I stared after Conrad. He was distinguished, some would probably even say handsome. For an old man. Err… Older. I didn’t know exactly how old he was, but the crown of perfectly styled gray hair led me to believe he was older.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that, girl,” Jasmine whispered, her smile falling.
“He’s so…” Do not say old. Do not say old. “Intimidating.” I wasn’t even aware I had spoken aloud until Jasmine snorted with laughter. Until then, I was beginning to wonder whether she knew how, and now the rusty sound echoed through the open reception area of the second floor.
My floor.
Technically the floor belonged to Mr. Trovato, but aside from his office, the only other occupied space was an area where my desk was positioned and a small section that contained a fancy leather sofa for clients to wait for Mr. Trovato. There were windows everywhere, providing enough natural light to light up the entire space, and that was without the help of the dangling fluorescent bulbs from above.
A miniscule kitchenette, equipped with a refrigerator, sink, and an industrial coffeemaker was tucked into a nook in one corner; a place Jasmine told me would be essential for me to learn my way around since Mr. Trovato loved his coffee more than he loved his family.
I was pretty sure she’d been joking about that last part.
“That’s an understatement, girl. Now, let’s continue. I’m only here for two more days and I suggest you pull it together or you’re gonna be looking for another job.”
No, not that.
At twenty-three, I had spent the last seventeen months looking for a job, coming up empty except for the occasional temp placement. It had been more than a year since I had graduated from college with big dreams and even bigger expectations. As it turned out, there was something like forty percent of people in Austin, Texas who had a bachelor’s degree or higher, which meant that businesses could be as particular as they wanted to be in hiring.
That was something that would have been beneficial to learn in college. Before I picked a major.
With a degree in English Literature, I wasn’t having much luck finding a job in a city that was dominated by tech companies. But three weeks ago, my dad had stumbled upon an ad on the internet for an administrative assistant position at Trovato, Inc. Of course, my father knew everything there was to know about the company that manufactured performance engines because he made it his business to stay up to date on the ins and outs of the automotive industry.
Not exactly the place I saw myself working for my first real job out of college, but now that I was here, I had to admit it wasn’t quite as bad as I’d expected.
From the instant I stepped through the main doors, I’d been in awe of the place. Glass and steel constructed the building, and there were actually engines that decorated the space.
Engines. Like the things that went in cars.
The walls were white, the floor slate gray and the décor interesting.
It went without saying that those engines — or the components within them, I wasn’t quite sure — had made Mr. Trovato rich.
When I arrived that morning, I hadn’t had a lot of time to admire the unusual decorations. As I had attempted to ascend the stairs to the second floor, I was nearly tackled by a big, beefy security guard, who defended the stairs as though they led to heaven and I hadn’t yet been permitted to pass the pearly gates.
“Earth to Payton.”
I blinked twice, looking up at Jasmine.
“Two days, remember?” Jasmine nodded her head toward the notebook in my hand. “You might want to start writing. It’s gonna be a long day for you.”
I had a feeling that Jasmine was full of understatements. And her crash course in managing Mr. Trovato’s calendar was just beginning.
Chapter Two
Payton
Monday night
By the time I walked to my car in the deserted parking lot, it was after seven, the sun had long since gone down and I was starving. Mr. Trovato was apparently an early riser and he had a penchant for staying at the office late, which didn’t do anything to help the fact that I hadn’t brought my lunch with me — something I had realized after my stomach started rumbling.
While Jasmine had gone out with some of her friends (in case there was any doubt, no, I wasn’t invited), I had sat at the desk and pretended to munch on an invisible granola bar although no one was there to talk to me about the nutritional value in the pretend meal.
Didn’t help that I had spotted a vending machine on the main floor — just now — on my way out the door.
During the two hours it took for Jasmine to celebrate her recent engagement and upcoming relocation to New York, I had fielded at least thirty phone calls. Thirty freaking calls.
I’m pretty sure Jasmine was on the verge of a heart attack when she came back and tried to make sense of the mess that I’d made with that little pink message pad. Luckily, it hadn’t taken that long to sort out, but we — translated to she, because I don’t think she trusted me at that point — spent the better part of the afternoon calling people back and scheduling meetings for Mr. Trovato.
Now, as I approached my car, my feet were hurting, my head was pounding and my eyes were slowly but surely drifting closed. I was exhausted and part of me was dreading coming back tomorrow.
Forcing the thought of what tomorrow might bring out of my throbbing head, I climbed into my car — a vintage, carbon steel gray, 1965 fastback Mustang that my father insisted I drive — and cursed the idea of having to look at a computer screen or a telephone ever again.
Speaking of telephones…
My cell phone sang Baby Got Back just as I turned the key in the ignition, the tune at war with the powerful throb of the engine. I never understood why my father souped-up these cars, or why he insisted that I drove the thing in the first place. I would have been quite content with a little compact car, maybe something with Bluetooth or satellite radio. Or, you know, electric windows. I didn’t think that was too much to ask, but my father insisted on me driving an American classic, as he referred to the car, and since it meant no car payment, I couldn’t complain too much.
“Hey, Chloe?” I greeted, cutting off the song snippet as it started again.
“Where are you?” she asked, sounding exasperated, which was something I was pretty familiar with. Chloe Tatum, my best friend – slash – roommate was nothing if not easily excitable, though you’d never know it by looking at her. I could already picture her lying on the sofa, dark hair fanned out around her head, emerald green eyes staring at the front door as she waited for me to come in.
“I’m leaving work,” I explained, leaning my head back on the headrest and closing my eyes.
I wondered if it would be against company policy if I just slept right there in my car.
“At least tell me you’re bringing dinner home.”
“I can.” I peered through one eye to see that the lights were slowly going out inside the two-story building in front of me. It was only seven, but since it was almost November, the days were getting shorter. That should have made me feel a little better, and it would have if I weren't still at work. I loved fall. It was my favorite time of year. Instead, I was imagining crawling into bed and sleeping away the last few days of October. “What did you have in mind?”
“Chinese.”
“I’ll pick it up on my way. Is Aaron home yet?” I asked, referring to our other roommate.
Aaron, my best friend since junior high school was still a student at the University of Texas, working on his master’s degree in business. He and I had shared an apartment since we were sophomores in college, after each spending a year in the dorms. And when I moved farther from campus after I graduated, he had decided to come with me. Unfortunately, he wasn’t home much these days, choosing to spend his evenings with his new boyfriend. Unfortunate because I didn’t get to see him much, not because he had a boyfriend.
Seeing how incredibly happy Aaron was, I couldn�
�t even find it in me to be bothered by the fact that he wasn’t there for me to talk to, or to do his share of chores either. Paying a third of the rent while staying elsewhere ninety percent of the time, I figured the guy deserved a little slack. Since I’d had the pleasure of hearing all about New-Boyfriend-Mark, suffice it to say, I was actually thrilled for Aaron. He’d been looking for love for a long time, and it seemed as though he might have actually found it with Mark. At least according to him. I, personally, didn’t know Mark all that well, so the jury was still out as far as I was concerned.
“Nope. He came and went an hour ago. Said he’s staying with his love bunny and not to wait up.”
“He said that?” I asked, my eyebrows shifting up. “He called Mark his love bunny?”
“No. I did.” Chloe chuckled, obviously proud of herself.
“So dinner for two?”
“Unless you’re gonna waste more time talking. Then you might as well make it three ’cause I’m starving.”
“At least there won’t be any traffic,” I told Chloe.
“Traffic? At this time of night, you’ll be lucky if there’re any restaurants open,” she said facetiously, following with a giggle.
I couldn’t even drum up enough energy to laugh at her lame jokes, so I simply said goodbye and thumbed off the phone, dropping it onto the seat beside me.
An hour and ten freaking minutes later, I was pulling into the parking lot of my apartment complex. Since I’d had so much time to think on the way home, I’d come to one sound conclusion: there was no way I was going to survive that commute every day.
To make a bad day worse, someone had stolen my parking spot in front of my building, so I had to drive around for an extra minute until I found an empty place.
Three buildings down.
Figured.
Dreading the walk in the foot murderers that I called shoes, I was tempted to bust into the food that had been my only companion for the past half hour right there in my car. The heavenly scent of Chinese food taunted me, making my mouth water. I’d made the mistake of stopping at one of my favorite places near downtown Austin, rather than near the apartment, and I’d had to endure the overwhelming urge to eat sweet and sour pork with my fingers most of the way home.
Now, as I lugged all of my stuff toward my building, I worried that I might not be awake long enough to enjoy it at all.
When I walked in my front door a few minutes later, toting my purse on one arm, the computer bag complete with the laptop I was told to keep on me at all times, and the plastic bag holding our dinner, I was panting like I’d been floundering on the treadmill again.
Damn stairs.
“A little help would be nice,” I muttered to Chloe, who was lounging on the couch, her Kindle in front of her.
She didn’t budge. Not that I had really expected her to. This was Chloe. When she was focused, she made as little movement as possible, which made me hate her for the simple fact that she was so damn skinny and she never had to work out. She claimed that she kept in shape because she was on her feet all day. Did I mention Chloe was a hairstylist? One of the best, to be exact.
“Fine. I’ll just eat your eggroll,” I added as I passed her.
“What’s that?” Chloe’s bright green eyes homed in on the computer bag now dangling from my arm, her head turning at an odd angle so that she didn’t have to get up.
“Work.”
“Why’re you bringing it home?” she asked, looking sincerely perplexed.
“No idea.” I didn’t really care to talk, I preferred to eat, so I made my way to the kitchen, letting the bag and my purse slide to the floor where I left them near my bedroom door. I kicked off my shoes, sending one flying into the wall, the other falling from my aching foot.
After pulling the containers from the bag and gathering utensils, I carried the two cartons of food and two plastic forks — screw the chopsticks, I was just too damn tired to make that happen — into the living room and joined Chloe on the couch.
“So, tell me about him,” Chloe stated as she crossed her legs and dropped her Kindle onto the coffee table before reaching for the carton that contained her beef and broccoli.
“Who?” I asked, mirroring her position so I could face her. I feared that if I relaxed too much, I’d fall asleep right there.
“Conrad Trovato.” Chloe annunciated his name slowly, dreamily. “He looks so handsome when I’ve seen him on TV.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously? He’s like fifty,” I told her, laughing around a mouthful of food.
“That just means he’s distinguished,” Chloe countered, forking rice into her mouth.
“It also means he’s married.”
“True. For like the third time if I remember correctly.” Chloe kept eating, her full attention on the food in front of her as she continued talking, oblivious to the fact that her mouth was full. “Does he have any kids?”
When she peered up at me, I shrugged.
“You don’t know? What kind of assistant are you?” Chloe huffed.
“He’s got a daughter, I think.” I paused, chewing thoroughly, purposely making her wait. “He’s got her picture in his office.”
“You sure that’s his daughter and not his wife?” Chloe asked. “Or his mistress?”
God, I hoped not. The girl was young and he was… not.
“How old is she?” Chloe inquired before I could even answer.
“She’s in college. Aside from that, I didn’t bombard him with personal questions on my first day.”
“I would have.” I totally believed her. “Seriously, Payton. This is Conrad Trovato. He’s the mastermind behind those engines that make your girl parts sing.”
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. “Sorry, my girl parts don’t sing for engines.” Hell, these days, my girl parts didn’t sing for anyone.
“Oh, come on. How freaking hot is it when one of those things starts up? I still don’t know how you can drive your Mustang and not have an orgasm every damn day. Did you ask him how they make them do that?”
I laughed, nearly choking on my sweet and sour pork. Chloe’s mouth did not have a filter; that was for sure. “No, I didn’t.”
“Well, you should,” Chloe said seriously.
No, I shouldn’t. I should just do my job and maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to save up a little money to move to a city where I could find a job I actually enjoyed. I didn’t share that little tidbit of internal monologue with Chloe.
“Wait!” Chloe exclaimed, snatching up the fortune cookies sitting on the couch between us. She tossed one my way. “Open it,” Chloe demanded as she cracked open her cookie and smiled.
Oh, the dreaded fortune cookie. This had become a ritual for us anytime we picked up Chinese to go, which was about once a week these days. The rule was that we had to open the cookie before we ever finished our meal. If there was a particular protocol around reading those things, I was pretty sure we’d mucked that up a long time ago.
Placing the container on my leg, I followed suit, tearing the plastic wrapper and then breaking the cookie. I stared at the message, blinking several times as I did.
“What does yours say?” Chloe asked inquisitively.
Glancing up, I met her eyes. “Uh…” My attention slid back to the paper. “It says ‘Get ready for something to shake up your life.'”
Chloe sighed heavily. “Lucky you. Mine says ‘You’ll take a trip to Asia.' I mean, come on. That’s not a fortune. Asia. Right. Like I’ll ever be that lucky.”
I stared at the paper in my hand, wondering for once if it might come true. I needed something to come along and give my life a little shake.
Not that I wanted to think about that now. Right now, I just wanted to finish my food and pray that my feet would carry me the short distance to my bedroom.
After all, I still had to get up and do it all again tomorrow.
Chapter Three
Payton
I knew I was asleep. I had to be. Eve
n knowing that, I was having a hard time deciphering the dream from reality. There was no way this could be real. Could it?
I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to lose this moment.
This guy, whoever he was, he mesmerized me, drew me in. I couldn’t pull my eyes away, couldn’t break the spell he had on me. Something in the way he walked, talked, moved.
Breathed.
So familiar, yet not.
I felt like I knew him, like I’d met him before, but for the life of me I don’t remember any such encounter. Had we met? Was this my mind conjuring up the image of something from my past? Or was this some sort of vision from the future?
Either way, I didn’t want to open my eyes. Didn’t want to face reality if he wasn’t in it. I wanted to get closer, to look into his eyes, to know what he was thinking.
I was unabashedly staring, unable to look away.
Whoever he was, there was something about him…
Something that unhinged me.
My eyes flew opened and I stared at the ceiling. My heart was racing, my skin hot to the touch. The blankets were twisted around my feet, trapping me. I glanced around my bedroom. The dim glow from my computer’s screen saver allowed me to see.
There was my desk, my dresser, the few pictures I had hanging on the wall.
And just as I feared, I was alone.
There was no one there. No handsome stranger.
Blinking a few times, I willed the dream to come back. I knew that no matter how hard I tried, I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes and bring him back, but I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to.
Rolling over onto my side, I tugged the blankets from between my feet, pulling them over me. I squeezed my eyes shut again, hoping he would come back.
I had no idea who he was; I just wanted him back.
Chapter Four
Payton
Unhinged (Unhinged #1) Page 2