“Except he’s not telling my mother. Honestly, I have so much to tell you. Can you come to a pasta-and-wine dinner at my house tonight?” I hold up a hand. “And before you answer, you need to know that Jess will be there.”
“I don’t hate Jess, Mia. I simply don’t always agree with the advice she gives you. And since I’m certain tonight will be filled with lots of it, I need to be there. Especially when it’s Friday night and there’s no clock on the time she has to lecture you. Where are we getting pasta, because I know you’re not cooking.”
“Usually Maggiano’s. I can’t believe I’ve never invited you to pasta-and-wine night.”
“Me either, since I love Maggiano’s. You need me to pick anything up?”
“You’re tolerating Jess for me. Just bring you. Oh, and on that wedding. What is the date?”
“Saturday the twenty-fourth. Why?”
“Jess is getting an award that weekend. I’m not sure if it’s Friday or Saturday night. There’s a big party. Can you go with me to that, too? If the timing works out? Maybe we’ll already be dressed up.”
“She didn’t invite me, so you can go. And if you can’t make the wedding—”
“I can,” I say. “We’ll figure it out. And you’re invited to the party. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I’m not going because you’re forcing me on Jess.”
“Nope. You’re going for me. You know how socially awkward I am.” I shift the topic. The phone on my desk buzzes, and I whip around in my chair and grab the line. “Mia Anderson.”
“Mia, it’s Kara. Can you come down to my office?”
My heart thunders in my chest, a volcanic eruption threatening to blister a path right to my belly. “You’re at work?”
“I am. Hurry now. I have a meeting soon.” She disconnects.
Jack appears in the chair beside me. “What happened?”
Those two words—What happened?—are haunting me today. “Kara needs to see me. Now.”
“She’s back? Hmm. I guess she wasn’t as sick as you thought.”
“Or Wednesday’s presentation went so badly she’s trying to save her job.”
“That’s not what’s happening here.”
“And if it is?”
“It’s not.” The bell begins to ding at the front. Obviously, the doors are open, and patrons need help. “It’s not, Mia. The sooner you get down there, the sooner you can tell me I’m right.” He knocks on the desk, I guess to knock some sense into me, and then he’s gone.
I stand up, and that volcanic eruption finds my belly and burns fire in my gut.
I think I might get fired. And I don’t know who I am if I’m not the librarian on floor three.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The ride down the escalator is uneventful.
The man on floor two seems to be gone, in my mind, a stranger who swooped in, passed judgment, and cracked my solid world right in half, if I’m correct about how this meeting with Kara will go. The zoo below is as it always is—busy and chaotic—and as the escalator shoves me into the masses, I have a sensation of quicksand beneath my feet.
I’ve managed all of two steps when Akia Lee, one of the librarians in the zoo, steps in front of me. Akia is ten years older than me, fit, athletic, and confident. The only things we share in common are a love for books and being single, which one might think is enough to stir friendliness between us. We’ve spoken about three times in five years. And I’m kind of okay with that. I don’t like to be around people who make me judge myself as worthy or unworthy.
Akia stirs that feeling in me, that need to look in the mirror and brush hair from my face.
He’s not my kind of people. I’m not his.
And yet, here he is, greeting me, intentionally placing himself in my path. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I say tentatively, really not sure what to make of this encounter he’s forced.
“Listen,” he continues. “I just wanted to tell you, Neil’s a dick. Don’t let him get to you.”
My cheeks heat with the realization that he must have witnessed Neil confronting me Wednesday in almost the same spot.
“I don’t know him well,” I say, encouraging him to explain the “Don’t let him get to you” comment in more detail.
“I do,” he assures me, “and for ten years. Nothing is as bad as Neil makes it out to be. I promise. Hang in there.” He gives my shoulder a consoling pat. He might as well have given me a chuck on the chin.
“Thanks,” I murmur, but he’s already faded into the crowd, and now, like Jack, he is gone as well. Only Jack’s attention wasn’t about sympathy. It was about friendship. Wednesday I was not invisible, and the impact seems to be overflowing into the rest of the week, and not in a good way. The only time Akia ever noticed me was when I was humiliated. Akia’s attention, I fear, was all about pity. Now I’m wishing the quicksand would swallow me, but since that’s not happening, I rush forward, and my fate feels as if it’s hanging by a thread.
With my gaze down, hoping to avoid any further looks that might resemble pity, I travel down the same hallway I took to reach the presentation room Wednesday. Kara’s office is down the hallway to the right, and I find her door open. I knock on the doorjamb and peek inside. “Come in,” she encourages and stands to round her desk.
I step inside the doorway, and she adds, “Shut the door.”
My heart is now charging at such a pace that my hands tremble, but I manage to pull the door shut. Once I bring Kara back into view, she motions to the chairs in front of her desk. I’m surprised at how alert and good she looks. Her skin is a normal tone, not pale and washed out. Her hair is neatly styled. Her tan-colored dress well pressed. “You look so much better,” I say, claiming the seat.
“I had food poisoning,” she informs me, settling into the chair beside me, and I do like this part of Kara, the part that never places the desk between us. She’s not like Neil, who is always above us all and not just in his towering height.
“Honestly, I can’t believe how much better I feel,” she adds. “The hospital said I’d probably have lingering effects for days, but I think I’d already had it a few days before I crashed. Aside from a little dizziness here and there, I’m pretty darn good.” She waves off the topic of her health. “Enough about me. Thank you for doing the presentation Wednesday. I’m so proud of you for doing it.”
“Thank you? Are you serious? It was a disaster, Kara.”
“The board loved the bottom line,” she assures me. “And I think the way you handed out the physical presentation was a smart move. They had that to focus on during and after the meeting. The word I’m hearing is they are pleased with the income we’re delivering with the auditorium.”
“Neil told me the entire thing was a disaster—paraphrasing here, but that’s the general gist.”
She tuts and waves off that idea, just as she had her health concerns. “Neil overreacts to everything. And, on that note, or rather another note altogether as far as I’m concerned, I actually got you a little celebratory gift for making it through your first presentation.” She stands and walks behind her desk to the credenza, returning with a long Tiffany-blue box with a white bow. “I have a thing for vintage Tiffany items. I bought this a while back and thought I’d find the perfect reason to gift it.” She extends the box to me. “I do believe you finishing your very first presentation makes this yours.”
“I did a horrible job,” I say, holding up my hands in rejection of the package. “I don’t deserve this.”
“They liked the numbers. It’s always about numbers, Mia. That’s business. Take the gift.”
Reluctantly, I accept the box and pull off the lid. Inside is a long silver letter opener that glistens in the light. It’s simple and elegant, with “T & Co.” carved in the center. It’s also expensive. It’s Tiffany, after all. “This is too expensive, Kara. I can’t take it.”