Page 8 of Ache
Prick.
I march out of his office, closing the door a little harder than I mean to. But what the fuck, who cares? Not me.
I shutdown my computer, grab my purse, and get the hell out of the office.
I have a party to get ready for.
2
Everly
In my bedroom, I stare at myself in the mirror. All I keep hearing is Alec’s condescending reply.
Clearly.
Clearly.
Clearly.
I flick the end of one of my braids and fluff my dark bangs. I don’t have a stitch of makeup on, and my glasses are sitting on the brim of my freckled nose. My outfit is nice, but there isn’t much more to me. I see what he sees.
Nothing special.
My heart is heavy, but my determination is burning bright. I want more, I just have to be brave enough to reach for it. The last few years have been challenging. I dug myself out of a dark place, and I am just now starting to see the light.
“You can do this,” I give myself a pep talk. “You can be more. You deserve more.” Those words burn my tongue. They’re hinged by heartache. A heartache I’ve been carrying around for eight, long years.
I shake off the sorrow. Tonight is about fun. And what’s more fun than playing dressing up? For me, not much.
I wash quickly, then pick out my dress. My closet is packed with designer clothes, most with the tags still on them. I love to shop but am limited on places to go. That doesn’t stop me from blowing half of my paycheck on brand names. I know exactly what I want to wear. The red, sexy cocktail dress is shoulder-baring with a slit up the side. It leans much more to the side of sophisticated than skank. I can’t show up to an elite office party looking like a prostitute. The clincher for me was the tied, off-the-shoulder sleeves. They’re so feminine and chic, the bows dangling on my arms add the perfect, classy embellishment.
Paired with a nude, strappy heel, the outfit is perfect for the night.
I spend a little extra time on my makeup. Just because I don’t wear it often doesn’t mean I don’t have any. I smoke my eyes out with black shadow and swipe my lashes with several coats of black mascara. Finally, I loosen my hair from the two braids, and it falls in loose, tousled waves around my shoulders.
I barely recognize myself by the time I’m all said and done.
The girl staring back at me in the mirror now is a polar opposite to the one from earlier today. To the one every day.
I grab my purse and order up an Uber on my way down to the lobby. My apartment complex isn’t anything extravagant, but it has a doorman, and it’s safe. Living in the city is expensive as hell, so scoring something halfway affordable in a decent neighborhood is like winning the lottery.
The white Accord picks me up on the sidewalk and whisks me away to Uptown. The firm's party is in their company suite sixty floors above the ground. The view of Manhattan is absolutely spectacular and so is the space itself. All floor-to-ceiling windows, a huge balcony, and an ultra-clean, neoclassical design. White marble, Roman columns, and extravagant décor. I’ve only been here once before, for a Valentine’s Day function the firm held when I first started. I learned quickly these events are legendary.
I steel my nerves as the elevator doors open to a bustling room filled with high-profile clientele and all my peers.
As soon as I step into the room I’m offered champagne by a waiter wearing a tuxedo and white gloves balancing a silver tray full of bubbling flutes.
I accept graciously. I’m going to need all the alcohol I can get my hands on tonight.
The whole atmosphere is beyond upscale. It’s distinguished and impressive, and sometimes I can’t believe I’m actually part of this world — considering my shady upbringing. But that’s all in the past. The only place I’m looking now is the future. At least, I’m trying to.
I peruse through the room admiring the beautiful detail of the molding on the walls as I look for Lara. I know she’s here somewhere.
“Miss Paige?” Caught admiring the huge chandelier above my head, I hear my name. I look down to find Mr. Turner regarding me warmly. He’s an older man with wild grey hair, smile lines, and crow's feet. He’s supposedly a pit pull in the courtroom, but I’ve only ever known him to be a big puppy dog.
“Mr. Turner.” I smile.
“I’m so glad you came.” He returns my expression tenfold.
