Marry me

Chapter Twenty-Three.

"Thank you," I muttered to the middle-aged man behind the steering wheel of a yellow cab as I handed him a rumpled twenty-dollar bill.

"Yeah sure," he grunted, driving off and leaving me alone in front of a tall building.

The building was no more than a little skyscraper. The size was pretty normal for an average skyscraper building despite the fact that TE was a lot more bigger and embellished than it. I tried to ignore that. Harsh sunlight reflected off the glass frame of the structure, making it look bigger and more intimidating. I noticed the Topperstone Inc. written in bold and steel over the opaque glass front doors.

Dragging in lungfuls of air, I checked my wristwatch. Two forty-three. Great, I'm not too late or too early. I adjusted the strap of my shoulder-bag and my one and only pencil skirt as I approached the doors.

The lobby looked large-possibly larger than TE's. Shiny sandstone tiles covered the floor, glinting under the overhead fluorescent lights. Behind a glossy marble desk, a woman with plantinum blonde hair tied to a bun smiled warmly at me. She looked very immaculate and businesslike in her pinstriped blazer jacket and crisp white shirt. A silver name badge was perched on her jacket reading: 'Mary-Jane' and an earpod was sticking out of her right ear.

"Hello," she said. Her voice was businesslike too. One would think she was talking to the President. "How may I help you?"

"Hi. I'm here for an interview." I tucked in some of the escaped tendrils from my hair behind my ear, trying not to look too intimidated. She kept her eyes on me, the shadow of a smile on her face.

"Alright," she finally said. "The interview is scheduled for three. You can go sit there while you wait, Miss...?"

"Greene," I answered promptly. "Isabelle Greene." I walked to sit in one of the chesterfield leather couches that I hadn't noticed before. And so I sat, nervous and fidgety, impatiently waiting for the clock to strike three.

I couldn't help but have my mind wander. I thought back to the call from Mr. Asshole. What was the reason for his sudden mood swing? Why did he say I should be back before three? How did the man even get my number? I rolled my eyes at the memory of his bossiness. He was still being overbearing despite not being my boss anymore. He can be such a world-class asshole sometimes. Thank goodness, I switched off my cell.

The front doors opened, halting my thoughts. I jerked my head at breakneck speed, somehow thinking it was a certain grey-eyed asshole. But then a lady of about my age walked in-I sighed in relief. She looked just as pristine as Mary-Jane, the receptionist with her soft ombre curls, navy blue sweater through which the collar of a white shirt peeked, and a black pencil skirt. She looked Latin American to me.

It seemed like she was also there for an interview because after she spoke with the receptionist, she came over to sit on one of the couches, across me.

"You look nervous," the lady said seconds after sitting down. "Interview, too?" Yep, definitely a Latina.

"Yeah," I replied. "At three."

"Oh. Mine's at three-thirty. I'm Hannah." She leaned forward and held out her hand.

I shook her hand, firmly. "Isabe-"

"Isabelle Greene?" A man with dark brown dreads beside the reception desk called, cutting me off. I stood up awkwardly from where I sat.

"Good luck," the lady beside me murmured beside me.

"Thanks," I murmured back. "You too."

The man in dreads stretched out a hand. "Hello, Isabelle. I'm Marshall Mathers, assistant head of the acquisitions department here."