Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 11

As the elevator pinged and rose up to my boss' penthouse floor by floor, I could feel my chest beginning to rise and fall heavily with dread the closer it got to my final destination. Harry promised to talk to Eleanor about our long detour yesterday, but I also know that he was oft inept at dealing with her maniacal, Machiavellian personality. I was absolutely dreading facing her this morning.

As I stepped off the elevator, I could hear the high pitched whining and mutterings from Eleanor in the distance, mixed with another apologetic, foreign tone that I couldn't quite recognize. In this moment, I wished that I could have just gone straight to Harry's office and have him meet me there, but of course, that's not what Eleanor wanted. Even though I was working for her fiancé for the week, she still needed to set eyes on me every day, probably so she could visually pull the truth out of my non-verbal body language. I'm certain this is how she knows everything. There's something in her gaze that just forces the truth out, sometimes truth you didn't even know you had.

"...and I need you to clean the vases every other day."

"Si, seniorita. Comprendo."

The annoying sound of her scolding her maid in feigned kindness masked in sarcasm reverberated off the marble counters, making the space feel far more dark and dreary than it did the day before. The irony of the stark contrast between today's vibe and yesterday's post-sex afterglow wasn't lost on me. How Harry put up with her bipolar mood swings on a personal level was certainly a miracle I had yet to understand.

Eleanor was dressed immaculately as usual in some ultra rare designer dress, her hair pulled back tightly into a dark bun. She was such a contrast to the friendly looking larger Hispanic woman, who blended immaculately into the modern space of the mostly white penthouse in her white cleaning outfit.

"That's all, Rosa," she mutters flippantly, waving her hand dismissively to tell her to leave.

As Rosa shuffled out of the kitchen, Eleanor let her dainty hand rest on the curve of her hip as she looks over the paperwork she had spread out on the kitchen island in front of her. Pausing, she took the perfect porcelain mug filled with coffee and lifted it daintily to her lips, pinky out as she sipped softly. She was the epitome of perfection, and despite her chilly demeanor, it was hard to ignore her beauty. I didn't even understand how someone could look so perfect this early in the morning.

"Morning," I offered softly.

Eleanor's head snapped to look at me while the rest of her body didn't move an inch. After looking me over judgmentally, she averted her eyes back to her papers. "Good morning, Olivia. Would you like some coffee?"

Uh oh. She's being kind. This can't be good. I can't tell her mood yet because her eyes won't meet mine, but I can feel the iciness in her demeanor. It's only a matter of time before I get my reprimand. I knew Harry couldn't save me from her steely vindictiveness.

"No...no, thank you," I offered, standing to the side of the island awkwardly.

Eleanor glanced at me, peering at me intently, trying to read whatever indiscretions she might be unaware of. I wish she would just get it over with, but I'm also acutely aware that half the pleasure for her was the actual torturous pressure she got to inflict on her unwilling victims.

Eleanor averts her gaze back to her cup, scoffing as she does so. "It's not very good. You're not missing anything."

She took a long pause before her next breath. "It's been a stressful morning."