She eyes me in a curious fashion. “Did you have a good night with the boyfriend?”
I snort. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I just like my job.”
“Oh…” Lake simpers at the sidewalk. “I think that’s great.” She looks up to observe my appearance. “And you look great today. Very West Coast.”
I stifle a panicked gasp as I look down at my faded and stressed blue jeans with green high tops. “Really?”
She chuckles. “Well, you’re from Seattle, so…”
Damn it.She hasn’t even seen my oversized V-neck sweater. “So…?”
Lake shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Lots of Californians migrate to Washington state.”
I’m still trying to figure out what to say.Is she really that observant? If so, then I’d better be careful around her. Especially if I want my ruse to never end.
She pats me consolingly on the back. “Don’t sweat it, Lark. I notice those sorts of things. I’m an artist.”
“An artist?” I ask as we move into the drum of the revolving doors.
“I paint,” she says with a sigh.
We step into to the lobby.
I smile lightly, trying to keep her engaged in our conversation. “A programmer who paints?”
“My dad insisted that I learn a skill that pays the bills, which is why I have a day job,” she says with a cynical eye roll.
I nod. That certainly makes sense to me. My parents would encourage me to do the same thing. That’s why I thank my lucky stars that my career goals are in alignment with my parents’ expectations.
“Hey, do you want to have lunch together today?” she asks.
“Sure,” I reply, no hesitation necessary.
“Good,” she says, smiling from ear to ear. “I’m glad we hired you. You’re not like the average tech-head.”
I chuckle. “Thanks, I think.”
She glares forebodingly at the elevators. People are waiting in flanks for their turn to take the ride up.
“Oh my God… it’s Mason,” she says, barely moving her lips.
He’s watching us.
* * *
Mason is distractedwhen he says good morning to us. He’s too busy focusing on our effort to make it inside the next elevator. I think it’s his presence that has turned Lake’s cheeks redder. The doors open. The maneuvering starts, and Mason, Lake, and I end up standing next to each other at the back of the elevator. Mason stands between us, and his full attention—I’m sure to Lake’s chagrin—is pinned solely on me.
“I want us to get New Delhi and London up and running stat. I’ll book flights if we have to.”
“Flights?” Lake blurts. It sounds like her voice dripped in out of nowhere.
He takes a glance at her as if he’s just now aware that she’s with us. I wonder what the deal is between the two of them. The more Mason conversed with me yesterday, the more disappointed Lake looked. I think she likes him. I should ask her.
“Yes, flights,” he says, frowning. “Is there a problem?”
“I don’t think you two executives have to fly to New Delhi and London to fix anything.”
My heart feels tickly.Am I an executive?Shit, I am!I feel as if I’m standing taller than I did before my executive status sank in.
