Page 15 of By A Thread
I was rocking a thrift store pencil skirt over bargain-buy lace leggings that made my legs itch. But I’d managed to add my own flair with the thick, colorful hair ties I’d stacked up both wrists. Functional and fashionable. Coincidentally also cheaper than a diamond tennis bracelet.
As the elevator zoomed skyward, nerves had my heart flip-flopping in my chest. I was a pro at starting new jobs. I was great at people-ing. But stepping into that elevator with women who were six inches taller than me and thirty pounds lighter was an eye-opening experience. So was the guy pushing a cart with two dozen Chanel gift bags.
The air smelled expensive in here like subtle brand-name perfumes, luxury creams, and lotions. Meanwhile, I smelled like bargain-brand lemon-scented shampoo.
The gazelle next to me bobbled the tray of coffee cups she was holding. She caught it, but her phone went flying.
I grabbed it off the floor since I was the closest one to it. It would probably take any one of the glamazons a full ten seconds to bend gracefully from their heights to reach the floor.
“Here,” I said, handing the phone back to her.
“Thanks,” she breathed. “I’m such a klutz, and they still make me do the coffee runs downstairs.”
She was closing in on six-feet in her suede ruby heels. Her heritage looked like it was somewhere in the Native American meets Japanese range. In any bar in the city, she’d be considered stunning. Here, she was a coffee getter. I wondered if I was about to learn that my new job involved scrubbing toilets.
I didn’t care. I’d still take it.
Besides, clearly none of these people ate or drank. The bathrooms were probably unused and spotless.
“You’re a model who does coffee runs?” I asked.
She looked at me, blinked, and then laughed. Until she bobbled the tray again.
As a safety precaution, I took it from her.
“That’s adorable,” she said, grinning at me. “I work in the admin pool forLabel.”
“But you look like… that,” I said, waving my free hand in the direction of her face. “DoesLabelhave a surplus of cover model-worthy women so they just redistribute them to other departments?”
“I’m a hella fast typer, and organization is my religion. And if someone put me in front of a camera, I’d fall on my face. Plus, I can’t smile on command.” She held up her company ID. In the grainy photo, she looked as if she were retracting her head into an invisible turtle shell. “Do you work in the building?” she asked.
“I’m about to. First day.”
“Cool. What company?”
“Label,” I said.
“Coworkers,” she chirped. “I’m Gola, by the way. What department?”
“I’m Ally, and I’m not sure. Dalessandra just told me to show up and ask for her.”
Gola blinked. “DalessandraRusso?” She said the name with equal parts awe and fear.
“Yeah.”
“I have so many questions,” she confessed.
“That makes two of us.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened on the forty-third floor. We both got out. “Here, I’ll take you to the front desk,” she offered, taking back the tray of coffees.
“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”
I opened one of the glass doors for Gola.
“First lesson, we’re not all models, and we’re not all super mean. But some of us are both,” Gola said, leading the way to a horseshoe-shaped counter of glowing white quartz. The woman standing behind it was an ivory-skinned redhead in a chic, plaid sheath dress.
I felt like I’d shown up to the prom in pajama pants.
