Page 20 of When I Found You

I glance at Arthur’s closed office door. He’s been in and out of the conference room all day with various clients. While he’s given direction and made requests, our interactions have been minimal. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, because I am. I like having his sole attention.

Two stacks of papers sit twelve inches deep on my desk. My most pressing task today is to organize and file them. This I can handle. No problem.

Gladys smiles from across the room. She’s sweet and friendly. Her humor reminds me of my mother. After Arthur left me in her capable hands, we became friends quickly. We’re about the same age—a technicality, I know. She’s worked at the firm since Arthur started it fifteen years ago, so she knows the ins and outs and what’s expected of the staff.

Once I got the grand tour of the office, she explained the details of what my job entails and where to find supplies, files, and so forth. The office is so well organized, it makes my job easy. She directed me to take the desk outside Arthur’s office and answer any incoming calls in between filing the paperwork piled on the desk.

The day passes quickly. More quickly than sitting in Arthur’s apartment watching soap operas all day, that’s for sure. In an era where Netflix and Google and the internet are distant dreams, having a job is certainly a welcoming diversion. I can’t believe how different it feels not having those things at my fingertips. Even walking around without my phone makes me feel like I’m naked. I think I miss digital music most of all. Waiting for a familiar and loved song to play on the radio is painful. How did people survive monotony? The answer is obvious now. Work.

Gladys sashays across the room in her mauve dress with the wide padded shoulders and poufy blonde hair. Ugh, the fashion during this decade certainly leaves a lot to be desired.

“That’s enough for today, hon.” She smiles and grabs her purse and jacket from the closet. “How was your first day?”

“Good.” I lean back and stretch. “Thank you for all your help.”

“Any time. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.” She pulls the coat on and fluffs her hair over the collar.

“Aren’t there three architects with the firm?” I ask, hedging around the one question I’ve been dying to ask all day. “I already know Mr. Maxwell and I met Mr. Brooks.”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Cohen. He’s out this week. Took his wife on a special trip.” Her eyes glaze over at the thought. “Lucky woman. Mr. Cohen is a great guy. You’ll like him.”

“I’m sure I will.” My heart constricts when she mentions Dad. I miss him so much I could burst. I’d been so hopeful at the thought of meeting him today.

“He’ll be back in the office on Monday.” She slips her purse over her shoulder. “You heading home now?”

“Not yet. Mr. Maxwell wanted me to stay until after he finishes this last meeting.”

“Okay.” She winks. “Don’t let him take advantage of you. Maybe we can grab a drink after work one day next week.”

“Sounds good to me. Thanks again, Gladys.”

“Any time, honey.” She waves before heading for the elevator.

I stand up and arch my back stretching to the right and then the left. I’ll definitely need some yoga stretches added to my daily routine if I keep this up.

“You finished with the filing already?”

My heart stops at the sound of Arthur’s voice behind me. I whip around and find him leaning against the doorframe of his office with his brow arched and arms folded across his chest.

I glance at the bare desktop. “Yup. Just finished.” Pride fills me.

“I see you and Gladys work well together.” He pushes away from the wall and retrieves his coat from the closet, followed by mine. “You didn’t find the work too boring?” He holds my coat open inviting me to put it on.

“Not at all. Organization is a hobby of mine.” I slip into the warm, familiar embrace of dad’s wool coat. “I enjoy a challenge.”

“Of course, you do,” he mutters, stepping away. “Shall we?”

I exit the suite first, and he locks the door behind us. In the elevator, I study his profile. The strong line of his jaw, those full kissable lips, the hint of a five o’clock shadow along his jaw. He’s handsome. Classical silver screen handsome like Cary Grant or Mel Ferrer.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye as the elevator slowly descends. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” I confess dramatically. “I can make something when we get home. It’s only fair.”

“I have a better idea.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Would you like to get coffee first?”

“Starbucks?” My voice overflows with excitement. I’ve been craving a caramel macchiato since yesterday morning.

His brow furrows. “What’s Starbucks?”

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