Free Pink Slips and Glass Slippers by J.P. Hansen Page B

in?
    Another deep breath. Time to find out.
    ***
     
    Though the ankle still ached and, carrying a full briefcase didn’t help, she advanced without wincing. Brooke had always had a high threshold for pain. She followed orders, icing it at nighttime—when it hurt the most—and attempted to stay off of it. The whole experience actually helped her avoid unnecessary tasks. She sensed this meeting would be anything but unnecessary.
    Entering the elevator, she felt a whisk of relief as she slinked inside without incident. It was empty and she rested on the wall while pressing the button for the top floor. She laughed, thinking she didn’t even know which office was his—or if it was on the top floor. Hey, maybe he’s not the guy who has to play king of the hill at the top of the corporate kingdom. She doubted it—he wasn’t the communal, cubicle type.
    The elevator bumped to a stop and the door slid open. She stood for an awkward moment, then lunged forward, feeling lost. This floor didn’t resemble hers—it was much nicer. Pharmical had its own C-floor—so unlike GenSense. Like walking into a Hyatt from a Holiday Inn. Her face scrunched into a sour expression.
    Brooke strode to the double glass door and nearly rammed right into it. The door failed to open like every other door in the building. She spotted a mini box that required a card. She cupped her hands and peered inside through the darkened glass. Brooke spotted a receptionist several feet away, engrossed in her monitor. Brooke waved. Nothing. She knocked. Nothing. Growing impatient, Brooke knocked harder. Still nothing. Finally, she noticed Miss Screensaver broke her trance and glared her way. A buzzer sounded and the door whisked open.
    Brooke shook her head while stepping inside. She felt like she was on the set of Star Trek. She half expected to see guys with pointed ears running around. She laughed as she visualized dukies at a basketball game, bouncing up and down in their courtside seats—with Spock ears and their little Blue Devil shirts.
    Brooke plodded toward the desk of the C-floor gatekeeper. Nope, her ears were normal. “Hi, I’m Brooke Hart. I’m here to see Chase Allman.”
    “Where’s your tag?”
    “I work here.”
    “Where’s your tag?”
    Brooke frowned, “I don’t have one.”
    “And you work here?”
    “Yes, I’m new…vice president of Integrated Client Services.”
    “I’ll phone Mr. Allman’s administrative assistant.”
    “Thank you.” Brooke sighed.
    After speaking into her headset, the gatekeeper glared at Brooke and said, “Ruth—Mr. Allman’s assistant is on her way. You really need to carry a pass for security purposes.” Not, I’ll get you a card of your own. So much for southern hospitality on the C-floor.
    Brooke spotted Ruth and was mildly surprised she could travel without a corn broom. She guessed Ruth was in her late forties, with a weathered face but a nice figure. Brooke was puzzled by Ruth’s jealousy. Ruth scurried right in front of her and in a voice much too loud for the short distance, said, “Well, I can see you’re walking just fine. I guess the injury wasn’t so bad after all.”
    Brooke forced a smile, “It’s still a little sore, but I’m much better, thanks.” Brooke thought, sheesh, how about hello…or, would you care for some iced tea? Was Ruth this pathetic? What’s Chase doing with a witch like her?
    “Chase is still on an important call. It should end soon. Follow me.”
    Brooke struggled to keep up, and hoped to slow her by asking, “How long have you worked here?”
    Ruth peered over her shoulder, turned her chin upward, “I’ve been with Chase for six years now.” Ruth’s tone rubbed Brooke the wrong way, almost sounding possessive. Is she attracted to him?
    “Well, I’m sure you’re good at what you do then.” No response. Even to a compliment. Brooke tried hard to connect with this woman, but she seemed more distant than the North Pole—and twice as cold.