“I’d never forgive you if you did.”
The next morning I stand transfixed as Lisa spreads her arms wide to indicate the modest office space. “So?” she asks. She’s petite, but so poised that she seems to fill the room anyway. “What do you think?”
“I love it,” I say. The space comes furnished, and apparently the owner of Granite Investment Strategies has excellent taste. Not only is the desk large enough to spread out half-a-dozen projects, but it’s also sleek and modern with enough whimsy to be fun, but not so much that it lacks professionalism. The walls are bare, but that should be easy enough to fix.
The love seat is a bonus. The space is small enough that it would have made sense to only have the two molded plastic guest chairs. But the original tenant had managed to work the space well, and the small sofa that sits against the far wall seems to pull the room together instead of overwhelming the space.
“It’s available immediately,” Lisa says. “My client’s very eager.”
I run my fingertip over the desktop, tempted. I’ve been on the fence about leasing office space, but now that I’m actually standing in an office that could have my name on the door, I have to admit that it’s pretty heady stuff.
I slide my hand into my pocket and run my fingertip over the edge of one of the business cards that Damien presented to me this morning. Nikki L. Fairchild, CEO, Fairchild Development. I’d laughed when I opened the box, but there had been tears, too. Not just because I’m finally, really doing this, but because of the pride I saw in Damien’s eyes.
It occurs to me that he must have started much the same way; after all, he hardly sprang fully born from Zeus’s head with a tennis racquet in one hand and Stark Tower in the other. No, he started small and worked his way up to gazillionaire status. I smile, oddly comforted by the thought.
“It’s a great opportunity,” Lisa prompts.
“I know,” I say honestly. Because of the circumstances, the terms of the sublease are exceptional. Not only that, but the building has great security—as Damien discovered last night when he made a few calls after the police left. Tenants need a card key to enter the building and clients must be buzzed in by the receptionist who serves as the gatekeeper between the outside world and the building’s twelve tenants.
Even better, it’s walking distance to the Sherman Oaks Galleria. If I have a bad day at work, I can console myself by going shopping. And if I have a good day at work, I can celebrate by going shopping.
I sway a bit on my heels, trying to decide. No, that’s not true. I want this. But it’s scary—like jumping out of a plane without a parachute. Except that I have a parachute. His name is Damien, and I know that he will always catch me.
“I can just work from home,” I say lamely.
“No question,” Lisa says. “I have lots of clients who do that. Most start-ups begin in the home.”
I eye her with surprise; I wasn’t expecting solidarity.
“But what about your roommate?” she asks. “Jamie, right? You said she’s an actress? Does she have a steady job? I mean, is she a regular on a show?”
“No, but what does that—oh. Right.” Jamie is supportive as hell, but she’s also my best friend and a talker. If I’m trying to code and she wants to dish about men or her wardrobe or whether or not to get a tattoo on her ass, then it’s going to be hard to focus on work. And the rent on this place really is low.