UnRomance

Office Visit

Riley

My black patent leather chunky heels tap along the grungy sidewalk as my gray wool coat billows around me. The day is chilly and cloudy, and the lunch crowds swarm the streets: lines are formed at food trucks and inside of cafes and delicatessens. My purse is slung crossbody style across me; a white paper shopping bag occasionally bounces against my thigh.

I am in the Financial District, home to skyscrapers, Wall Street, and the 9/11 Memorial. I am going to Liam's office to surprise him with some lunch. I couldn't make a decision as to what he may want, so I have a lot of food.

I stopped first at a delicatessen; Liam's favorite sandwich is pastrami with spicy brown mustard, sauerkraut, and onions on marbled rye. He also enjoys jalapeno flavored kettle cooked potato chips. I purchased both, along with a Snapple. I forget the flavor. I was pleasantly surprised to see the sandwich came with a side of coleslaw.

But once on my way to his office, I passed a hole-in-the-wall soul food restaurant. Liam also enjoys soul food. I stepped inside and ordered a two-meat lunch platter; I debated for several minutes before deciding on boneless rib tips and a fried chicken breast. More minutes passed as I mulled over sides, finally choosing potato salad and collard greens. I then added on fried shrimp, creamed sweet potatoes, and a slice of apple pie.

Despite me ordering foods I have seen him eat and he has declared to be favorites, I don't know if he'll like any of it.

Liam buys the food. Liam cooks the food. Liam orders the food.

I reach the Marine Midland Building at exactly 12:36pm. It is tall, slim, and dark in color. In contrast to the surrounding buildings, it seems short at only 51 stories. The large red sculpture that reminds me of a square standing on one of its corners is the only spot of color against the smoky glass and gray sky. My stomach is suddenly nervous, and I'm unsure why. With a deep breath, I pull the door open and step into a large, brightly lit lobby. I make my way to the security desk. A middle-aged, portly guard looks me up and down before asking how he can help me.

"I'm here to see Liam Rys with Global Financials and Investments," I answer politely.

The guard raises an eyebrow. "Is he expecting you?"

"He will be," I answer with more confidence than I feel.

"No soliciting," he warns.

"I'm a potential client."

With a grunt, the guard points to a ledger. "Sign in. And I'll need your ID."

I nod as I set my bag on the floor. As I sign my name and the time into the notebook, I hear the man on the phone. He is speaking to someone named Corrine. He hangs up, gives my ID a cursory glance, and escorts me to the elevator once I have collected my bag. He swipes a key card and punches the button for the 43rd floor. Before I can thank him, the doors close.

Liam

I am reviewing a portfolio for a 6:30pm call with Chinese investors in Beijing when my executive assistant, Becky, knocks on my open door. I glance up briefly, then back down to the paperwork. Her normally dark hair has been dyed a muted red; she insists it's auburn. A severely cut houndstooth skirt suit covers her lean figure and red patent leather over-the-knee boots encase her feet and legs.

"What?" I mumble as my eyes scan numbers and words.

"Two things: You have a visitor. Riley Brooks Beaumont. And I'm going to lunch."

I look up at Becky at the mention of Riley. I wonder what she's doing at my office. I further wonder why she is at my office.

"Did this Miss Beaumont say why she's here to see me?"