Page 7 of Making It While Faking It
Achilles standsin front of the semicircle-shaped reception desk that has platinum siding and a white quartzite top. The three women working behind the barrier behold his amazingly handsome face as though it’s a never-before-seen masterpiece by Chagall. For a moment, I feel as if time has stalled and I’m able to take in the entire scene without being noticed. For instance, each receptionist wears the same kind of smart black suit with a crisp white blouse buttoned to the neck. Each has her hair pulled back into a tight bun that clings to the nape of her neck, so it’s easy to see that all their faces have turned various shades of red, depending on the hue of their skin. They only turn to acknowledge me when Achilles does. His disapproving gaze runs up and down my body. Looking into that gaze reminds me that I’m wearing faded bell-bottom blue jeans with a fitted, crisp white button-front blouse that has oversized sleeves. My hair billows from a loose topknot. And since the weather is warmer and more humid in New York than Iceland, as soon as I deplaned, I rummaged through my suitcase and found my gladiator sandals. I look down at my feet and then at Achilles. It’s apparent that he’s judging me for being the only underdressed person in the room. I probably should’ve worn something else, but I did the best I could with what I had, being that I didn’t pack any business-formal attire to take with me to Iceland. So screw Achilles. He doesn’t get to judge me anyway.What an asshole.
Shoulders back, I finish closing the distance between me and the desk.
“Hi, I’m Treasure Grove,” I say, pretending Achilles is not with us, although his cologne smells searingly delicious. My nostrils detect hints of sandalwood, apple, and black pepper. I can feel him looking at me still.What’s his deal?I never back down from a passive-aggressive challenge, but I’m feeling myself shrink under his glare. I hate that I’m responding to him this way. I should purse my lips and dress him down properly, but I can’t do it. He’s won. I’m intimidated by him.
“Yes, Miss Grove. We’ve been expecting you,” the girl whose name tag says Tonia remarks before shifting her dutifully friendly eyes to Achilles. “Will you both follow me?”
Achilles waits for me to walk first. I continue to avoid eye contact with him as I follow the receptionist through a white-walled corridor with clean gray sandstone floors. It’s been a long time since I’ve walked this path, but I know it well. We’re on our way to the secure elevators that go directly to my uncle Xander’s office.
Gosh, he’s walking so close behind me. Thankfully, the clacking of Tonia’s heels and Achilles’s dress shoes echoes loudly enough to make it impossible for any awkward attempts at small talk. But why does my head feel so cloudy? Why am I able to sense his every movement? The subtle power of that cologne he’s wearing continues to wash over me. Orange blossom—I missed that scent at first, but it’s plainly there. I would compliment him on the scent if he weren’t behaving like a storm cloud. I figure if Achilles is pretending that I don’t exist, then I should do the same. He’s already setting the tone for our affiliation, and heck, I think I like it.
“Tonia,” I say now that my inner dialogue has made me feel a lot more relaxed.
Tonia raises her eyebrows up high as we stop at the platinum-plated elevators. “Yes, Miss Grove.” Her smile and voice are less robotic. I think it’s because I referred to her by her name.
“Is my mom, Londyn Grove, around?” She runs the Grove Philanthropic Foundation and has an office in the building and on the same floor as my uncle Xander. I would love to stop by and see her. I hadn’t laid eyes on her since Christmas Day dinner.
“No, Londyn, I mean, Mrs. Grove is uptown on business,” she says, pressing her finger to the identification pad.
Grunting, I feel a stab of disappointment. I would’ve loved to hug and kiss her. I’ve been missing her and too preoccupied with my own life and worries to make a plan to meet her for brunch. “Oh well, thanks for letting me know.”
The elevators begin to slide open. “But I can let her know you inquired about her.”
“That’d be nice.”
Her smile takes a different dimension as the doors finish sliding open. “By the way, I really love the food at TCC.”
I hesitate before slapping a hand over my chest. Is that what people are calling my fine five-star dining restaurant, TCC? That sounds like a chain-food restaurant or a yogurt shop. I’ll have to change the name of my restaurant after the renovation. But this deal isn’t set in stone yet. Anything can happen, especially since Achilles is behaving like sour candy.
“Really?” I say in a high-pitched voice, forcing myself back to the moment.
“Very much so, and we’ll be back soon.”
“Then…” I look over at Achilles, who surprisingly appears to be patiently watching the exchange between me and Tonia. I thought he’d be tapping his watch, signaling that he has more important things to do than listen to two girls prattle on about a restaurant he’ll never visit. Regardless, I don’t want to be rude, so I step into the elevator and then turn around to ask her, “What’s your last name?”
She appears surprised, like she knows she’s about to receive a reward. “Um, Gamble.”
“Tonia Gamble,” I say as I move over and give space for Achilles to enter. “I’ll put you on the guest list. Anytime you want a reservation, we’ll find space for you. And your next five dinners are on us.” I raise a finger as the doors begin to close. “That includes you and your guests.”
Tonia belts a loud and happy “thank you” before I’m shut into the elevator alone with Achilles.
“You’ll never make money giving away dinners for free.”
I startle in surprise. It almost sounds like his voice whispered from the heavens. “Ah,” I say, quirking an eyebrow with intrigue. “So he does speak.”
His serious grimace is pinned to my face. We’re just staring at each other as the elevator soars to the top floor. The silence between us is torturous and awkward. But the ball is in his court. He’s supposed to respond to my last comment with something. Anything. But he doesn’t. The thing is, I haven’t gotten this far in life by playing asshole with an asshole. So I reach inside myself for genuine empathy for this dick and release a sharp sigh before finding the best smile I can muster.
“How was your morning, Mr. Lord?” I ask in a syrupy voice.
I’m waiting for something on his face to change, but his pressed lips and the puckered skin between his eyebrows don’t ease up. But still, I wait expectantly for him to say something anyway. Goodness gracious, he can’t be this socially awful.
“It was fine,” he replies quietly.
Pressing my fingers to my collarbone, I lean toward him like I have a secret to tell him. “I know this is awkward. But believe me, whatever you do, whoever you are, will not be exposed by me.”
His eyes contract even more as his glare laps my face. It’s like he didn’t hear a thing I just said. Then he leans away from me. “You look different.”
I tip my head to one side. I didn’t expect him to say that. “Of course I look different. You haven’t seen me since I was a kid. I’m a woman now.” My smile is friendly. I want him to recognize that I’m lightening the mood, showering sunshine over his storm cloud.
