Autumn and Summer

by Danielle Allen

  I listened quietly and closed my eyes. “You’re right,” I admitted, biting my thumb nail. I took another deep breath and then let it out slowly. “This is meant to be. I even found a spot right in front of the building.”

  Laughing, she pointed out, “Parking over there sucks if you’re not in the parking deck so now we know this is meant to be! Oh, hold on for one second.”

  Classical music filled my ears as I was put on hold. Pulling down the visor, I looked at myself in the mirror. Fluffing my hair, I smiled at my reflection. I love this hairstyle. I should’ve done this a long time ago, I thought as I looked at how my eyes seemed to pop and my cheekbones were accentuated. I’m ready for this. Looking back over at the building, I thought, I definitely underestimated the size of the building. But I guess I should’ve realized it was huge when the receptionist told me Style Magazine was on the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth floors. But this building will not intimidate me. Looking back at my reflection, I whispered, “I got this. This job is mine.”

  “Hey, I have to go into a meeting,” Autumn said when she returned back on the line. “But you have a key so once you are done with the interview, get yourself officially moved in, roomie. We will meet at Terra Nova at 5pm. Knock ‘em dead!”

  “Thank you! See you after work!”

  After ending the call, I climbed out of my car and put change in the meter. The sun shone brightly and created a glare off of the steel and glass high rise. Looking up, I felt nerves churning in my stomach. As I moved closer to the building, my reflection came into focus. I smirked at what I saw.

  Donning a pair of black slacks and my new white blazer, my size six frame looked sexy and professional. My one and only pair of comfortable heels catapulted me from 5’8” to 6’. With my full lips covered in a matte red lipstick, I looked as confident as I felt before actually making eye contact with the Infinity building. I rolled my shoulders back and slid the sunglasses off of my face, dropping them into my oversized tote. Inhaling deeply, I reached out to pull the front door open and entered the cool air-conditioned lobby.

  “Hello,” I said as I walked to the receptionist desk. “My name is Summer Wilson and I am here for an interview with Style Magazine.”

  “Hi, I’m Mark. Let me call up and verify,” the young man behind the desk replied with a smile. As I looked around the lobby, I saw many people milling around. Some were quickly moving toward the elevators, some were moving out of the front doors, and some were talking in groups and heading into a room with double doors. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mark checking me out. Not my type at all, I thought as I cleared my throat and his eyes snapped back up to my face.

  His face turned bright red before he sputtered nervously, “Here’s your badge. You will take the elevator to Style Magazine on the eighteenth floor. The receptionist, Meghan, is expecting you.”

  After clipping the Style Magazine visitor’s badge to my blazer, I walked to the elevator. A cluster of professionals stood by the elevator bank. Wearing dark suits, eight men and women huddled in a circle listening to one of the men talk in a hushed tone. Although I was standing near the group, I couldn’t hear what they were saying. They all had the same grim expression as the man who was speaking gestured emphatically. Damn, I would really hate to work where ever they work, I thought as I side-stepped toward the other bank of elevators, away from the group. I don’t need their negativity rubbing off on me.

  When an elevator door opened, the professional group barely let the people exiting move out of the way before they rushed in. There was room for one more person in the elevator and a delivery man gestured for me to go ahead.

  Too many bad vibes in there so no thank you, I observed silently as I smiled as politely as I could. “I’ll wait for the next one, but thank you,” I verbalized, my smile not meeting my eyes as it swept over the angry-looking professionals impatiently waiting to get back to work.

  Shrugging in response, he wordlessly entered the elevator.

  With the hustle and bustle of a busy Friday afternoon in a huge building, I felt a sense of relief that no one was waiting for the elevator but me. Going over the mental checklist in my head, I zoned out. Portfolio...check. Résumé…check. Phone on silent…check. Fresh br—holy shit, I interrupted my own thoughts as the doors to the elevator slid open to showcase the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life.

  My lips parted slightly and I let a sharp breath escape. He was standing in the back of the elevator typing on his phone. He didn’t look up, but he didn’t have to. With his head slightly bowed, I took a moment to appreciate the way his tailored, navy blue suit fit his tall, muscular frame. His hair, a mix of dark and light brown, was cut short, highlighting his olive skin tone. His face was shockingly beautiful from the slope of his nose to his square jaw with the five o’clock shadow that haunted his jawline. His phone looked small in his large hands as his fingers deftly flew over the screen. I would love to photograph him, I thought as my tongue quickly darted over my lips. And then fuck him. Or maybe I could do both… at the same time.

  Unintentionally, I found myself staring at him, grinning cunningly. Before I had a chance to look away, he looked up and his clear, blue eyes caught me. My heart automatically started hammering in my chest. Look away. Look away now, I coaxed myself even though I couldn’t move or avert my eyes. And as suddenly as he appeared, the elevator doors slowly slid closed without either of us doing anything to stop it. We just held each other’s gaze until the last possible second and then he was gone. I looked above the elevator doors and saw that it was heading to the B level. B level…is that bottom floor? Or basement? Or—why do I care? I have an interview I need to get to. I have to nail this! I don’t want to be unemployed, I thought, refocusing my attention and feeling my confidence return.

  Another elevator car dinged and once it emptied, I entered, putting all thoughts of that sexy man and that moment we shared behind me.

  The elevator ride seemed to take no time at all. With only one person on the elevator who got on at the eleventh floor, the ride was smooth and allowed me no time to think about those crystal clear eyes or the probability of my impending unemployment status. I can do this. I will do this. I am a talented photographer. The work speaks for itself. And whatever the work isn’t saying, I can say for myself, I coached myself confidently as I walked out of the elevator and into the well-lit, main foyer of Style Magazine. This job is mine.

  “Hello, I’m Meghan! How can we help you?” an upbeat voice called out from behind dual computer screens as I walked to the large receptionist desk. Meghan was an adorably trendy woman in a blue, sailor-inspired dress and chunky black glasses. Her short, brown hair with blonde tips was curled perfectly away from her face and secured with a matching blue headband. She looked effortlessly cool and simultaneously badass with her left arm covered in a sleeve of tattoos. Adjusting her glasses on her face, Meghan extended her hand and flashed a contagious smile.

  “Hi, Meghan! I’m Summer Wilson. I’m here for an interview with John Orlando.” I smiled widely, reaching across the counter to shake her hand.

  Glancing at her computer screen, she replied, “You are a little early but Mr. Orlando shouldn’t be too much longer. Have a seat.” Meghan pointed to an area of oversized couches and chairs with a flat-screen TV showing the news.

  As I opened my mouth to respond, the clicking of high heels and an angry voice interrupted, “Meghan! I have a meeting with Mr. Ford so see that I am notified as soon as he gets off of the elevator. I don’t want him to have to wait and I want to be able to personally walk him back. Do you understand?”

  When the woman appeared from around the corner, she was elegantly dressed for a seemingly casual work place. With her waves of thick, dark hair and fascinating accent, she would have easily been considered strikingly beautiful. But the way she spoke to Meghan and the way her face contorted in anger, it was apparent to me that she was ugly everywhere it counted.

  Who is this and what the hell i
s her problem? I thought, looking from Meghan to the woman in the fitted black suit and then back to Meghan.

  Glancing at me before looking back at the woman, Meghan responded like a scolded child, “Of course, Ms. Torres.”

  My eyebrows drew together, perplexed at how the vibrant, bubbly Meghan had almost visibly coward in the presence of Ms. Torres. Shaking my head slightly, I saw the way she eyed my outfit with disdain. One of her perfectly arched eyebrows rose judgmentally before looking me square in the eyes, sneering and then turning on her heel to walk away.

  Although I don’t own any power suits, I know my outfit is both fashionable and professional. No, I don’t look as stuffy and business-like as the group who got on the elevator before me. But I look good. And no snooty bitch is going to make me think otherwise, I thought as I stared down the hall in the direction from which Ms. Torres had exited.

  “Gabriella Torres is a mega bitch,” Meghan muttered before picking up the phone that had just started ringing. “Style Magazine. Meghan speaking. How can I help you?” she answered, her cheerful voice once again fully intact.

  I stifled my laughter by putting my hand over my mouth in response to Meghan’s assessment of Ms. Gabriella Torres. Meghan winked and started typing information on the keyboard and talking into the receiver.

  I backed away from the desk, staring through the glass wall behind it. The view allowed me to see the hustle and bustle of a fashion and culture magazine. The open floor plan was modern and the various dry erase boards and projection screens and lack of cubicles made it clear that it was a collaborative work environment. The hallways that flared out from the left and right of the receptionist desk seemed to have several closed office doors. Excitement flooded my system. Open floor plan for brainstorming and working as a team and private offices for individual work space, I thought as I realized how much I really wanted the job.

  Taking a seat on the modern couch that faced the television, I listened to a news segment as I flipped through my portfolio again. Reviewing my work and going over interview questions in my head, I vaguely heard the elevator ding. Not wanting to seem nosy, I kept my eyes down on my paperwork.

  If it is Mr. Orlando, I don’t want to seem nosey or overzealous, I considered as I closed my portfolio and stacked my paperwork neatly. I need to just play it cool.

  A minute later, I heard Gabriella’s memorable voice boom through the lobby an octave lower than it was when she was barking orders at Meghan. “Mr. Ford,” Gabriella exclaimed flirtatiously, “It’s so good to see you. Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to meet with me.”

  Who is this Mr. Ford that Mega Bitch is fawning over? Her entire personality has done a complete three-sixty in a matter of fifteen minutes, I thought as curiosity got the better of me.

  I tucked my hair behind my ear and casually glanced toward the receptionist desk. Mr. Ford was shaking hands with Meghan and as he stood there, my mind registered who he was a minute after my body did. His 6’2” frame covered in a perfectly tailored, navy blue suit was unforgettable. Even from the back, he looks like a Greek god, I thought as I let my eyes trail over his body without shame. Does he work here? He has no idea what I would do to—

  “Ms. Wilson?” a man called from the opposite hallway that the sexy Mr. Ford was going down. My head snapped in the direction of the voice so fast I was surprised my neck didn’t break.

  Oh my God… did I just get caught salivating right before my interview? This is bad. This is really bad. Instead of a job offer, I’ll get an invitation to ‘Sexual Harassment in the Workplace’ training, I groaned inwardly.

  Gathering my paperwork, I stood and collected myself. Looking up at the friendly man who was smiling my way, I let out a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t be smiling like that if he noticed the drool that was forming at the corners of my mouth. Phew! That was close, I acknowledged as I smiled back at the man I presumed to be Mr. Orlando. And clearly that’s a sign that I shouldn’t eye-fuck Mr. Ford. I need to concentrate on this opportunity and not on finding a new Mr. Wrong. Looking like that, he has probably left a string of broken hearts in his wake. I don’t have time for that shit. If I’m attracted to him, he’s probably bad news. I need to take a break from the boy hunt for a while.

  Chancing a look toward the other hallway as I picked up my handbag, my heart dropped. Meghan, Gabriella, and Mr. Ford were all watching me. Oh my God, did they see me eyeing Mr. Ford? I wondered as I quickly scanned each of them. Meghan smiled brightly and gave me a discreet head nod. Gabriella looked at me with obvious disdain. And Mr. Ford looked at me with curiosity… and something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  Or maybe I’m just lusting after him enough for the both of us, I admitted as I squared my shoulders and headed in the direction of the man I presumed to be Mr. Orlando. Ugh, I must be a masochist. My interview is what’s important. Impressing Mr. Orlando is what’s important. I don’t care what Mr. Ford thinks. My stomach clenched in objection to my thought process but I shook my hair over my shoulders and held strong. I always go after the wrong guys. And I don’t go after my dreams as often as I should. This is a perfect opportunity. Instead of mentally preparing myself for this interview, I’m thinking about Mr. Sex in a Suit. You know what… he’s probably a dick. He’s hanging out with Mega Bitch, right? The last thought gave me the clarity I needed to push the lust out of my mind.

  “Hello, Mr. Orlando?” The statement turned into a question as I realized that this may not be the editor-in-chief of Style Magazine.

  “Yes, ma’am… but please, call me John,” John Orlando warmly announced as he shook my hand. He was an older man—mid-fifties—with salt-and-pepper hair. He had tan, leathery skin from too much sun. He had a father-figure vibe about him; however, he dressed like he was a teenage surfer.

  “Thank you so much for this opportunity,” I smiled and tossed my dark honey-blonde hair casually. It was enough hair movement to be flattering, but not enough to be misconstrued as flirting.

  “Thank you for agreeing to this interview on such short notice. We are looking to fill the position rather quickly.”

  As I trailed behind John on the way to his office, I could almost feel a heated stare sweeping over my body. Fighting every urge within me to look and see if Mr. Ford’s eyes were on me, I focused on the task at hand: landing this job.

  Jesus, take the wheel, I prayed silently as I walked into a room with two other people at the table. I hate panel interviews!

  **********

  Chapter 4: Autumn

  “I can’t believe they just offered you the job!” Tatiana exclaimed across the table to Summer. Her hazel eyes were wide with shock as she yelled, “Congratulations!”

  Catching the tail end of the conversation as I returned to the table, I chimed in, “Believe it, ladies. Summer’s work is amazing! She always ends up bringing out complexity and emotion to every photo she takes.”

  As I slid onto the bar stool, I handed the whiskey Summer ordered to celebrate across the table to her. I crossed my legs and leaned forward with my elbows on the table. “She is truly the best photographer ever!” I gleefully bragged about my best friend as I made myself comfortable on the stool.

  “No wonder your profile picture is ridiculously gorgeous,” Tatiana joked, poking me in my side.

  Laughing, I raised my glass in a toast, I said, “To Summer. And new beginnings.”

  Clinking glasses, Summer, Olivia, Tatiana and I drank our happy hour drinks. I had strawberry margaritas while Olivia and Tatiana had shots of Patron. Summer’s drink of choice was whiskey.

  “Congratulations Summer! I’m so glad I forwarded that email to Autumn. And I’m glad you will be working in my building,” Olivia cheered after she gulped down her shot of tequila. “I was sad when Autumn’s company moved from the Infinity Building last year for construction. But with you coming in and Autumn’s company moving back in a month, we are going to have so much fun!” Olivia shouted, pumping her slender arm up and down.

/>   “Work is definitely going to be more like play when the four of us are together!” Tatiana laughed loudly, pushing Olivia’s shoulder to stop her from embarrassing us with her dance moves.

  Tatiana and Olivia were two of the first people I met when I moved to Wellington and started with Scallen Marketing Group. Tatiana and Olivia worked on the top floors of the Infinity Building with the exclusive StratFord Consulting Firm. During my first week of work, I went to the coffee shop across the street and stood behind Tatiana and Olivia in line. During the long wait to be served, we talked and hit it off immediately. They started at StratFord at roughly the same time and about a year prior to my arrival. Two years later, the four of us were now merging into a fabulous foursome.

  After twenty minutes of recapping our work days, Tatiana checked her watch and finished the rest of her second drink. “Oh no! We’re going to be late and Jason is going to kill us. I’m so sorry we can’t stay.”

  “Is it 5:30 already?!” Olivia gulped. She pulled her thick auburn hair into a ponytail…and then pulled it out and ran her hands through her long hair. She was fidgeting nervously. I looked at her quizzically as I sipped my margarita. The table had fallen silent as we all looked at her.

  “A few weeks ago, Tatiana and Jason mentioned they wanted me to meet Jason’s fraternity brother,” Olivia explained.

  “Ahh,” Summer nodded in understanding.

  I smiled and looked at Tatiana. “Have you met him?” I questioned curiously.

  “No,” Tatiana admitted. “But they have tickets to go see Kanye West. If nothing else, we will see an awesome concert!”

  “That’s very true,” I commented, sitting back in my chair.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Olivia said slowly. “I mean, I’m excited, but I’m nervous. Blind dates are nerve-racking! It could go bad. I mean, really bad. It could be—”