CHAPTER 3
SORAYA
MORGAN FINANCIAL HOLDINGS occupied the entire twentieth floor according to the sign in the lobby. My stomach growled as I waited for an elevator. Seeing as though I’d just had my breakfast, I knew it was nerves, and that pissed me off.
Why was the thought of coming face to face with this jackass making me nervous?
His looks.
Deep down, I knew it was his looks, and that was ridiculous. I wasn’t a superficial person, but a part of me couldn’t help swooning over this jerk. That part of me really needed to shut up right now.
The elevator made a dinging sound and opened up, allowing myself and an older businessman to enter. It was just the two of us as the doors shut. When the man scratched his balls, I looked down at the feather tattoo on my foot to distract myself from it. Why was I a magnet for men who scratched their junk? Thankfully, the car arrived at the twentieth floor soon enough. I exited the elevator, allowing the man free reign to go to town on himself in private.
A black sign with gold lettering that read Morgan Financial Holdings hung atop two clear glass doors. Taking a deep breath in and adjusting my little red dress, I made my way through the entrance. Yes, I’d gotten dolled up for this shit. Don’t judge.
A young, redheaded receptionist smiled at me. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here to see Graham Morgan.”
She looked like she was about to laugh at me. “Is he expecting you?”
“No.”
“Mr. Morgan doesn’t see anyone who doesn’t have an appointment.”
“Well, I have something very important of his, so I really need to see him.”
“What is your name?”
“Soraya Venedetta.”
“Can you spell your last name for me? Vendetta? Like a vendetta against someone?”
“No, it’s Ven-E-detta. There’s an E in the middle. V-E-N-E-D-E-T-T-A.” If I had a nickel for every time someone screwed up my last name…well, I’d be richer than Graham J. Morgan.
“Okay. Miss Venedetta. Well, if you like, you can take a seat right there. When Mr. Morgan arrives, I will ask him if he’s willing to see you. ”
“Thank you.”
Straightening my dress, I took a seat on the plush, microfiber couch diagonally across from the front desk. It shouldn’t have surprised me that Mr. Big Prick wasn’t here yet, since he wasn’t on the usual train this morning. I wondered exactly how long I’d have to wait; I only took a half-day and was due back at Ida’s after lunchtime.
Mindlessly fishing through some financial magazines, I almost hadn’t looked up when the doors opened. My heart started pounding when I noticed Graham, looking angry as ever. He was decked out in black pants and a crisp white shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves. There was that gleaming watch wrapped around his wrist. He was holding a burgundy tie in one hand and a laptop in the other. When he passed by, a waft of his intoxicating cologne immediately hit me like a punch in the nose. He was looking straight ahead, completely oblivious to me or anything else around him.
The receptionist lit up as he walked by her. “Good morning, Mr. Morgan.”
Graham didn’t respond. He simply let out a barely audible groan in response as he swiftly passed us and disappeared down the hall.
Really.
I looked over at her. “Why didn’t you tell him I was here to see him?”
She laughed. “Mr. Morgan needs time to decompress in the morning. I can’t hit him with an unannounced visitor the second he walks in the door.”
“Well, exactly how long am I going to have to wait?”
“I’ll check in with his secretary in about thirty minutes.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Absolutely not.”
“That’s fucking ridiculous. It’s going to take two minutes to do what I need to do. I can’t wait all morning. I’m going to be late for work.”
“Miss Vendetta…”
“Ven-E-detta…”
“Venedetta. Sorry. There are certain rules here. Rule number one is, unless Mr. Morgan has an important meeting scheduled in the morning, he is not to be disturbed as soon as he arrives.”
“What exactly will he do if you bother him?”
“I don’t want to find out.”
“Well, I do.” Getting up from my seat, I charged down the hall as the redhead scurried behind me.
“Miss Venedetta. You don’t know what you’re doing. Get back here right now! I’m serious.”
I stopped when I came upon a dark, cherry wood door with the name Graham J. Morgan engraved into a placard upon it. The shades to the glass windows surrounding the door were completely closed.
“Where is his secretary?”
She pointed to an empty desk across from his office. “She normally sits right there, but she doesn’t appear to be in yet. So, that’s even more of a reason why I cannot disturb him right now because he’s probably angry about that.”
She looked over at another female employee who was working in a nearby cubicle. “Do you know why Rebecca isn’t here yet?”
“Rebecca quit. The agency is looking for a replacement.”
“Great,” the receptionist huffed. “And she lasted all of what…two days?”
The woman laughed. “Not bad, considering…”
What the hell kind of a person was this Graham Morgan?
Who did he think he was?
Adrenaline suddenly coursed through me. I walked over to the secretary’s empty desk and pressed the intercom button that was labeled GJM.
“Who the fuck do you think you are…The Wizard of Oz? I’m pretty sure I’d have easier access to Queen Elizabeth.”
The fear in the receptionist’s eyes was palpable, but she knew it was too late, so she just stayed on the sidelines and watched.
There was no response for about a full minute. Then came his deep penetrating voice. “Who is this?”
“My name is Soraya Venedetta.”
“Venedetta.” He’d repeated my name clearly. It wasn’t lost on me that unlike everyone else, he had pronounced my name precisely.
When he didn’t say anything else, I pressed the button again. “I’ve been waiting patiently to see you. But apparently, you’re whacking off in there or something. Everyone here is scared out of their wits of you, so no one wants to tell you I’m here. I have something I imagine you’ve been looking for.”
His voice came on again. “Oh really?”
“Yes. And I’m not going to give it to you unless you open that door.”
“Let me ask you something, Ms. Venedetta.”
“Okay…”
“This thing you claim I’m looking for. Is it the cure for cancer?”
“No.”
“Is it an original Shelby Cobra?”
A what?
“Um…No.”
“Then, you’re wrong. There’s nothing you could possibly have that I’m looking for, that would make opening that door and having to deal with you worth it. Now please leave this floor, or I’ll have security escort you out.”
Eff this. I wasn’t going to deal with this crap anymore. I didn’t want anything to do with him from this point forward, so I decided I would leave his stupid phone. Grabbing my own phone, I got an idea. A parting gift. I snapped three pictures of myself: one of my cleavage with a big middle finger in the middle, one of my legs and one of my rear end. I then programmed my number into his phone, naming myself You’re Welcome Asshole. I specifically chose not to show my face since I didn’t want him to recognize me on the train.
I sent all three pictures and followed them up with one final text.
Your mother should be ashamed of you.
I handed the receptionist the phone and said, “Make sure he gets his phone back.”
I sashayed out of there despite feeling a little defeated and a whole lot irate.
My mood had only worsened by the time I got back to work. The only good thing was that Ida had an unexpected out of office meeting, so I didn’t have to deal with her. I ended up taking advantage and leaving for the day an hour early.
After work, I ventured over to see Tig and his wife, Delia, before heading back to my apartment. He and I had been best friends since we were little, growing up next door together. Tig and Del owned Tig’s Tattoo and Piercing on Eighth Avenue.
I could hear the sound of Tig’s needle buzzing in the corner; he was busy with a customer. Tig handled all things ink and Delia was in charge of piercings. Whenever I was in this kind of unstable mood, I tended to get very impulsive. I’d already decided that tonight at home I was going to dye the ends of my hair red, but that didn’t seem like enough to satisfy me.
“Del, I want you to pierce my tongue.”
“Get outta here.” She waved her hand dismissively. She was well aware of my mood swings.
“I’m serious.”
“You said you would never get a piercing. I don’t want you coming back and blaming me when your mood switches back.”
“Well, I changed my mind. I want one.”
Tig overheard us and turned his attention away from his customer for a second. “I know you. Some shit must have gone down today for you to want to pierce your tongue all of a sudden.”
Letting out a deep breath, I said, “Some shit, alright.”
I proceeded to tell them the full story, from finding Graham’s phone to his rudeness toward me over the intercom today.
Tig spoke through the sound of the needle. “So, blow it off. You don’t have to deal with that prick anymore. You’re letting it get to you. Just erase him from your memory.”
I knew Tig was right. I just couldn’t figure out why Graham’s rejection was having such an effect on me. I wasn’t going to overanalyze it tonight or relate it to my issues of rejection by my father. Maybe I was just expecting to be pleasantly surprised today instead of utterly disappointed. Something was keeping me from just letting it go. There was more I had hoped to discover about Graham that I would now never get to uncover. I didn’t understand why it mattered so much, and until I could figure it out, I would take it out on myself.
“I still want you to pierce my tongue.”
She rolled her eyes. “Soraya…”
“Come on, Del. Just do it!”
My tongue was stinging on the train ride home. Reading over the list of after-care instructions, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself.
Don’t kiss or engage in other oral activities until you are completely healed.
Yeah…that wasn’t going to be a problem, seeing as though I had no one to partake in said activities with. All of the instructions seemed easy enough until I got to the last one.
Don’t drink acidic or alcoholic beverages while the wound is still healing.
Well, crap. I’d shot myself in the foot with that one, deciding to pierce my tongue on a night where I really needed to drown my sorrows in some booze.
Arriving back at my apartment, I took off my clothes and started the process of dying the tips of my hair red, which signified my worst possible state of mind. Just when I thought I knew exactly how this night was going to go, the last thing I ever expected happened.