Page 8 of The Boss and the Wedding Mess
"So, how do you like London these days?"
"Eh, it's just London," I say, and my mood immediately drops considerably.
"It's not so bad. After all, it's home."
"Yeah, sure, but I really miss New York. These two cities couldn't be more different. Like a steak and a vegan cutlet," I laugh. Stephanie has been vegan for some time and Marc has to suffer a bit because of it.
"I get it," he says, and we both laugh, even though I don't feel like it.
We chat a bit more about the wedding until I reach the company and park in my assigned spot.
"So, I’ve arrived. I'll check in later as soon as I know anything new about the license plate."
"Alright. Talk to you later."
I hang up and remove my phone from the mount, put it in my pocket and adjust my tie and my watch. As I get out of the car, I cast a critical look around. The parking lot is clean and well-maintained, and the landscaping also gives a good impression. My father insists on such details. Punctuality. Precision. Intelligence. Good manners. A well-groomed appearance. The five pillars of his success. I’ll be following in his footsteps soon, and it won’t be easy. To live up to his standards, I’ll have to work hard.
I walk calmly toward the entrance. It’s as imposing as anything I’ve seen in New York. He spared no expense in shaping the first impression for potential clients. For a tech company, the extravagance feels more suited to a fashion brand, but that’s my father. He loves the grand and flashy. I prefer classic and simple.
The reception hall is massive, with a soaring ceiling topped by a glass dome. From here you can see all the way up to the eighth floor, the galleries lining each level clearly visible.
My gaze drifts to the black furniture arranged near the tall windows. A few employees sit there, chatting over their morning coffee. Laptops are open on the tables, phones in hand or next to them. Young, polished women in heels hurry past me. I catch a few surprised looks but ignore them.
The reception desk stands in the center of the entrance hall. Several employees are busy there, answering phones, typing at their computers, helping colleagues with questions.
I pull out my ID card, which gives me access through security and into the restricted area. As I head toward the metal detectors, guarded by several large, broad-shouldered men, I notice a woman just ahead of me. She strides toward them confidently, and they’re already smiling and greeting her warmly. The people before her only received a curt nod, nothing more.
She must be someone important, but apparently not important enough to have an assistant. She’s juggling four large boxes while her small handbag keeps slipping from her shoulder.
"Good morning," the security guards greet her as she walks through the checkpoint and heads toward the elevators. I pause briefly, watching her struggle to press the elevator button with her pinky finger without dropping the boxes. It’s not going well, and I’m gonna help, once I get past security.
But then she turns, and for the briefest second our eyes meet. I can’t believe my eyes: It’s her! The woman who almost ruined my best friend’s wedding.
Chapter 3
London
I need an assistant for things like this, but I can hardly ask my boss for that. I’m carrying boxes of delicacies every day. I sigh and poke around trying to find the button. Not so easy when you only have your pinky available. I fumble around the metal wall and could swear the button is somewhere there. Damn it. I’m about to humiliate myself if I can’t manage this soon. Come on! Where is this stupid button? This can't be happening!
I glance around to see if anyone’s watching that I'm struggling to call the elevator, or if I can continue trying undetected. Everyone seems to be going about their business.
Only one person is looking at me. A guy in a dark brown suit. Not just watching, staring. And narrowing his eyes at me.
Oh damn! I know him: that's the guy who chased me out of the church at the wedding on Saturday. He found me? How on earth did he find out where I work? Panic surges and I immediately totter back toward the security desk. He absolutely cannot be allowed in here!
The boxes suddenly don’t matter anymore. This guy is a much bigger problem.
“Raul? Hey, that guy in the brown suit. Don’t let him in under any circumstances, got it?” I don't take my eyes off him, nervously watching his every move. "Throw him out!"
I need to figure out what to do in peace. If he starts yelling at me here, I might as well start looking for a new job right away.
Raul nods, and I scurry back to the elevator and manage to make it in just as two women step inside. As the doors close, I catch one last glimpse of him approaching Raul. I’m safe.
Phew, that was close. I've gotten rid of him. For now, at least.
As soon as I've delivered the order, I'll go back downstairs and speak with security. I sincerely hope they were able to get rid of him and he doesn't show up a second time.
How persistent can one man be? I already apologized. It was a mistake. Damn it, this is exactly what happens when I ignore Vanessa’s advice. My fault.
