just standing there dying.
My tote bag is cutting into my shoulder cause I put everything in it. Laptop. Water bottle. Three notebooks I will not even open. My new flats that the girl at Aldo was like "omg these are so comfy you can walk all day in them" are already killing me. Left heel. Huge blister forming, I can feel it. I have a 9am pitch at Whitfield that I am so not ready for even tho I practiced in my bathroom mirror till 1am last night like a crazy person. And my editor has emailed me THREE times already. All of them titled "quick question". It's never quick. It's never ever quick.
And the barista girl is looking at me like I'm being difficult.
"Oat and almond is basically the same thing fr" she says.
No it's NOT. It's not the same thing at all???
I just give up. "You know what black is fine. Just black is fine."
Which is such a lie cause I hate black coffee. I HATE it. It tastes like burnt sadness. But I'm late and I'm tired and my throat is dry from whispering my pitch in the Uber.
So she gives it to me and I sip it and I wanna gag so bad but I don't. I just stand by the window like an adult who likes black coffee. Which I don't. I'm scrolling my slides. I'm whispering to myself like a weirdo. "Good morning, today we are going to reimagine Whitfield not as a brand but as a -" As a what? As a what Mitchell?? God this sounds so dumb why did I write this.
Then the door goes ding.
And he walks in.
I swear to god the whole place went quiet for half a second.
Perfect suit. Like stupid perfect. Navy. No wrinkle. Who looks like that at 7:52am? Who has time? Tall. Calm. Not sweaty and running around like the rest of us. He doesn't look at the menu, doesn't look around, just goes up to the counter like he owns it and says "black coffee. Thanks." And he actually says thanks like he means it. Voice low. Kinda raspy morning voice.
I try so hard to ignore him. I have like 5 minutes left before I have to literally run 6 blocks to Whitfield Tower or I lose the biggest account of my whole life. Like if I blow this, Reyes & Cole is... Yeah. We need this. I need this. My dad put his name on that door.
So I'm back to my whisper pitch thing. "Reimagine as a feeling" God I sound so fake omg.
Then I hear a chair.
He sits down.
At my table.
Ok not AT my table but across from me. Same table. MY table.
I look up and there are NINE empty tables. I counted. Later I counted. Nine. Completely empty. Why mine. Why would you sit at MINE.
He's not even looking at me. He's on his phone. Coffee in one hand. Scrolling with the other. Like so unbothered.
"You're doing the thing" he says.
What thing???
I look around. Is he talking to me? He's talking to me.
"Sorry?" I say.
"You keep biting your lip" he says, still not looking up. "People do that when they've already decided they're gonna lose."
Who. Says. That. To a stranger. At 7am. Who does that.
"Do I know you?" I say. And it comes out so weak. I wanted it to sound bitchy and cool but it came out like a little mouse squeak. Great. Perfect.
"No" he says. Just no. No name. No sorry. Nothing. Back to his phone.
I should have walked away. I should have just left. I have 3 minutes left. I should have run. But now I'm mad. Like actually mad.
"I haven't decided anything. I'm prepared actually." I say, louder than I meant to. Barista looks at me again.
"I didn't say you weren't prepared" he says and finally looks up at me. And his eyes are like... Gray green? Light. And he has this tiny scar through his left eyebrow. Thin. Old. How did he get that? Why am I thinking about that? "I said you decided to lose. Different thing."
Ughhhhh. The AUDACITY. Who is this man.
I grab my bag so fast my coffee almost goes everywhere. It burns my finger a little. "Good talk" I say, trying to make it sound like I won. I did not win.
He almost smiles. Not a mean smile. More like... Amused. Like I surprised him or something.
"Good luck at Whitfield" he says.
I stop. Full freeze. Bag half on my shoulder.
I never said Whitfield. I swear on my life I never said Whitfield out loud. I was whispering but not that loud. No way he heard me.
I turn around so fast. "How do you know that name?" My voice goes all quiet and weird.
He stands up. Oh my god he's tall. Like TALL tall. I have to look up up. And he leaves money on the table, like way too much, double. Who does that. Rich people I guess. He puts his phone in his pocket so slow, like he has all day.
"Because I'm the reason you're pitching for it" he says. Calm. So calm. "Alexander Cole. I own the building you're about to run to in about three minutes. If the elevator doesn't trap you. Which it will btw."
My stomach just... Dropped. Like fell out of my body.
Cole.
As in Reyes & Cole.
As in MY company. As in my dad's ex partner's son? No, the partner himself? Wait no. As in the name that was supposed to stay in Geneva forever and never come back. The guy everyone at the office whispers about. "Mr Cole is in Geneva, he doesn't get involved." That's what they told me.
"You're supposed to be in Geneva" I blurt out. I sound so dumb. So so dumb.
He looks at me like "Oh you know that?"
"I was" he says. "Things changed."
And then he holds the door open for me. But not in a nice cute way. More like in a "we're going the same way so let's go" way. Like he already decided. And he starts walking. Doesn't even check if I'm coming.
Same direction as me. Of course. Same exact direction as me.
And yeah he was right. About the elevator. It did get stuck. Between eleven and twelve. With us inside.
