Page 10 of The Perfect Mistake

Isabel

Contron is intimidating.

It belongs to a world I don’t live in. Cutthroat, sure, I’m used to that. High-stakes, yes, I know that well. But the large skyscraper in front of me bearing the name of Connie’s family company is a far cry from a dance studio or a stage in front of a welcoming audience. It’s cold steel and brutal glass shapes, and it’s the headquarters of a business empire.

I take a deep breath and walk into the lobby.

When Connie had called about interviewing for Alec, the no hovered on the tip of my tongue. How could I become his employee? How could I walk into a room and not feel the charged current rip through me, like it always does when he’s around, and answer questions about my job experience?

But the truth is a raw, uncomfortable thing. I need an income. I need a place to stay. And more than anything, I need something to do. The past week without hours of ballet practice had nearly driven me mad. I can’t take more weeks like that.

I haven’t stood still for years, and doing so now would break me.

So I keep moving. Straight toward the lone receptionist seated behind a desk in the vast, steel lobby. The Contron logo looms large behind her on the wall.

To the right are the electronic gates, with the elevators beyond the security perimeter. I watch as a few men in suits walk by carrying lunch bowls and swiping their access cards to gain entrance.

The receptionist looks up at me. “Hello. Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m here to see Alec Connovan?”

A smile curves her lips. It’s not a particularly nice one. “Sorry, you’re here to see the CEO?”

“Yes.”

“And who called this meeting?”

“He did. Well, I got the information from Connie.”

“And that would be Constance Connovan?” the receptionist asks slowly. “Do you have an invitation email or a letter?”

I shift from one foot to the other. “No, it was over the phone. I’m a friend of Connie’s.”

She’s still smiling, her lips pulled into a mocking curl. But she reaches for her phone. “I’ll call up. And who shall I say is here to see the CEO?”

“Isabel Morales.”

“Right. Excellent. You can have a seat.”

Sitting down on the pristine white sofa in the lobby feels awkward. About as awkward as my black jeans and brown teddy jacket among this sea of suits. I couldn’t be more out of place if I tried.

What was I thinking, agreeing to this?

Alec. It’s the painfully simple answer. He’s always been impossible to overlook. Whatever the attraction is, it’s hard to put into words, but that’s what I’ve felt from the very first time he glanced at me. His hazel eyes had been hard in the hallway outside of Connie’s apartment. His hair messy. Later, I learned that it’s never messy.

I shoot Connie a text.

Isabel: Hey. I’m downstairs in your lobby, but can’t get through the security gates.

It takes five minutes before she walks out of the elevator and through the biometric gate. She’s a vision of professionalism in her gray slacks and white silk shirt, and her auburn hair is in a bun.

Connie smiles when she sees me. “Isabel,” she says and pulls me in for a hug. “Thanks for coming by on such short notice.”

People are watching us. Curious glances are thrown our way by passersby returning from their lunch breaks… and an outright stare from the receptionist.

I’ve never seen people react to her like that before. She’s always been Connie—my friend in yoga class and at dinners out or at home.

“Come, this way…” She swipes her card, and we cross the security gate. An elevator opens and she walks straight inside. I notice other people hanging back, choosing another car. Does she realize how much deference people here give her?

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