ROSE
Bossman:Good morning, Rose. I know it’s your day off. However, Carol has a nasty case of morning sickness today. I need you to do the interview today at noon. See the receptionist at Richards Plaza for more information. Thanks.
Rose:Sure, boss. Sounds good.
Bossman:I’ll send over Carol’s questions for some ideas.Check her notes too.
Bossman:And remember, this is an incredible opportunity for you. We need the article ready after the Fourth of July weekend.
Rose:Copy that!
An hour and twenty minutes later, I’m standing in front of the Richards Plaza, one of the ritziest places in the city. It’s pouring, so even if I looked up, I wouldn't be able to see the top of the building in this weather.
My head is pounding, my mouth feels like Pickles took a piss in there, and my eyelids are closing of their own accord. My huge sunglasses don’t block anything at all, and it’s not even sunny today. I wish I were in my bed under the covers curing my hangover. Instead, I’m here to do a last-minute interview that my boss surprised me with earlier this morning.
Why did I drink last night again? Oh yes, I wasn’t supposed to work today.
Stepping inside the tall building, I shake water off my polka-dotted red umbrella. I look around me in wonder. Whoever thinks money doesn’t buy happiness hasn’t been here. Actually, that statement is full of bull. I bet my left tit that the affluent residents of the Richards Plaza have more drama in their lives than us ordinary folk. Drama equals unhappiness in my book.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to Richards Plaza. My name is Mandy, and I’m here for your comfort. How can I help you today?” The receptionist behind the desk greets cheerily as I walk up to the front desk.
“Hi Mandy, I’m Rose Summers from Bridgeway magazine. I have an interview with one of your residents today. My boss Andrew Duckett told me that you know more.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Duckett called and informed us about the changes. Please wait a moment, and I’ll get you a visitor pass,” Mandy informs me, tapping on her keyboard loudly. I rub my temples as they feel like they might explode at any moment.
Opening my co-worker Carol’s notes on my phone while waiting for the pass, I scan the essential information for the interview:Elijah Theodore Dalton. 25 years old. Famous tech mogul, the founder and CEO of Dalton Enterprises, and a philanthropist. Lots of charity work. A net worth of hundreds of millions.
There is no picture, but he is much younger than I expected for our first rags to riches story. Funny, I thought I would interview some middle-aged prick. Maybe my day will not be as dull as expected.Famous last words.
Ten minutes later, I’m walking towards the elevator bank, holding my visitor’s pass and a takeaway cup from the coffee shop in the lobby. It’s my second cup today. I’m sure it will not be the last one.
Pressing the button, I think how owning a freaking penthouse in the middle of the Financial District must cost millions. It doesn’t surprise me as Elijah Dalton has money to spend, based on what I just read. Honestly, I would be happy if my bank account had three zeros on it. Most of the time, it only has two. I bet Mr. Dalton is one of the wealthiest people I’ll ever meet.
The elevator doors slide open, and I straighten my white blouse and dark gray pencil skirt as I step inside. My red heels and lipstick complement the otherwise classic business outfit. My hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Well, at least it was sleek before the rain outside. This happens every time. Finger combing my hair, I try to fix it. No luck. I remove my hair tie and let my unruly curls charm this Elijah Dalton person.
Thanks, humidity, for making me look like a poodle.
As I was unprepared for the last-minute interview, my makeup is light except for my lips today. They are the color of the poppy flowers. Having a little confidence boost never hurts. The bright red color also makes me look less tired.
Without my usual everyday look, you can see a light spattering of freckles across my face. Summertime always brings them out. They are one of my favorite things in my entire body. Why do I usually hide them with my makeup?
There’s no time to question my looks further as the doors slide open, and I step into the penthouse. “Hi, anyone here? Mr. Dalton, are you there?” I ask the empty foyer.
No answer. I expected them to call him before letting me come upstairs.
Looking around, I notice how open the place is. There are no personal touches. Everything looks cold and clinical.Weird. Who is this Elijah Dalton guy?
After a minute, a man walks down the stairs from the top floor. I see his bare feet and ripped jeans first. That’s unexpected for a multimillionaireinterviewing with one of the most respected business magazines in the country. His muscular body and a well-fitted white Henley shirt complete the unofficial look.
My eyes trace up his body while my chest feels like it’s crushed in a vice. I feel my heart pounding out an erratic rhythm.
I freaking know him.
I know Elijah Dalton.
Or should I sayEli Parker of 29 Redwood Lane?
I must be dreaming again.
