Chapter five.

The next day I am in stilettos walking through the glass doors of the company.

I'm surprised by the movement in here at only eight thirty in the morning. What time does everyone start working? My eyes go everywhere: bone-colored leather sofas, well-dressed men and women, silver lamps hung high from the ceiling, the noise of elevators going down and back up, telephones ringing. Everything seems another world indoors.

I shake my head and walk towards the U-shaped desk in the middle of the lobby, a nice blonde girl smiles at me when she sees me.

"Good morning. My name is Carla, how can I help you?"

"Good morning, Carla," I reply with a smile. "I'm Samantha, and I would need to speak to Mr. Well."

Her eyes widen but then she shakes her head. I can't contain the one who frowns.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Mr. Well doesn't allow meetings without being scheduled first," she says then her with a sweet voice. It seems that he was sorry to say no to me. He looks for a piece of paper, writes something down with the pen and hands it to me. "You can call this number again before two o'clock or in any case, tomorrow from eight o'clock," she explains. "You can arrange a meeting when the operators give you a date, okay?"

Is this a fucking joke?

I shake my head as I take the paper, I see some numbers and the gold letters of the initials. I'm going to want to open my mouth because I really need to talk to him, being unfair that I have to wait a few days to tell him that I have accepted the position.

Then I see, next to the address, a particular floor number.

Bingo.

I look back at the blonde.

"Thanks, I will. One more question," I say. She nods. "Could you tell me where the bathroom is?"

"At the back, last door on the right."

I give him a nod of thanks as I walk towards where he indicated. I carefully observe the people who pass around me, although they all seem to be involved in their work, since most of them carry tablets or cell phones with their noses glued to the screens: il nuovo fottuto mondo, as my grandmother would say.

Once I verify that no one is aware of my existence, I see the closest elevator to where I am, just three steps away and just when the doors open, I run towards it. I let go of the accumulated air once I get in.

I just hope this has no consequences.

The number board is marking the floors, until after six minutes, which reaches the last one: the P30 and I find myself alone going up here.

The doors open and I go out. My eyes then meet a long corridor, which is decorated by some minimalist paintings and the occasional ornament, as well as some honor plates. I roll my eyes. This guy seems to be his very first fan. I shake my head and go towards the end of it, which triggers towards the floor where apparently no one is nearby; everything is silence.

While walking I was going to find an office nearby, I am stunned when my sight collides with large windows that show a great image of the city from the top. My stomach twists when I remember that I am so high.

Deep breath. This place is more elegant and sophisticated than the reception where Carla was.

"How boastful" I mutter as I want to find her office again.

But before I step my forehead hits something hard, very hard. I gasp at the pain on my forehead and I bring my hand to it, trying to ease the pain.

I don't realize what is happening until I look up when I hear a small growl followed by a curse. That's when I find cold blue eyes and a coffee-stained white shirt. I leaned back, surprised. Shit

He looks at me with a frown.

I expected to meet him but not in this unusual way.

Curse.

“What are you doing here?” He asks with clear irritation.

"I'm sorry, no ... I didn't want to ruin your shirt," I say, barely looking at him. I'm dying of shame — I should have talked to you.

"Who told you that you could go up to this sector?

Looked at him. Where have I been? I shake my head, trying not to be intimidated by his gaze.

"No one did."

He stays a good few minutes looking at me while inside my heart begins to pump with more force than usual while my hands sweat. I don't show him, on the contrary, I straighten my back a little more and try to show him that I'm sorry but not weak.

Guys like this take advantage of it.

He takes a deep breath as he clenches his jaw and shakes his head.

"This company is not an amusement park, Miss Broke. I don't know how your cousin has given her instructions to you, but in that part of America, the rules are obeyed" she indicates with determination and arrogance. He looks at his shirt again, and I'm sure he heard a curse.

I don't know why but that makes me have to hide a smile. He does not see him as a serious guy, but quite the opposite, as someone extremely stressed and unwilling to take another step unless it is his own bed.

"I already gave you my explanation: he needed to talk to you when before."

"Wow, my employees are the best in town but they have never shown me so much desperation to get to work," she mutters, taking off her black suit jacket and leaving it on a gold coat rack. I calm my urge to roll my eyes. She points me down a hallway to my left. "My office is the last glass door. Wait there and try to ... not make another accident."

I nod as he stepped past him and headed toward where he indicated. I can't help but smile with amusement when I'm alone, remembering his frustrated and annoyed face. I hope that doesn't interfere with my future work.

I didn't travel here for more than twelve hours to get in trouble.

When I tug on the handle of it and step inside, my eyes widen in amazement.

The room is much bigger than you imagine. Maybe two or three times the size of my room in my new apartment.

All of this is covered by dark oak furniture, a large black leather sofa, bookcases with old economics and politics tomes on them, a small refrigerator also in glossy black lacquer and on the left side, right next to the bookcases, a shelf with expensive drinks.

If I'm not mistaken, I think it's even whiskey.

Although all this is really fascinating, since everything is perfectly located and it seems that there is no one here, except for the piles of papers that are on the desk, they make me feel uncomfortable; small and defenseless.

And this only brings back memories of the past.

Deep breath. I remove them from my head, I do not want to torment myself right now, that must be left behind and I must start a new life. As much as I can.

Then I take the headboard of the chair also made of leather when I realize the incredible view that I have in front of my nose.

I open my eyes in wonder.

The room has huge windows from end to end of the room that also show the city. In the same way as the reception. I can gaze enraptured at the sun that begins to show all its rays on the top of the continuous buildings: it is a beauty.

Then the door opens again and I can hear quiet but decisive footsteps behind me.

"Take a seat, Miss Broke," I hear her confident and determined voice. I feel a small shudder in my body, but I listen to what she asks and I sit in the chair. She appears before my eyes then with a new shirt, this time black and without the jacket. Her blue eyes survey my figure as she sits down in front of me, not saying a single word.

I begin to believe that it is several minutes hardly without saying a word until she opens her mouth:

"You don't seem to be following the rules, do you?"

"Depends."

"I see"

He takes both hands to the desk, the look he brings is hard and decisive, although a few seconds ago it seemed that there was a hint of a smile on his face

"Well, for your bad luck: in this place the rules are followed. They were not created for someone like you to come to want to disobey them. If Carla told you that you should wait, it is that you should."

Deep breath. The truth is, I know she's right. This is her workplace and as such I must respect it, but my urgency was extreme. Pride has blinded me.

I nod then.

"It won't happen again, Mr. Well," she declared more professionally.

He raises a hand to the growing blond beard and leaves it there, while he is satisfied with my answer: actually, her answer. The one he wants.

"Very well then. You start tomorrow, eight o'clock. At nine I have a meeting so I will leave you the documents that I will need, which should be done at the end of the day," he explains professionally. He hands me a tablet that he pulls out of one of the brand-new desk drawers, tucked away in its proper lining, while he points at it with his finger. "That will be yours. Many times you will have to finish the work at home and it will be easier for both of you: we can communicate through the work chat that is already installed in the system. Tomorrow you will deliver the necessary documents to Carla, she will finish your process hiring. Any questions, Samantha? "

"Not for the moment."

"Then you can retreat now."

"Excuse me?", He blurted out dumbfounded. I raise both eyebrows

He mimics my action seriously although I can see a flash of amusement in his gaze. Damn son of ...

"I apologize, Miss Broke. Are you going to sit here for the rest of the afternoon? I can offer you a coffee although, to be honest, I don't like having people around me when I work," she says.

Yes, there is certainly humor in his tone of voice. You need to laugh and I will understand the joke.

I frown. I take said tablet and without saying anything, I get out of there.

As I'm going down in the elevator I can't help but think that Max Well is going to be a big pain in the ass.