Chapter Five

Now

I take extra time in the morning, applying my makeup in a flattering way. My eyes are highlighted, darkened to make them look smoky and mysterious. Kaden likes when I take the time to impress him.

I think about when I began my new job at Kaden’s company. It wasn’t my ideal position. But my dreams have evaporated since getting married. Mason and I moved to Portland so he could pursue his vision of becoming a world famous artist.

Okay, maybe those were more my dreams than his. But I saw such potential in his work. I knew he’d make it big. And then we could live our dreams together. Have a perfect home with two perfect children. I’d be the PTA president and he’d provide for us. We’d attend galas and I’d wear a little black dress and sexy heels. We’d have showings where everyone fought to meet him and outbid each other for his pieces. I’d be the proud wife on his arm.

Then the two of us would run home, making mad, passionate love for hours on end. The world would want him, but I’d be the only one he needed. I’d be his everything as he was mine.

But it’s funny how dreams rarely live up to reality. I can lie in bed all I want and fantasize about the life I expect. It doesn’t matter, though, because it’s incredibly rare when fantasies become reality. Living in the city is expensive, and it isn’t easy being an artist.

Yes, Mason has his inheritance money, but he sold his company to his uncle, wanting nothing to do with the corporate world. He wants to be an artist, and he refuses to dip into what he deems our emergency funds.

So we live a simple life. And that means my dream of having children was put on hold. I tried college and realized I’d lost my love of learning. So I quit and got a job, then another and another. This is probably my tenth job, but it’s for a large corporation with great pay and even better benefits.

The dreamer in me has slowly died over the years. It’s time to grow up.

The day I start my new job, a huge storm blows in from the coast. There’s thunder and lightning, high winds knocking down trees and power lines. But if you were born and raised in Oregon, you aren’t afraid of a good storm.

As a matter of fact, you appreciate the beauty of nature. Growing up on the coast, I learned to love storms, the crash of giant waves on the beach, winds that almost lift you into the air and carry you away, and the slash of lightning in the sky. Even the boom of thunder is a comfort to me.

I enter the twenty-story high-rise, shaking off the moisture from the rain, knowing I look like a drowned rat as I enter the elegant lobby, my heels clicking on the marble floors. I head straight for the bathroom, grateful I don’t look as bad as I envisioned.

I pull out my brush and fix my hair as best I can, taking my cosmetics out and touching up my makeup. I’m not perfect, but I’m presentable. I walk out, holding my head high as I approach the security desk, presenting my temporary ID.

They give me access to the twentieth floor where I check in, get my permanent badge, and begin my new job. I’ve never worked on the highest floor of a building before. It’s frightening but incredibly exciting.

Thunder crackles and the lights flicker as I ride the elevator up, the music glitching. I’m not worried. This might not be my dream job, but since I’m not sure what my dream is, that doesn’t really matter. I’m here and it pays well. Hopefully the people I work with will be great, and I’ll love coming to work.

I don’t love being at home, so the thought of being a stay-at-home mother isn’t at all appealing to me like it had once been. I know I’m reaching the age where I have to make a decision on whether to have children or not, but I push that thought from my mind.

From the moment I step off the elevator onto the luxurious twentieth floor, I’m blown away. Soft classical music plays at the perfect volume. Plants are strategically placed in a comfortable seating area where several people stand by sipping coffee in their expensive business suits. I immediately feel underdressed.

I’m certainly not in rags. I bought my sleek pants and jacket at the Nordstrom Rack . . . but on clearance. I’m sure my outfit is outdated in this chic world of movers and shakers. I try to shake off that feeling, but my hair is still damp from the storm and every person in this building looks impeccable. I’m out of place.

There’s a part of me that wants to turn around and run. What have I gotten myself into? I thought this was a great job and love that it pays more than my other jobs, but they’re going to take one look at me and realize they made a mistake.

I’m half turning when the woman at the front desk looks up and gives me a friendly smile. It seems like a real expression, not that typical customer service smile that so many wear throughout the day that grows more and more dim as the hours roll on. This smile seems real.

“You must be Miranda,” she says as she stands.

I clutch my perfectly acceptable bag against the side of my body. It’s large enough to carry my wallet and keys, along with my papers HR said to bring. But it’s still stylish. So what if I bought it at the outlet mall? It was chic and elegant. I was thrilled to find it . . . two years ago.

What was I thinking? The women in this room carry Gucci purses and wear Jimmy Choo shoes I’m positive aren’t two or three years old. I’m angry with Mason for not letting me spend some of the emergency funds on more acceptable work wear.

“Yes, I’m Miranda,” I say, hating the slight doubt in my voice as if I don’t even know my own name.

“Great. I’m Jenny. I’ll be showing you around and getting you settled,” she says, her smile not faulting in the least. She chooses to ignore my nervousness as she comes around the desk. “Follow me.”

I have little choice but to do as she says unless I want to go running and screaming from the room. There’s still the slightest chance I may do that. She chats with me as she goes to the elevator and we ride down to the nineteenth floor, make our way down a long carpeted hallway, and enter another beautiful area.

It’s divided into sections with several doors, one that says HR, one that appears to be a locker room, another a break room. She chuckles when she sees the confusion on my face.

“I love when new people come,” Jenny says.

“This wasn’t what I was expecting,” I admit.

“We work in Oregon where it rains a lot,” she says as she takes me into the locker room. It’s a classy area with wooden lockers, a shower bay, bathroom area, and large sink cubicles with mirrors, blow dryers and . . . curling irons.

“Yes, it does rain a lot,” I say as I look around.

“Well, Mr. Alexander’s sister told him if he was going to set up a place of business in this wet area, he needed to have accommodations for those of us who don’t like to look like we just immerged from a swimming pool. We also have a gym that many of us take advantage of. It’s all part of the perks. Pick out an open locker, and you can store your purse. You can also bring a gym bag here and leave it. Towels are provided, and we have a laundry room if you want to leave your workout clothes. We try to be all-inclusive. Mr. Alexander gives us a lot of perks because there are weeks we practically live here, working seventy hours at times, and we need to get a boost. A nice jog helps.”

“Seventy hours?” I question. Nothing like that had been mentioned in my interview.

Jenny laughs again. “It sounds much worse than it is. I’ve been here for five years and I absolutely love it. Once you work for Mr. Alexander, you won’t ever want to leave. He expects a lot but he gives even more. It’s a great place,” Jenny assures me.

I put away my purse, pulling out the papers HR needs.

“I’ll give you ten minutes if you want to use the hairdryers,” Jenny tells me.

I self-consciously touch my hair. I did the best I could in the downstairs bathroom, but a hairdryer will make me look a lot more presentable. I take Jenny up on her offer. When I’m finished it doesn’t look as if I was caught in the storm.

The rest of the day flies by. There’s a lot to learn about working in this building, but Jenny’s right, there are a lot of perks. I’m one of many associates working for Mr. Alexander, and I’m told I’ll hardly ever see him. He’s in and out of the office a lot. There’s so much to learn and even more to do, but all the employees assure me I’ll pick it up fast.

My fears begin to dwindle as the day wears on. When five o’clock comes, the rest of the staff leaves. I take advantage of the gym, realizing quickly how out of shape I am from such a sedentary life. Still, I push myself hard.

The building is practically empty when I immerge from the gym. I decide to forgo the shower in favor of taking one at home. I haven’t been able to do much more than power through a workout on the elliptical in my socked feet. Thank goodness I carry a pair in my purse just in case I can kick off my heels beneath my desk.

I’m sweaty and not looking so put together anymore, but that doesn’t matter. The entire staff already left. The storm is still raging, shaking the building’s windows as I gather my bag and make my way to the elevators.

I step inside and press the lobby button. The doors almost close when a hand shoots between them, making them fly open. I look up, horribly embarrassed to be caught in my business clothes that are now damp with sweat. Still, I look up with a smile. Maybe the person, or people, won’t notice.

My eyes are suddenly captured. He’s there . . . and he looks familiar. My body shakes as he moves forward.