The car arrives five minutes early and I take one last look in the full-length wardrobe mirror.
I look like a stranger.
The black pencil skirt stops mid-thigh and with the five inch heels I feel like I’m standing on stilts. The matching fitted black jacket sits over my sleeveless white silk blouse. With the hot red lipstick, it’s like all my other features are magically accentuated.
If I stand still, I actually look sexy.
“You look fantastic,” Olivia gushes, eyes wide and smile even wider.
I frown and take a few awkward steps across the room. Not as wobbly as I was but I still I feel like a little girl wearing Mom’s clothes while she’s out.
“I’m not sure about the shoes.”
“The shoes are perfect,” she points a warning finger at me, “Trust me. No man has ever said no to a pair of screw-me-heels ever in the history of the world.”
“Must you call them that?”
“Call them what?” she replies, all innocence, “Oh! You mean the screw-me-heels?”
I flush and she giggles.
I get the feeling that she loves me because she can still shock me.
“Yes,” she continues, standing up and making me turn, “Business 101. When asking a man to invest a million dollars you must wear screw-me-heels. Trust me if it was acceptable for guys to wear them they totally would, all the time.”
“Right.”
Her attempts to make me laugh are working but something is niggling in the back of my mind in a voice that I’ve been trying to shove away for three months now.
I know Trent was just being nasty, trying to hurt me because he was losing me but for some reason the words just won’t go away.
The only way a stupid girl like you is going to make it is if you’re screwing a man who already has.
Is that what I look like?
A woman willing to have sex to get what she wants?
A knock on the door signals that my time is up and I take a last look at my hair, the one feature I’ve always loved.
I don’t know what Olivia did to it but it moves like water when I tip my head, looking like thick melted chocolate cascading over my shoulders and framing my heart-shaped face.
“Wait,” Olivia says, grabbing her phone to snap a photo, “This is going to be the day that everything changes. We have to document it.”
Laughing, I pull her up beside me, hold my phone up and we both smile, heads touching.
“If this is the day, then it’s because you’re with me.”
She smiles and her eyes shimmer, and I can feel mine doing the same.
“Get out of here before you ruin your makeup!” she says and pushes me towards the door.
I open to a freckly petite woman with short neatly cut red hair under a gold trimmed, black chauffeur’s hat.
Her neat black pantsuit hugs her boyish frame and her hands are clad in fingerless leather gloves. It strikes me that it really wouldn’t look strange if she was wearing a pair of driver’s goggles to go with the outfit. A giddy sort of laugh bubbles in my chest.
“Miss Snow?” she says in a thick Scottish brogue that matches the woman perfectly but seems so out of place in the moment.
“Yes,” I reply but it comes out more of a croak.
She looks me up and down. I feel as though I’m being inspected and I’m not sure if I’m passing. Her eyes narrow on my red heels and when she meets my gaze she isn’t smiling.
“Come on then, Miss,” she says, already turning away, “Mr. Blake doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Her gaze lands on Olivia and lingers for an extra second before she heads back down the narrow staircase. Olivia and I exchange an amused look before I blow her a kiss and start following the driver.
Out on the street she opens the back passenger door to an expensive looking black limousine car and waits, looking straight ahead.
Before I get in, I pause.
“I feel like I should know your name,” I say and when she frowns at me I add, “Since you know mine already.”
Her eyes narrow for a second but then she seems to relax and the smile she gives me looks almost friendly, “You can call me Rowe, Miss.”
“Short for Rowena?”
“Yes, Miss.”
I cringe and add, “Would you mind calling me Claire?”
“Yes, Miss Claire.”
I notice a glimmer of something that might be amusement in her green eyes and I smile as I slip into the cool leather interior.
Once Rowe is seated, she checks to make sure I’m belted in and then pulls out into the sea of traffic so fast I have to grip the seat to keep my balance. I can only watch in growing horror and morbid fascination as she doges and weaves through the road-blocked vehicles at the kind of speed that shoves me back into my seat and turns the world outside into a blur.
“Try to relax, Miss Claire,” Rowe frowns over her shoulder at me.
I want to shout at her to focus on the road but I don’t want to distract her at this breakneck speed so I just smile and nod and sigh with relief when she turns her attention back to the oncoming traffic jam.
Whistling through her teeth, she makes a sharp turn up a side street without even slowing and to my surprise we pull to a smooth stop outside what must be Blake Tower.
A second later my door is opened by a tall, smartly dressed man.
He holds out a hand to help me out and I take it, hoping he can’t feel me shaking. Taking one look at my face he frowns and then throws a dark look at Rowe.
She just shrugs and gives him a wide toothy grin, “Good morning, Brock.”
“Rowe,” he greets her with a curt nod.
Once I’m on solid ground again, Brock lets go of my hand, “Follow me, Miss Snow.”
I look back at Rowe.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome, Miss Claire,” she replies and her lips twitch, “I’ll be waiting for you when you finish your meeting.”
Oh yay. Another thrill ride.
Turning back to the building, I look up and up and up till I think my eyes cross. I had read that this building was something like 70 stories high.
I’ve never really been scared of heights but wow. After another second of gaping up like a fish, I follow after Brock and even manage a smile when he pulls a huge glass door open and holds it for me to enter.
As I pass through the doors I notice the intricate gold lettering on the thick polished glass:
Blake Tower