Page 69 of Hale Damage
“Fuck yeah, you will,” a woman in a sleek pumpkin-colored pantsuit and bushy black curls says as she walks by. Her smile is brilliant, and her raised fist tells me she believes in me, despite not even knowing my name.
Ah, Houston. Gotta love it.
I stare up at the mirrored building in the heart of the city, squinting against the sun so I can see the Hale Cosmetics logo at the top. The morning light glints off the metallic HC emblazoned in a delicate script over a silver crown.
This has always been one of my favorite buildings as I pass through Houston on the interstate. It's a bold blue with sharp, clean angles that come to a point at the top, as if it’s saying, “Hey, look at me! I’m full of awesome shit.”
I hitch my crappy little purse up on my shoulder. It’s the old one I’ve been using since Twatface burned my other one. Just the sight of this bag brings on a wave of anger, and I want to beat my soon-to-be-ex-husband with it. I’ve never been prone to bouts of uncontrolledrage, but that was before I started going through divorce proceedings with Roger McCoy. And before he stole all my damn money.
I’m full of faux confidence this sunny Monday morning. My suit is nice, not designer, but the quality is good. This purse though… It looks like something I found while dumpster diving behind the 7-11, with its fake leather peeling off in patches like it has a skin disease. It’s the seven-year-old purse of a broke college student, not a badass career woman, so I turn the worst side toward my body and march through the doors with my head held high.
Amanda, the receptionist for the executive level, meets me in the lobby and leads me to the elevator bank. I learn she’s in her forties, though she looks much younger, and has two kids.
“How did you come to work here?” she asks, putting a key card up to the scanner and pushing the button for the top floor.
“My Aunt Lorraine knew there was an opening and suggested I apply.”
“Oh, she’s the nanny for Phoenix Hale’s little girl, right?”
“Yes, I missed out on a lot of years with Aunt Lorraine because she and my mother were estranged. But I reached out after Mama died, and she was so kind to me. It’s still weird sometimes, but we’re working on reconnecting.”
“Aw, that’s sad about your mom. I’m so sorry. How did she die, if that’s okay to ask?”
“It’s fine,” I reply. “Pancreatic cancer. Once they found it, she went pretty quickly, which is common, from what the doctors told me.”
We reach the top floor and step out of the elevator. Floor-to-ceiling windows flank the left and right side of the lobby area, and a wide chrome reception counter sits directly in front of us with the Hale Cosmetics logo on the wall behind it.
“That’s my area,” Amanda says. “Feel free to come to me with any questions that might crop up. I’ve been here a long time.” She gestures to a hallway to the left of her desk, leading back into what I assume are offices. “That’s marketing down there. Phoenix Hale is the marketing director, and he’s a doll. And the CEO’s office is down here.”
“My aunt said Phoenix is really nice, though I haven’t had the chance to meet him.” Crap, I probably should have taken the time toresearch the Hale family before today, but I’ve been a tad busy with all the bullshit. Matching Amanda’s brisk steps as we enter the wide corridor to the right, I ask, “How long have you been here?”
“Twelve years,” she replies, pointing to an opening on our left. The nutty aroma of coffee fills the space, and my nose swoons. “That’s the coffee area and bakery. We have our own barista on this floor.”
“Wow. That’s a perk,” I say with a laugh. “I’ll definitely be taking advantage of that.”
“You want one now?”
Since I don’t have a coffee maker and I’m badly in need of caffeine, I accept, and we step into the space, which is open on both ends. The other side appears to open into the marketing hallway.
“Hi, Amanda,” a man says. He’s standing at the counter, tall and incredibly handsome, with dark hair and dimples. And he looks so familiar. But where have I seen him before?
“Phoenix, hi,” she replies cheerily before patting my bicep. “This is Mindy Espinoza. She’s your dad’s new assistant.”
“Phoenix Hale,” he says, holding out a hand for me to shake. I do, but I can’t stop staring at his face. Where the hell have I met or seen this man? With the bespoke cut of his suit, I’m pretty sure we don’t shop at the same stores.
“Very nice to meet you,” I say politely.
His mouth quirks up on one side, and he seems to be inspecting me as well. “You look very familiar. Have we met?”
I laugh, relieved. “I was just thinking the same thing. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
He puffs out his chest. “I’m married to Jordie McNamara-Hale, the football player, so you might have seen me with her.” He winks. “My beautiful wife is quite famous.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man look so proud to be married. It’s sweet, and a pang of jealousy strikes the center of my chest.
“That must be it,” I say, but that explanation doesn’t feel quite right. Seeing Phoenix gives me a swirly feeling in my stomach I can’t explain. Not attraction, though he is gorgeous. Maybe it will come to me later.
Amanda and I order our coffees from Ambrosia, the barista, andwe stand around chatting with Phoenix about my Aunt Lorraine and his daughter, Reece. And of course, his wife, who’s a tight end for the Houston Dragons.
