No Kissing Allowed (No Kissing Allowed #1)(6)

I reached Sanderson-Lowe’s building, excitement growing in my chest. So what if I was just an account manager. Soon, I would prove my worth and move up the ranks.

Slipping through the revolving door, my eyes scanned the main level—the ivory marble floors and ornate area rugs and mahogany wooden benches. It was a beautiful building. The Starbucks, just inside and to the left, already had an impressive line, and I made a note to arrive early on paydays so I could grab my favorite vanilla latte. I couldn’t afford Starbucks every day, but once every two weeks seemed fair enough.

My phone read eight fifteen as I stepped into the elevator. I wanted to be seated at the meeting by eight twenty-five, which just gave me enough time to grab coffee upstairs, put down my things at my cube, and make it to the meeting, where I decided to listen with my mouth shut, smiling and nodding along appropriately. Then after a few days of this, I’d strike. They’d be wowed and my career would soar from there. All right, maybe a stretch, but a girl could hope.

The thought made me smile, but then the doors to the elevator closed, and my chest tightened as I began to sing silently. Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb… I continued my silent song, fighting the urge to close my eyes, to suck in a sharp breath, to panic. The space closed in all around me, the elevator packed with people. If this elevator got stuck, I’d—

No.

Dipping my head, I resumed my song, telling myself to breathe easily, to sing and forget. I sang whatever nursery rhyme first came to mind the moment I stepped foot into an elevator, all so I could handle the doors closing, the delay before it moved, the panic that rose in my chest when I realized I was on a slow elevator instead of the fast ones I preferred.

I knew the very moment I’d become so claustrophobic. It was just after my dad died, and I kept feeling like the walls were closing in all around me. I couldn’t breathe in my room. Couldn’t breathe in the bathroom. The outdoors became my refuge, the open air around me, nothing closing in. Eventually, it became easier to handle, and now the only issues I had were elevators and airplanes, and I had coping mechanisms with both. Nursery rhymes on elevators and heavy antianxiety pills when I flew. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it worked for me.

The elevator rose to the second floor, third, fourth, and then finally I drew a breath and released it slowly as the doors slid open to the fifth floor. I stepped off the elevator like it was no big deal, even though my heart raced and my palms were clammy. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Everything was fine.

I relaxed more with each step and peered around, remembering the first time I visited the Sanderson-Lowe floor. The reception area of Sanderson-Lowe was modern in every way—bright yellow triangular chairs, abstract paintings. When I toured the office on my second interview, they pointed out the lounge room—complete with Ping-Pong table and widescreen TV—the nap room, the soundproof thinking room. I had interviewed with five different agencies, but none of them seemed to care as much about quality of life as Sanderson-Lowe. Or maybe it was just that they expected us to live at the office.

The receptionist, a redhead around my age, smiled wide when she saw me. She had long, slender limbs, high cheekbones, shiny, perfectly styled hair. She reminded me of Grace in that put-together way only money could buy.

“Hi, I’m Cameron Lawson. A new account manager.” I tried not to grin as I said the title, but failed miserably. I was employed, a real adult. I could hardly contain myself. Dad would be so proud.

“Welcome to Sanderson-Lowe,” she said, her voice kind. “I’m Alexa. You can meet the others in conference room 1A, just down the hall there.” She pointed to her left, and I paused, staring down the long hallway, my nerves kicking up. Should I speak in the meeting or keep quiet? Should I bring in a notepad and pen or just my phone? Did people still use notepads and pens when there were things like smartphones and iPads?

Alexa smiled like she could read my thoughts. “Why don’t you grab coffee first? It helps to go in carrying something. The lounge is through there.” She motioned to her right this time, and I nodded appreciatively.

“Thanks, it’s just a little…intimidating.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve been here for five months and I still get nervous every time Aidan Truitt walks by.”

Aidan Truitt—aka the chief creative director. He was Gayle’s boss, so I’d assumed I’d have little interaction with him. Now I felt my nervousness spiking again. I’d researched Sanderson-Lowe and then Gayle before my interview, knowing she would be my boss should they offer me the job. It never occurred to me to research others in the company, but maybe I should have prepared better. Checked out the top-tier executives and everyone in her division, only I didn’t really know my division yet and—

“Are you okay?” Alexa asked. I didn’t realize that I was staring at the lounge door, likely with a look of horror on my face. “Don’t worry, I’ll go in with you.” She stepped around her desk and pushed through the door, holding it open for me to slip inside.

There was no one else in there, so I took the opportunity to question Alexa on my new boss—well, my boss’s boss. “Yeah, I didn’t get to meet him when I interviewed. Is he scary?”

Immediately she spun around, a to-go coffee cup with Sanderson-Lowe’s logo printed on it in hand. “You haven’t met Aidan?”

I shook my head as I took the cup and began making my coffee. “No. Though Gayle made him sound intense.”