The Billionaire Game(9)
Dreams were hard things to achieve. It was a good thing life was stocked with so many pleasant distractions.
THREE
“Hold, please!”
I tried my best to keep my voice chipper as I transferred the call, massaging my temples and wincing as the last pangs of my hangover headache shot through my brain. Ow ow f*ckity ow ow. Sometimes distractions are just not worth it.
The waiter hadn’t been much better than the champagne. We’d barely started to get our flirt on when his girlfriend appeared out of nowhere. It turned out she was a waiter at this event too. What was with all the two-timing guys lately?
And so here I was, manning the phones on reception, trying not to die of boredom and second-hand entitlement from all the asshats who thought that ‘receptionist’ was an archaic English word for ‘person put on Earth to cater to my every whim and whom it is appropriate to scream at if she does not immediately divine my exact wishes through telepathy.’
I could see one of those asshats approaching, and it was with considerable relief that I saw one of the phones light up. I grabbed at it like a lifeline.
“Devlin Media Corp., front desk, how can I help you?”
“Hey, Kate, it’s Lacey, time to gossip?”
“Sure thing, ma’am, I’ll walk you through that right now, it should only take about an hour,” I said sweetly. Asshat made an annoyed face, but moved off looking for someone with a more open schedule to harass.
“That scare them off?” Lacey asked. “I still don’t know how you do that job. I had just one jerk yelling at me all day in my old position, and that practically had me running for the hills.”
“Like you ever ran for the hills in your life,” I said. “I bet you don’t even know where the hills are. Anyway, yeah, the hyena’s headed out in search of different prey. What’s up, girl?”
“I cannot believe Grant talked me into a business trip right after the party,” she complained. “I’m so hungover and jetlagged I can’t even get excited about being in London yet. Thank goodness I have the week—I’m going to make time around the meetings to see the Globe Theatre, and Picadilly Square, and at least a few museums.”
“You going to hang around the BBC headquarters at all?” I asked. “Maybe see some of those old spy-fi show stars you love?”
“I wish,” Lacey said with a sigh. “They tore down the old headquarters awhile back, though.”
We chatted some more about her travel plans, with me occasionally going into fake professional-speak when someone walked by, or putting her on hold when someone came up with an issue that actually fell in my job description.
Meanwhile I occupied my hands by sketching some new designs, mostly things I was toying with for Lacey’s trousseau. I didn’t usually work with leather, but I know Lacey had a thing for the spy team of Steed and Mrs. Peel, and I thought I could put together a sort of homage to one of Mrs. Peel’s kinky leather catsuits. The trick would be to find leather that had been tanned and cured until it was soft as velvet—maybe I could line it with real velvet as well…I would have to cut it just right, so that it gripped and defined without chafing…
An instant message popped up, from a lingerie client, an actress named Maura. SAT OK 4 U? LOVED IT LAST TIME. SO HOT!!!
“Ahem.”
I looked up, automatically closing the message as I did so, though I wasn’t sure if the speaker had already seen it. Her face didn’t give me any clue either. It was my manager Sarah, a middle-aged woman whose expression always suggested that she was sucking on a lemon while trying desperately not to let on how much she wanted to spit it out. There were two HR flunkies behind her; I hoped they didn’t have two different requests, or I could be stuck helping them for awhile.
“Yes?” I asked. “Can I help you with something?”
“Just come with me,” she said. Her voice sounded a little nervous, the way a rookie cop’s might as he collared his first suspect. What the what?
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’ll have to call you back,” I said in my I’m-definitely-talking-to-a-real-client-and-not-tying-up-a-work-line-to-gossip-with-my-BFF voice. “Have a pleasant day, and thank you for doing business with Devlin Media Corp.!” I looked back up at Sarah again, who was fidgeting like someone had relocated an entire anthill to her pants. “Seriously, what’s up? Is it performance review time again? ‘Cause I have to say, I think you have been doing an excellent job.”
Usually I can get a smile out of anyone, even my bosses, with the way I rattle on, though okay, Sarah’s smile usually looks a little nervous, like she thinks the thought police are going to rappel down from the ceiling and disappear her for having fun at work. This time, though, she didn’t smile at all. Neither did the HR flunkies. Wait, were they all together? Like, as a group? For me?
“Let’s just go have a discussion in my office, Kate,” Sarah said.
“Uh, sure,” I replied. “But I’m supposed to be manning the phones, and—”
“Lisa will do that,” Sarah said, gesturing to a mousy little intern so short and unassuming that I’d dismissed her as Sarah’s shadow. “If you’re not in the middle of anything—”
Oh, just wasting company time talking to my best friend and setting up appointments for my side business, I didn’t say.