Redesigning Fate (Revive #1) - A. M. Wilson Page 0,3
tug the brush through my hair one last time, spritz on my favorite Harvey Prince perfume, and bustle out of the small bathroom.
The mid-March sky is bright blue and cloudless, a warm breeze blowing through the air spreading the smell of damp earth and new growth. I clamber into my newly leased Ford Focus—another impulsive yet somewhat necessary life change, seeing as my ancient Toyota landed itself in a rusty junkyard a week before my move—plug in my music library, and turn on the air conditioning. Today is uncharacteristically warm, and my anxiety is causing me to sweat.
The drive over is smooth, with light traffic flowing down I-35, and I pull into the parking lot at the front of the law firm with just enough time to smear on lip gloss before heading in.
A concrete walkway in the front of the building leads to a tinted revolving door. Pushing my way through, I step into a main floor lobby. Beneath my feet, the floor gleams with cream tiles speckled with flecks of gold. Espresso colored wood walls and exposed beams give the room a masculine, sophisticated look. My gaze roams upward to a loft area overlooking the lobby. It looks to be a library or conference room of sorts. Above me, a huge, crystal chandelier is throwing colorful prisms across the ceiling. Floor to ceiling windows make up the wall behind me, letting in just the right amount of sunlight on the dark blue chair and table pairings lining the perimeter. I’ve never been in a place so classy and professional, and I’m out of my element. The familiar anxiousness creeps its way back in, starting in my chest as if someone is holding a candle flame beneath my lungs.
The snapping voice of the receptionist interrupts my admiration of the surrounding area, and I startle. Turning towards the oversized desk in the center of the lobby, I take in the petite girl glaring at me. Her long blonde hair is a mass of waves and loose curls tumbling down her shoulders. She has small features, almost pixie like, and she’s glaringly attractive. Although, she’d be more attractive if she wasn’t arching one perfectly threaded brow disdainfully in my direction.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Rollins?” she squawks rudely into the receiver. “Did you not get an education before they threw you in there? She is not available right now.”
The receptionist pauses, presumably listening to whomever is on the phone, before she lets out a disgruntled huff. “Is that a threat?” she snaps. “You’re seriously going to sit there and threaten my life? Is whatever sentence you’re serving not long enough for you?”
Who is this girl, and whom is she talking to? I’m not trying to be judgmental before I even get my foot in the door, but I was hoping to land a job somewhere that has morals. She’s making me second-guess my interview with every word out of her mouth.
“I don’t have time to sit and chat. I have work to do. Ms. Bryant will call you when she’s available.” The noisy blonde slams the phone down before glaring at me. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here for an eleven o’clock interview. My name is Marlena Aldrich,” I respond calmly. This woman is not getting me all ruffled up before this meeting. I can accomplish that without her help, thank you very much.
“Take a seat,” is her dismissive reply.
“Great, thank you.” I say, shooting for polite. I may have failed that endeavor with the slight edge I couldn’t keep out of my tone.
Seating myself in a chair by the window, I make myself comfortable. I meticulously planned my morning in hopes of not having to wait too long for my interview. The wait leaves me time to think, and thinking at a time like this leaves me anxious. My legs quiver, and the empty pit in my stomach opens, igniting me with a slow burn starting low in my gut.
Another deep breath, Marlena, I remind myself.
In an attempt to focus on anything to keep the anxiety at bay, my eyes follow the few people milling around the lobby but fail to find anything to grab my attention. At the table and chairs to my left, a man and a woman are deep in conversation. My view of him is mostly obstructed by the way she’s positioned in her seat. At most, I glimpse a dark sneaker, black pants, and a relaxed, tan arm resting on the chair. Is he having