Читать книгу Masked Innocence - Alessandra Torre - Страница 8

Two

I entered the lobby of Clarke, De Luca & Broward on Monday morning at seven-thirty on the dot. Waving at Ancient Dorothy, I pressed the elevator call button and waited for the car. My early morning wait was interrupted by a clattering of heels from somewhere behind me. The clattering had speed and determination that made me tense in anticipation. I risked a glance over my shoulder and came in full eye contact with an Amazon of a woman. I was wearing three-inch heels and she still towered a good six inches above me, coming to an abrupt halt so close to me that I was forced to look up just so my face wasn’t buried in her breasts. I smiled hesitantly in greeting and stepped to the side, turning back to the bank of elevators, now in the awkward position of whether or not to make polite conversation on the ride up. I was already terrified of this woman, and didn’t know why, other than the fact that she was clearly sizing me up and not being the slightest bit shy about it. I almost expected her to ask me to open my mouth so she could inspect my teeth.

The doors slid open, and after standard overtures, she stepped onto the car, her strong mass dominating the elaborate space. My inner turmoil over whether or not to converse with her was solved by the moment the doors closed.

“So,” she announced with gusto. “You’re Julia.”

“Beg your pardon?” I asked.

“Julia Campbell,” she said, grinning at me, her face beautiful despite the extra weight it carried. As a failed makeup study, I recognized quality makeup when I saw it, and this girl had enhanced an already beautiful face to model-quality, an attribute that many men probably overlooked because of her size. “That’s you, right? I hacked into H.R.’s file and got a copy of your driver’s license. Your pic is a few years old, but pretty damn close.”

If there had been room to take a step back in the elevator, I would have. If I had been scared of her before, I was sweating bullets now. “I’m sorry...I don’t believe we have met. You are...?”

She laughed. “Sorry. I’m Rebecca. Brad’s assistant.”

Brad’s assistant. Suddenly I could breathe a little easier. “Oh. I thought all of his assistants were...” I tried to find the words to describe the three secretaries that reigned over Brad’s wing of the firm.

“Old, wrinkly bitches?” She grinned at me as the doors opened, and I burst out laughing at the description, one that probably fit the three elegant senior citizens that had stuffily dismissed me the one time I had dared to approach their desk. We stepped out of the elevator together and she followed me as I pressed on the door to the West Wing. Surprised, I glanced over at her. “You coming over here?”

“Just for a sec. Brad wanted me to introduce myself, and a thirty-second ride won’t do that justice.”

I doubted a three-day road trip would do that justice, but I smiled at her and unlocked my office door, ushering her in. It was early, but the rest of the staff would be filing in soon. I hoped she wasn’t planning on staying long. Rebecca’s presence was as subtle as a giant sign screaming I’m dating Brad De Luca! hung outside my door.

“I can’t stay.” Her quick words made me wonder how transparent my inhospitable thoughts were. “Let me just get your email address and I’ll be on my way.”

“My email?”

“Yeah. Your personal one. I’ll need to send you some stuff that shouldn’t go over the company intranet.”

I blushed, hoping the attachments weren’t of the adult variety and wondering how much Rebecca knew about our relationship. I scribbled down my email address, passing it to her with a smile that I hoped communicated my friendly intent. “It was nice to meet you, Rebecca.”

“Hey, you, too. Maybe I’ll see you around.” She waved cheerily and swung out the door, her heels pounding down the hallway, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the double doors close behind her. I plopped down in my chair, spinning slightly as I stared at the ceiling. Rebecca sending me “stuff.” This would be interesting.