Page 10 of Never Let Me Go

Before the doors close, even more people pile in and I back up, trying to make myself as small as possible. A hand steadies my shoulder, right as I feel a hard body pressed against my back. Oh God. Kill me now. I’ve backed right up into David Brooks Westerhaven. When does the floor open to swallow me in my humiliation? Now would work.

We’re too packed in for me to move forward, and his hand is clamped down on my shoulder, so I stand stock still, barely breathing, until some people exit on a lower level. Once there’s a bit more room, I quickly take a step forward. Under the guiseof checking my purse, I glance behind me at David, who is once again looking at his phone, with a slight smirk playing across his lips. Maybe he isn’t looking at emails. Maybe memes?

Finally, we’re at the thirty-fourth floor and I step out of the elevator car into a foyer with white marble floors. The darker veins lead the eye to a huge black marble reception desk, manned by two perfectly coiffed individuals with blindingly white teeth. The woman has sleek black hair twisted into a fancy bun, while the man’s blond hair is swept back off his face.

In what I’m beginning to think is a habit when he’s walking with a woman, David’s hand lands on the small of my back as he shoves his phone into his pocket.

“This way.” David guides me past the wide-eyed runway model receptionists, who eye David like they want to eat him. He doesn’t even spare them a glance.

My eyes dart around, taking in all aspects of the office. It’s quite different to Haven Enterprises in Chicago, which has more of an old school feeling to it. This is all fancy and the offices here have glass walls, so you can see the people working and chatting inside them. I guess that’s one way to make sure people are being productive. You can’t nap in your office when people can look in and see you.

At last, we come to a section of glass wall that is frosted, so you can’t see inside. A trim, immaculate, middle-aged woman strolls over on her sky-high heels and hands David an iPad, her eyes trailing over me, and dismissing me quickly. She ignores my presence and when he takes the iPad, David’s hand falls away from my back. He and his secretary stroll ahead of me, discussing his schedule for the day, and she informs him ofcalls he has already received. Oh. He must be an early starter. No wonder he looked annoyed at me for taking so long in the shower. Double oops.

Over his shoulder, without looking back at me, David speaks to his secretary. “Christine, this is Anica Kasan.”

Christine glances around to appraise me again, with more attention than before, and offers a lukewarm smile. Turning back, she continues what she was saying before David interrupted her with half an introduction. Christine holds the frosted glass door open for David, who walks through, his eyes still glued on the iPad. Christine scurries in after him and glances at me in surprise when I follow them in.

I’m not sure what else to do. David didn’t tell me to wait or anything. In fact, he’s barely said two sentences to me all morning. I stand awkwardly right inside the frosted glass door, looking around the large office with interest as David seats himself at an enormous mahogany desk, Christine hovering over him as they continue to talk.

David waves a hand in my direction and gestures to the navy-blue fabric couch set across from his desk. I move toward it, perching myself on the edge of one of the couches, my purse sitting in my lap, happy to be ignored for the time being.

My eyes move around the tidy, sparse office, taking in all the details of David’s personal work space. I’m sensing the abstract artwork prints are a favorite of his, given they appear numerous times in his condo as well. There are splashes of color, just like at his condo, but for the main part, it’s very neutral. The desk and couch set are stand-outs of dark color.

Eventually, Christine leaves, closing the frosted glass door behind her. David doesn’t speak after she’s gone, nor does he look up from the iPad she handed him for the next ten minutes. There’s a light tapping on the door and Christine bustles back in, placing a mug in front of David on the desk, crossing to me and handing me a Styrofoam cup of cheap looking coffee.

“Oh, thank you so much.” I smile warmly up at her. She nods stiffly to me and leaves. O…kay. She’s not very friendly, is she?

Trying to ignore my empty stomach, I nurse my cheap tasting coffee for the next forty-five minutes, staring out the window at the view of New York, through tall buildings. Occasionally, I sneak glances at David, but he’s engrossed in whatever he’s reading, sometimes taking notes. I file that fact away to note in my iPad later. He’s incredibly focused when it comes to his work. It’s surprising. I thought maybe the nephews were parachuted into their high-level positions in each of the five companies because of their familial relationship with Mr. Westerhaven, but David clearly puts in the work required for his position. Or, at least, he appears to.

There’s another knock at the door, and David looks up expectantly. It opens, and I jump out of my seat as Mr. Westerhaven himself strolls into the office. David rises as well, moving across the office to his uncle to shake his hand. Christine hovers at the door, and Cathy grins at me from behind her. Mr. Westerhaven turns from David and moves across the room to where I’m rooted to the spot.

“Ms. Kasan.” He smiles at me, holding out a hand. Oh my god. He knows my name! An actual billionaire knows my name. This is so surreal. Wait. David is also an actual billionaire, but he didn’t chose to know my name, so I don’t think that counts.

I’m so thankful my hand doesn’t shake when I place it in his. Releasing my hand, Mr. Westerhaven gestures to the couch, taking a seat on the other one. I quickly re-take my seat as David crosses the room, dropping onto the couch beside me, looking across at his uncle expectantly.

Mr. Westerhaven’s dark eyes sweep over the coffee table, narrowing when they take in my Styrofoam cup. Oops, was I supposed to put it in the trash? Maybe he doesn’t like Styrofoam? There weren’t any particularly obvious green policies in place in the Haven Enterprises offices back in Chicago beyond recycling and stuff.

Mr. Westerhaven’s nose wrinkles the tiniest amount as his eyes land on Cathy and Christine. “Surely we can get some proper china for Ms. Kasan.”

David’s eyes dart down to the Styrofoam cup as well, a frown line appearing between his eyes. Like he didn’t notice what I was drinking before. Christine startles, stuttering something about getting a tea set, and disappears. Mr. Westerhaven’s eyes land back on me.

“How was your coffee?” He gestures to the offending cup, his tone full of censure, presumably aimed at David, who gets the memo. The slightest pink tinge appears on his cheeks and his lips thin as they press together, but he doesn’t speak. That’s a little unfair. He’s the CEO of Haven Property. I didn’t expect him to notice what his secretary brought me.

“Perfectly made,” I assure Mr. Westerhaven with a warm smile. Cheap coffee is all I drink back in Chicago, so it’s no skin off my nose.

“And your first night in the Big Apple?”

Can we all take a moment to appreciate that abillionaireis making casual conversation with me. And I haven’t even been weird yet. Instead of fangirling out, I settle for another warm smile.

“Quite the experience. Drinks overlooking Central Park and then the most incredible seven course meal at an amazing restaurant.”

Mr. Westerhaven nods thoughtfully at my reply, throwing a glance at David that I can’t read. Still, David remains silent. I’m getting a weird vibe here. Like, he maybe doesn’t always act this way around his uncle.

From everything I’ve read in the media and heard around the water cooler back in Chicago, Mr. Westerhaven and his nephews are close. They vacation together. That’s where Angie met the eldest one and snagged herself her very own billionaire. Maybe it’s my presence. He’s still getting used to having me all up in his space. Maybe he’s a little resentful about that. I wouldn’t blame him.

Luckily for David’s stoic silence, Christine returns, carefully crossing the room and setting down a fancy tea set on the glass-topped coffee table between us, next to the gorgeous bouquet of calla lilies. She offers a kind of sycophantic smile to David and Mr. Westerhaven as she snatches up my offensive Styrofoam cup and melts out of the room, Cathy disappearing with her.

Mr. Westerhaven pours three cups of tea into the delicate cream and gold china teacups, and hands them around. David accepts his with a murmured word of thanks, lounging back into the couch as Mr. Westerhaven holds court, outlining his thoughts for the new design of Haven Property’s image.

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