Love All The Way

8| Playing dirty

Monday is business as usual. Or nearly business as usual. Now, as well as the taste of coffee and mint, I have the taste of Milo on my tongue. This is bad. Complicated. We're gunning for the same promotion–the last thing we need is to complicate things with steamy elevator hookups. 

So why can't I stop thinking about it?

To distract myself, I spend the morning running around like a headless chicken, attempting to iron my dress while batting Mulan away with my foot. She inhales her food instead of eating it, so there is sticky mush all over her mouth. When she rubs against my leg, it transfers to my freshly moisturized skin.

"Bad Mulan," I say, but she keeps on rubbing.

When I'm ready, I walk into the same elevator I'd assaulted Milo's mouth in and try not to think about him. My first task of the day is to drop by the apartment, which means an hour of battling through New York's transit system. I'd hoped to get there early as proof of my professionalism, but as usual, Ashley is there before me. I push open the half-ajar door, step into the room, and freeze.

The apartment is nothing like the sleek, ultra-modern look I'd envisioned in my head. It's old school playboy with black leather sofas, animal skin rugs, and dark vampirey colors that make the place look more like a lair than somewhere you want to bring your one-night stands.

"I went with an old-fashioned vibe," Ashley says to break the silence.

"I can see that." 

Another long pause. "What do you think?" 

I turn to look at her. I think I'm going to murder you. "I guess...I guess I'm just surprised. It's not really what we talked about." I walk over to a garish painting of a woman's breasts and mentally cringe. When I turn back to Ashley, her smile has faltered.

"I know," she says, "but Milo mentioned you were thinking of going for a different vibe with this place. Something more old-fashioned playboy."

My eyes widen. That little rascal. "Milo said that?"

She nods. "I figured that's what you'd meant."

I squeeze the bridge of my nose because I feel a migraine coming on. "No, Ashley. No, it wasn't. If you'd just discussed it with me beforehand, we could have dealt with this miscommunication. How long is it going to take to change it all?"

She bites her red lip. "A week or two?"

I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown. "I told my boss I'd be starting showings next week." I am going to kill Milo for this. "Can you have it done in a week? I can't postpone any longer than that."

She sighs like I'm the one inconveniencing her. "It's really close to Christmas, a lot of people are already starting to switch off. I'm not sure a week is feasible."

It's not often I resort to demon mode, but it is one of those mornings. "Get it done, Ashley." Then I flick my hair over my shoulder and hurry back to the office.

The whole subway ride there, I rehearse what I'm going to say to Laurelle. It's not the type of thing I can tell her via email, as much as I want to, which means I'll have to head up to her office and face those demon eyes of hers in person.

I get to work at the same times as Rosie from four and Giles from five. They ignore me as I step into the elevator, as is customary. It's not that talking to those below your level is an outright rule, but it's behavior Laurelle would stomp out. I smile at them anyway, but they both turn away from me and look at their reflections, so I'm forced to do the same.

The doors open up to four, then five, until I'm the last in the elevator. It gives me a moment to examine my reflection and calm myself down. You wouldn't know to look at me that inside, I am panicking. My hair is in an efficient bun, and I'm wearing my favorite black dress and heels. I look like the type of woman who you don't want to cross; I pray it works to my advantage today.