Chance sank back down into his chair and glared at her.
"Fine then, let's hear it." Since she clearly had no intention of leaving, he thought he might as well give in and try to figure out what it was that she wanted.
Unfortunately for him, she was not going to let it be that simple.
"Hear what?"
She was doing it again.
"Your proposition." He said through gritted teeth.
"Ah, right. Well, you see, I can only share the details with Mr. Addison. And since you are not him, I suppose I will be on my way." She walk toward the door and reached for the handle.
Without turning around she added, "Unless of course, you are Mr. Addison."
Chance made a split second decision and hoped he wouldn't regret it. Although given his present situation, what did he have left to lose?
"Wait." He spoke out of impulse, surprising himself more than the mysterious woman.
He sat up straight and took a deep breath.
"Chance Liam Addison, presid- I mean former president of the now defunct Addison Enterprises, at your service."
"Now we are getting somewhere." She opened the door and looked back at him. "Follow me please."
He made his way to the door then took one last look at the desolate remains of his office. All of the furniture, save the desk and chair, was gone. Even the various books he had stockpiled over the years had been taken away to be sold off.
They walked silently through the darkened maze of abandoned cubicles and headed toward the elevator.
The woman had already pressed the call button.
Before his business went under, it had occupied the sixth and seventh floors of a forty story building in the heart of downtown B City.
He remembered how proud and excited he had been to sign the lease. He had felt that he had proved himself. That he had finally made it but now…
Chance watched the dimly lit counter as the elevator descended from the twenty-eighth floor. It chimed twice to notify them of its arrival and then opened its doors.
Once they had stepped inside, he reached for the button to send them to the ground floor.
The woman quickly swatted his hand away and instead entered a code into the key pad for the restricted floors. She then pressed the button for the fortieth floor.
Still dealing with a throbbing headache, he decided not to ask and just follow along.
She looked up at him as if to say 'See, you're starting to catch on.'
He sighed and leaned against the wall, deciding it was for the best that he had run out of whiskey. If his head hurt this much now, how bad would it be in the morning?
As he was thinking about how many ibuprofen he should take, the elevator chimed again to let them know that they had reached their destination.
The doors parted and instead of offices and cubicles there were endless rows of packed bookshelves.
"This way please." She took the lead and wandered through the stacks. She moved just slow enough that the intoxicated man behind her could keep up.
A few turns later, the pair had reached the far end of the floor. There the bookshelves opened up to a spacious study area. Each piece of furniture was carefully arranged to face the massive floor to ceiling windows.
At night, the view was especially spectacular. All of the lights from downtown and the boats anchored out in the harbor amounted to a particularly pleasing sight.
While he was admiring the view, the woman walked over to a cabinet and retrieved a bottle of water and a sports drink. She came back to stand beside him and passed him the sports drink.
"Thank you." He dropped the attitude for now and was prepared listen to what this little woman had to say. But after she nodded to acknowledge his thanks, she said nothing else.
She just stayed silent and patiently waited for him to finish the sports drink. The silence wasn't awkward. On the contrary it was somehow comforting. For that brief period of silence he was able to put aside the bankruptcy and betrayal. He was able to just exist and enjoy what was in front of him.
As a slight smile spread across his sleep-deprived face, she finally spoke.
"Feeling better are we?" Her tone had shifted from cold and critical to warm and slightly condescending. It was similar to how a small child might be addressed after throwing a temper tantrum.
He ignored the way she said it and gave an honest answer. "Yes ma'am."
"Fait."
"Fate?" Chance gave her a questioning look.
"My name. You can stop calling me ma'am and start calling me Fait."
If Chance took her words out of the present context, he thought it sounded an awful lot like a pickup line. Given their interactions thus far, he instantly dismissed that thought with a shudder.