Read Online The Kissing Game by Marie Turner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marie Turner
Ads: Link
flaring across his
cheeks. I wonder, does his loveliness bear the mark of kindness? At the
thought, nervousness boot-heels my stomach. The feeling is almost unbearable.
Hurrying through the lobby doors and along the concrete walkway, I hold my
documents tightly and wrestle my thoughts.
What is he going to say to me? Will he say it now or wait until
later?
Once I sit down, I watch Robert’s arms swing as he lopes around to
the other side of the vehicle. As he gets inside, the air feels butchered. The
driver sits silently studying his mirrors and preparing to pull into traffic. Soon
we begin gliding through rain blown streets occasionally littered with sodden
trash. Robert doesn’t look at me. He just looks toward the Transamerica
building, with its rooftop pointing toward deepening shades of sky in every
direction. He only says in a quiet voice, “Buckle your seatbelt.”
Chapter 5
“De que tocan a llover, no hay más que abrir el paraguas.”
If it starts raining, one has nothing to open up one’s umbrella.
At the 555 California building, Robert and I stand on opposite
sides of a conference room. On the floor around us white boxes are piled almost
to the ceiling along the walls. They completely cover the conference table.
Only the window remains unhindered. On the other side of the tinted glass, dark
fog shapes itself around skyscrapers.
The client, a yellow-haired short man in a brown suit looks at us
over the box-strewn conference table.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to sort through these,” he says, his
eyes cutting around in the room as if he is uncertain about leaving the boxes
in our care. “We’ll be needing you to make copies for yourselves of the
relevant materials, of course, but do keep everything essentially in this
room.”
“Fine,” Robert nods. The short man exits the glass conference door.
It shuts itself as he totters down the hall.
Robert puts his hands on his hips. He surveys the white boxes as
though they are many children looking at him at once.
“You start on that end,” he orders. “We’ll mark them with letters
that designate the addresses. All boxes relating to the Folsom Street properties
get an F, those for Market Street properties get an M, and so on. Put the
letters on the lower half of the boxes. We’ll send out for copies in shifts.
Meanwhile, get the copier guy over here. What’s his name?”
“Conrad,” I say.
“Yes, get him over here now. Tell him to bring a van and several
of his best crew. We can’t lose anything.”
“Right.”
I leave the conference room and step over to the receptionist,
where I use her phone to call Conrad. When I return, Robert is sitting on a
chair at the far end, only his perfect hair peeking above the boxes on the
conference table. I briefly wonder what this situation would look like in
reverse—if he were my assistant and I were the lawyer. I contemplate how
delightful it would be to make Robert do all the copying himself.
Without speaking, I organize the boxes at my end of the room. We
carry on in silence for a while, only the sound of papers shuffling and boxes
sliding, before Robert speaks. His thick-lashes don’t hide the snow-blue of his
eyes when he pauses and looks across the room at me.
“We should talk about last night,” he begins. The tone of his
voice makes me think he’s going to apologize, but then he adds, “You were
really out of line.”
And there it is—the enormous elephant in the room, just floating
there between us. Only in my head the elephant wears a metal chain on its foot
that ties it to the ground. 1
In my memory, the elevator kiss replays, and the more I think
about it, the clearer my memory captures it. Still, I’d rather be condemned to
live out some ancient curse than to look at Robert’s face
cheeks. I wonder, does his loveliness bear the mark of kindness? At the
thought, nervousness boot-heels my stomach. The feeling is almost unbearable.
Hurrying through the lobby doors and along the concrete walkway, I hold my
documents tightly and wrestle my thoughts.
What is he going to say to me? Will he say it now or wait until
later?
Once I sit down, I watch Robert’s arms swing as he lopes around to
the other side of the vehicle. As he gets inside, the air feels butchered. The
driver sits silently studying his mirrors and preparing to pull into traffic. Soon
we begin gliding through rain blown streets occasionally littered with sodden
trash. Robert doesn’t look at me. He just looks toward the Transamerica
building, with its rooftop pointing toward deepening shades of sky in every
direction. He only says in a quiet voice, “Buckle your seatbelt.”
Chapter 5
“De que tocan a llover, no hay más que abrir el paraguas.”
If it starts raining, one has nothing to open up one’s umbrella.
At the 555 California building, Robert and I stand on opposite
sides of a conference room. On the floor around us white boxes are piled almost
to the ceiling along the walls. They completely cover the conference table.
Only the window remains unhindered. On the other side of the tinted glass, dark
fog shapes itself around skyscrapers.
The client, a yellow-haired short man in a brown suit looks at us
over the box-strewn conference table.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to sort through these,” he says, his
eyes cutting around in the room as if he is uncertain about leaving the boxes
in our care. “We’ll be needing you to make copies for yourselves of the
relevant materials, of course, but do keep everything essentially in this
room.”
“Fine,” Robert nods. The short man exits the glass conference door.
It shuts itself as he totters down the hall.
Robert puts his hands on his hips. He surveys the white boxes as
though they are many children looking at him at once.
“You start on that end,” he orders. “We’ll mark them with letters
that designate the addresses. All boxes relating to the Folsom Street properties
get an F, those for Market Street properties get an M, and so on. Put the
letters on the lower half of the boxes. We’ll send out for copies in shifts.
Meanwhile, get the copier guy over here. What’s his name?”
“Conrad,” I say.
“Yes, get him over here now. Tell him to bring a van and several
of his best crew. We can’t lose anything.”
“Right.”
I leave the conference room and step over to the receptionist,
where I use her phone to call Conrad. When I return, Robert is sitting on a
chair at the far end, only his perfect hair peeking above the boxes on the
conference table. I briefly wonder what this situation would look like in
reverse—if he were my assistant and I were the lawyer. I contemplate how
delightful it would be to make Robert do all the copying himself.
Without speaking, I organize the boxes at my end of the room. We
carry on in silence for a while, only the sound of papers shuffling and boxes
sliding, before Robert speaks. His thick-lashes don’t hide the snow-blue of his
eyes when he pauses and looks across the room at me.
“We should talk about last night,” he begins. The tone of his
voice makes me think he’s going to apologize, but then he adds, “You were
really out of line.”
And there it is—the enormous elephant in the room, just floating
there between us. Only in my head the elephant wears a metal chain on its foot
that ties it to the ground. 1
In my memory, the elevator kiss replays, and the more I think
about it, the clearer my memory captures it. Still, I’d rather be condemned to
live out some ancient curse than to look at Robert’s face
Similar Books
