Frankly, I don't believe it at first thought; that a woman is screaming her way out of the elevator as I'm gathering my things to leave the office. Did security not get a hold of this person before she made it to the top floor?
I finally see it's Patricia and I know why she wasn't disgraced and asked to leave. She's beautiful, I've always admired her, but her beauty is currently blotted by the triggered. expression on her face.
She immediately starts to spew words out. "Mrs. secretary," her tone is sardonic when she calls me that. "Your work is to hand over messages to your boss." She's hollering and stomping her feet towards my office. "You're not allowed to be responding to his emails." She finally halts a few strides from me. I get to see her facial features clearly and even the exact shade of blue her blue eyes.
"Did I miss something?" I straighten my face and raise my chin up to ask in an attempt to mark territory. Lance's house maybe hers too, but she'd not belittle me. "They didn't tell me I have to take orders from the boss's ex fiancée." I make sure to put stress on the ex.
"How dare you?" She snarls. "You have no right. Absolutely no right to-"
"To do what, Luna?" Lance retorts from beside the both of us. I tilt my neck to see him standing so confidently on a spot.
Patricia swirls to face him almost in tears. "Please don't call me Luna, I'm not your employee."
I can tell that but a hole in a ego.
"It would have been better if you were one, then I'd care for you," he throws at her. "I don't appreciate you coming in here to harass my employees." He warns while walking around a circle. "Who even let you in here? Where's security?" Lance stares at me as he asks that rhetorical question. "Call security, Grace. Tell them there's an intruder in the hotel, they either walk her out, throw her out or get fired!" He says this and goes into his office.
Patricia stops crying and gapes at me. I take a step back, observing Patricia give her ponytail a yank. Then she drops to the ground, beaten and totally consumed with sorrow.
My hands shake while I try to place this call. I don't look her directly in the eyes, but my eyes catch glimpses of her smacking herself on the thigh. Like Lance has instructed, I just speak into the telephone. Very slowly like this intruder is strangling me.
I'm confused about why he's so harsh to her. It's more than what the public knows. More than I known This is a story and I need to get to the bottom of it. With Lance being a very secretive human being, I doubt I'm ever giving Noah anything concrete, and I've got five more days to my two weeks deadline.
Lance comes back out from his office, but with his things this time. He halts in the middle. "Grace, pick your things. I'll drop you off. I can't leave you here with this...this..." he struggles for words as Patricia grabs him mid thigh. "This lunatic," he pronounces and knocks her off himself.
I appreciate the pun, Patricia Lunatic, but not the knock. Still, I don't stay back to help her up as she's almost flat on the floor, I run off with lance, and we both leave Patricia in the office.
We hurry into his car when we get out of the building and he tells me to give his chauffeur my address so I can be dropped off, which I do and we begin to move.
This is our regular ride—quiet and very awkward. I'm always with a thousand questions to ask—which I never ask. And he's always staring out of his window.
I breathe in confidence and turn to get his attention. "Is she the reason you've been so worried?"
It's either my question or the nerve I have to ask him that makes him turn with a raised brow. He faces me and says. "Aren't you just one curious employee? You don't give up, do you?"
"No." I shake my head. I place my laptop bag on my thighs. It was on the space between Lance and I. I don't close the gap between us, I don't as much as think of it. "As an assistant, I do worry about you." My voice is soft and convincing that even I believe the lie I'm telling.
He's quiet for awhile. It looks like he's deliberating. Then, "Well, ask me anything else that doesn't concern Patricia Luna." He brings his head down and flashes me a quick smile.
Right! Now's the time to ask something that may make a headway for me, because I don't know anything personal about this man, except for the few things other employees mention on passing. I'm even too estranged to just show up in their conversations and start questioning them.
I think of the most pressing question I can ask Lance before I begin. "So tell me...Like really? 390 houses in just San Francisco? How do you do it?"
Lance makes a sardonic chuckle. "Who on earth writes all these things on the blog?"
I squint, hinting that I want more than he's giving me.
"They left something vital." He maintains.
"Which is?" My eyes narrow out to slits. "There's more. Ain't it?"
"You've worked with me for two weeks now. I don't believe you're still asking this." His lips twitch to hide a smile. "390 is the total I have in LA, Washington, San Fran and across the states. I've told you before, don't believe everything you're told. Propaganda sells."
I feign ignorance like every other time he has talked about my profession unknowingly. "But it doesn't make any sense."
Rubbing his forehead, he brings himself to looking at me again. "I get it though, it's what brings food to their table. But It doesn't make me like journalists."
Suddenly, the car is awkwardly silent again. For more than two minutes. I'm processing my next question, so I don't sound like an informant. I determinedly want to ask him how he makes so much, though his checks and balances speak for themselves. My mouth opens to ask him about how his childhood was like, and then my phone rings.
Yet again, overbearing boss is calling me. I should probably get this changed now. Lance is looking at me weirdly again.
We just drove past the Capitol a few minutes ago. Noah may want me to stop over and I can't afford to get home first then come back out, so I answer the call, making sure my volume is low enough for my ears alone.
"Capitol immediately, Anderson!" Is all he says and hangs up.
My heart skips a beat. When it begins pulsating again, it bangs loudly, almost ripping my chest open.
What is it this time?
I smile at my phone and mutter under my breath, but loud enough so Lance can hear it. "He's in my house, but what does he want now?" I lie. I do hope it's a believable lie.
I let the chauffeur drive more, covering quite a distance. Stopping him randomly after a call from overbearing boss seems very suspicious. But it doesn't make sense for me to let them drive me all the way home. I stay put. For awhile, though.
I come in sight of a local supermarket and I scream out. "Shit, I totally forgot I need groceries. Can you please stop the car?" My hand reaches for the car handle. I hold it, ready to pull it towards me.
Lance's facial expression changes from a straight one to worried. It doesn't last, actually. He says, "Are you sure?"
I don't answer. Frankly, I'm I hate lying to him.
Lance hums. "Okay." He orders the chauffeur to find a spot to park whilst regarding my features with scrutiny. It's the first time in two weeks he is ever stared intently at me. And I'm fucking uncomfortable.
I'm the one who breaks the stare this time when the car comes to a stop. "Thank you for the ride, sir," I appreciate his effort and turn my back to the car after shutting the door. I pretend as if I'm going into the supermarket. But once I hear his car zoom off, I turn around and begin to walk back to where we came from.
• • •
"What do you mean I can't go in there to see Noah. Neither can I go to his office?" I ask Billy, my colleague. He's one of those on the team that actually provides the company with juicy stuff, I must commend. Though he's a bit higher than me in level because he was only recently promoted, I don't know him to give me orders.
"Noah. He said no one's allowed to go in there for now." Billy holds me by the arm and pulls me away from the door. Admittedly, I was stubbornly going to go in there to see for myself.
"But he asked me to be here." I persist.
"Well, I suggest you wait till he's done."
"Done with what?" Snatching my hand from him, I question, adjusting my blazer.
"A live broadcast," he says and joins them inside. Before he closes the door, he holds me off with a palm. "Don't even think of it."
In addition to the fact that I'm having a tough time at Saint Haven, I'll come down here and be alienated too? This is just insane. What is going on in there that I cannot witness? I don't understand it. But I obey, remaining in the hallway to wait for them.
In about fifteen minutes, the door opens. I flinch, hoisting myself to a standing position. I begin to walk towards the opened door. "Noah." He doesn't hear me because his attention is on the person he's talking to inside.
I move further then stop when he starts to walk out...I. Tell. You, I almost scream out my lungs at the sight of what I'd call a ghost.
What in fucks name is Patricia Luna doing in Eagles Capitol...in the broadcasting room, and why does it look like she spent the last fifteen minutes crying her eyes out? Her mascara has soiled her eyes and the black tears cascading her cheeks.
People who are not about to appear on television do not just walk into the broadcasting room. And if Patricia was just in there, what has she told the world?