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CHAPTER EIGHT
PAYTON
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Not today, Satan.
I’m wearing my new black Banana Republic suit with a black tank top underneath and my black pumps.
Come at me coffee, tacos, or even red wine. There will be no stains on this outfit.
I’m also early. Very early.
In fact, the doors to the office are not yet open.
I stare threateningly at the rain clouds above me. I spent a good thirty minutes styling my hair perfectly.
Do not rain.
Please do not rain.
I glance at my Apple Watch and the clock ticks over to eight. Finally, a very polished woman unlocks the door. She pushes it open and almost sings, “Good morning.”
Well, that’s a million times more friendly than the greeting I got yesterday at StoryCraft.
“Morning,” I say, walking in behind her as she heads for the large reception desk.
The doors silently close behind us and I take in all the employees making their way across the lobby carrying cups of coffee and talking on their smart phones.
Everyone looks amazing.
I mean, I know this is a fashion house, but everyone is very well tailored and beautiful.
“How can I help you?” the friendly receptionist asks.
“I’m Payton Mills,” I say, then chew the inside of my cheek. “Damn, I’m not sure who to ask for. Um, Knox Montgomery. Or, um.” I pull out my phone and start flicking through emails.
“I can call Mr. Montgomery’s PA, Mindy.”
I glance up. “Yes. That. Her. Good idea. Don’t call him.”
Shit. Get it together, Payton.
