“Somewhat, but—”
“But what?? You don’t have final say?”
“Not exactly.” Beverly’s confusion seemed to double as I raced through drawer after drawer, searching for a name. “See, old Mr. Cross hired a decorator when he first bought the building, and not much has changed since then. I’m sure any final approval for any major changes or upgrades would have to go through his son.”
Gotcha!
I lifted my hands in silent triumph as I pulled Robert’s file from the bunch, thanking my lucky stars that his name fell at the early part of the alphabet so I didn’t have to dig through so many. In an effort to avoid leaving any kind of missing-papers trail, I grabbed a pen and scribbled his contact info safely on my hand. The second I was finished, I placed the file back in the drawer exactly as it was, then gave Madison a double thumbs-up to let her know our mission was complete.
Midway through a rant on Japanese architecture, she paused and gave me the slightest of nods. Not a second later, her lecture came to a nonsensical close as she reached out suddenly to give Beverly’s hand a squeeze. “But you don’t want to hear about any of that, do you?” The question wasn’t exactly rhetorical, but before the secretary could say a word, Madison was already breezing toward the door. “Never mind about the fountain, love. I’ll just put in a written request.”
I was already pressed against the wall inside the elevator, safely hidden from view, when she flashed Beverly a parting smile and waved goodbye.
“Thanks for all your help!”
Beverly’s hand lifted automatically, then wilted in her confusion as the doors closed behind Madison.
“You’re welcome?”
Rocketing back to the sixtieth floor, Madison and I were both roaring with laughter. It took a while to get ourselves under control, and by the time we did, we were both seriously considering a life of crime.
“So, I’m assuming you got it,” Madison stated breathlessly as the doors opened to return us to our regular floor.
I held up my hand and offered a grin. “Yes, absolutely.”
She leaned forward and quickly memorized the information for her own nefarious use, then flashed me a smile that was equal parts impressed and proud. “You know, this place wasn’t nearly as fun before you got here,” she mused as she led the way back to her office.
“And you had the audacity to call me boring.”
Chapter 23
The best piece of advice my mother ever gave me was, “Always dress for success.” Whether that meant ironing a shirt before an interview, putting on a soccer jersey before I tried out for the team, or slipping into a little black cocktail dress to get a man’s attention, those were excellent words to live by, a lesson I took to heart and one that had never failed me. I just hope it won’t fail me today.
The dress was elegant, creating an understated silhouette and a shimmering deep purple against my porcelain complexion. The makeup was perfectly plum, in a shade to match, with a faint lilac shimmer above my eyes and a light pink lip. It demanded attention yet was still quite acceptable for the workplace.
My hair was swept off my shoulders and tumbled in auburn waves down the center of my back. As for footwear, I opted for simple heels, and of course my jewelry was kept to a minimum; I wore only the ruby pendant I refused to take off. As far as styling was concerned, I considered it a home run, and even Madison seemed impressed.
“Nice!” she said as she gave me a onceover with wide, appreciative eyes. “You should wear purple more often. It goes perfect with your hair.”
“Thanks.” I gave my do another nervous pat before glancing at the clock on the wall. “I just hope this works. Between the French call and the food fight before that, I’m pretty sure I’m out of second chances.”
“It will work,” she said confidently. “Just stick to the script. Kiss his ass, nicely not literally. This is no time for Evening at the Improv, darling. I hate to tell you this, Jones, but you get a little crazy when you try to adlib.”
“How do I get—”
“Dessert pastries in the face, hiding in the closet, stealing from the secretaries, nearly doing the dirty in the wine cellar...” She ticked them off her fingers one by one as she spoke them. “Must I go on?”
“No, you must certainly not,” I said with a little blush in my cheeks that wasn’t courtesy of Maybelline.
At the sound of a blaring honk, we both glanced at the window.
“That’s my cue.” I picked up my purse and glided down the stairs, with my roomie right behind me. “Wish me luck.”
“You won’t need it,” she said as she opened her door with a sly grin on her face. “Our mysterious Mr. Cross is not going to know what hit him.”
I gave her a grateful nod, then swept out the door.
“Just make sure it isn’t a crème puff!” she shouted.