I don’t leave out loose papers. My desk has very few things on it, and none of it’s been disturbed—except the framed photographs. Both of them are slightly skewed.
My jaw clenches in irritation. I reposition both frames until they’re how I left them, my thumb lingering on Kate in her headgear orthodontics, holding Puck, who’s so plump he’s as big as her entire upper body.
A double knock makes me look up and drop my hand.
Curtis, my assistant, smiles. “Good morning!”
I arch an eyebrow. “Is it?”
“It is now,” he says brightly, walking in with a steaming espresso, a mini chocolate-dipped biscotti nestled on the saucer.
“You’re a saint.” I dunk the biscotti in the espresso and bite off half of it.
“It’s self-preservation,” he tells me, adjusting his thick, black-frame glasses. “When you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“I’m happy,” I say defensively around my bite.
He snorts. “Sure you are. You’ve been a real peach the past three weeks. A pure delight.”
I drain half of my espresso and curse under my breath. It’s scalding. “It’s the end of Q4. I’m always ‘a peach’ this time of year.”
“True,” Curtis says, interlacing his hands in front of him. “However, you forget how much you rely on me to maintain your calendar and that I am thus aware of how . . . unoccupied your evenings have been the past few weeks . . .” He purses his lips meaningfully and raises his eyebrows.
I glare at him. “Did you have a point to make?”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “Nope. No point. Just plenty of thoughts that I’ll keep to myself.”
“Excellent.” I take a small sip of espresso this time, careful not to burn myself again, before draining it. “While we’re on the subject of calendars, what happened to this morning’s schedule? Everything was as it should be before I got on the train, then by the time I was walking to the office and checked again, you’d cleared the all-hands meeting and blocked us off until two.”
“When else was I supposed to update the calendar to make time for the professional photos you rescheduled to today, seeing as I found out about it from the photographer herself this morning?”
My espresso cup clatters out of my hands onto the saucer. “I . . . what? When?”
He steps forward and gingerly takes both from me. “You didn’t reschedule and move it up to today?”
Planting my palms on the desk, I tell him darkly, “No.”
“Ah.” He takes a cautionary step back. “Well, then it seems there’s been a slight misunderstanding. I’ll take care of it. Get the all-hands meeting back on everyone’s calendar, cancel the catered lunch, well, or maybe keep the catered lunch—”
“The catered lunch?”
He laughs nervously. “She said you’d guaranteed her a vegetarian catered lunch, and I just assumed you’d forgotten to mention it, like the reschedule.”
My expression must be thunderous, because Curtis gives me a chiding don’t be dramatic look. “Keep your heart rate down. I said I’ll handle it.”
“I’m sure you will. It’s Katerina who’s got my blood boiling.”
Curtis looks confused. “Who?”
“Kate,” I explain impatiently. This little rescheduling stunt has her written all over it. “Kate Wilmot, the photographer. She’s the one who told you it was rescheduled, wasn’t she?”
“Oh, yes! Well, she didn’t say ‘rescheduled,’ actually. She just showed up this morning, saying she was here for the corporate headshots,” he explains, as I lower toward my chair. “She acted like she was supposed to be here, so I assumed you two had discussed it.”
Just as he says that, a familiar-looking woman darts past my door in a streak of messy upswept hair and fire-engine red.
I miss the chair entirely and fall straight on my ass.
“Oh goodness!” Curtis yells. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I bark. Rolling onto my knees, I spring upright and storm past him out of the office and down the hall, a poked bull charging its red flag.
Scouring the reception room, I search for Kate.
I’m not seeing things. It was her, in a red so vibrant I should be able to spot her instantly. But as I circle the office, wending my way down the halls, through our conference and break rooms, she’s nowhere to be seen.
And then my gaze settles on the one place she could be hiding where I couldn’t find her—the restrooms, right near the front desk.
“Everything okay?” Luz, our receptionist, asks.
I glance away from the row of single-stall, non-gendered bathrooms that line the wall, knowing Kate’s in one of them, and there’s fuck all I can do about that.
“Yes, Luz. Everything’s fine.” I sidle up to the desk and offer my most ingratiating smile. “Can you just do me one small favor?”
They smile back. “Of course.”
“Did you happen to see a woman dressed in head-to-toe red dart into one of the bathrooms just a moment ago? Our photographer for the day, Kate Wilmot.”
They nod. “Yes, I did.”
“When she walks out, kindly let me know?” I hesitate, then add, “Immediately.”
* * *
—
Of course, my office phone lights up when I’m on a spur-of-the-moment call with a client—one of our biggest investors, who needs reassurance about this latest green energy company that’s part of her portfolio. This is what I get for being transparent and open with my clients about their investments.
Much as I want to tell Lydia Bel Sur she’ll just have to hold on a sec while I take a call because I have my receptionist doing reconnaissance on the woman wreaking havoc in my office, I can’t.
Which means it’s not until I hang up with Lydia fifteen minutes later that I’m able to storm out of my office and immediately identify Kate’s whereabouts. A semicircle composed of at least a third of my team encircles Kate, who leans against the conference table in head-to-toe red, looking like a warning sign.
Rohan barks a laugh. “Christopher in a tricorn hat and breeches. This is priceless.”
I roll my eyes, knowing exactly what photo Kate’s sharing from the Independence Day party when my dad demanded everyone come in costume.
“You should see him in lederhosen,” Kate tells him, scrolling through her phone. “I have to dig around back at my parents’ house for that photo, but let’s see. Ah! Here’s a goodie. He’s . . . nine in this one, I think?” Kate zooms in on the photo that fills her phone screen, which she angles for everyone to see.
“Oh my God,” Jia says, pointing at the screen. “Is that a bowl cut?”
“It is,” I say casually, making everyone jump and turn except Kate, who slowly glances up and locks eyes with me. I close the distance between us, my employees parting to make a path.
Kate pushes off the conference table and stands to her full height, just a spare inch south of me, which means she’s got heels on. I don’t risk a once-over to find out the details.
“Christopher,” she says.
I tip my head and force a wide, easy smile. “Katerina.”
Tearing my gaze away, I look down at the photo. “I see why you chose to share this one. It predates your extended orthodontia season.”
Her eyes narrow. “My ‘extended orthodontia season’ seems front and center in your mind, Christopher. I wonder why.”
I grin. “Saw that photo, did you?”
Now the empty swaying chair makes sense. She was snooping around my office.
Kate sniffs, pocketing her phone.
“Oh! There she is!” Curtis appears out of breath, his glasses slightly askew, forcing a smile as he power walks into the conference room and says to me, “Like I said, definitely handling it—”
“No need.” I wave him off. “We’ll stick with the updated schedule.”
He glances frantically between us. “Uh . . . You sure?”
Kate frowns. “Is something wrong?”
“Okay, folks.” I clear my throat, smiling politely at the team. “Fun as this has been for you to get a little trip down memory lane, let’s get back to it. Curtis will let each of you know when Kate’s ready to take your headshot.”
The group disperses with polite nice to meet yous for Kate, some of which linger a little too long until they notice me watching them like a hawk.