He leans closer to lower his voice so my co-workers in the cubicles around me won’t hear him. “Mr. Marks.”
I study his lips to see if the movement matches the name that just fell from them.
It’s not that I can read lips. I can’t, but somewhere between Hugo’s mouth and my ears, the name he said got jumbled because there’s no way that owner of Marks Creative wants to talk to me.
I’m one of the lowest-ranked employees on staff.
Hugo has tried to boost my confidence by telling me that I’m the lead junior writer for RumorMel. That would mean a lot more if there were other junior writers on staff.
I’m the only one. My co-workers have all been working the job for at least two years. I just passed the six month mark.
I glance down at the pink and red floral dress I’m wearing. I would have paired it with something other than my black leather jacket and low-heeled black boots if I knew I was going to have an audience with the owner of the company.
“Juliet,” Hugo stresses my name. “You need to come with me now. Mr. Marks is waiting for you.”
I stay seated behind my desk because I don’t have any confidence that my legs will work at this moment. That’s because my knees are shaking. “Why?”
“Why what?” He shoves a hand through his red curly hair.
“Why does he want to see me?” I narrow my eyes. “Did I mess up? Was it the pictures of Corla Berletti’s engagement ring? My source has been supplying me with information for months. I can’t reveal who it is, though. If that means I’m going to lose this job, so be it. I have to stick by my principles.”
I can tell that he’s fighting to hold in a smile. “I’m impressed with your loyalty to Brad, but this isn’t about those pictures.”
That jolts me to my feet. “You know Brad?”
He laughs. “How do you think Brad found you?”
I assumed it was my call out on social media for anyone with information on my first story. That involved a lost poodle that belonged to a Broadway star. Brad sent me a cryptic message about a doggie in a window with a snapshot of a poodle in the window of a townhouse on the Upper East Side.
I followed that tip and found the dog.
The woman who owned the townhouse lived a block from the Broadway star and took the dog in on a snowy night. She’d already reached out to the dog’s owner by the time I showed up on her stoop.
Still, I met up with Brad at a coffee shop, slipped him one hundred dollars for his help, and we became fast friends.
“You sent him my way,” I say with a slight grin. “That’s why you always approve my petty cash requests for my informant.”
“Brad is either a one hundred or five hundred dollar source even though he could be charging ten or twenty times that.” He smirks. “He’s been lending us a hand for a few years now.”
I sigh. “He’s fun to work with.”
“Very,” Hugo agrees with a nod. “Are you ready, Juliet?”
That yanks me back to this moment in time and the meeting I’m supposed to attend.
I round my desk. “Do you know why Mr. Marks wants to see me?”
He nods. “I do, but he wants to explain the reason to you.”
I fall in step behind him as we head toward the elevator. The executive offices of Marks Creative are on the top floor of this office tower.
RumorMel’s offices are five floors below.
Hugo jabs his finger into the elevator call button. “You have something special, Juliet.”
I glance at him. “What do you mean?”
“Your drive.” He smiles, and it carries to his kind blue eyes. “You remind me of myself when I was first starting out.”
“That means a lot to me, Hugo.”
He nods. “I’m glad to see your forehead healed up just fine, but you might need another bandage after this meeting.”
As cryptic as that is, I piece it together just as the elevator doors slide open. “You think I’m going to be in a celebratory mood after this meeting.”
Waving me ahead of him so I can board the lift first, he grins. “I know you will be.”
As the doors slide shut behind us after he pushes the button for the top floor, I glance at his profile. “Is that the only hint I’m getting?”
“You’re the investigative journalist.” He perks both of his eyebrows. “Surely, you can draw your own conclusion based on the clues I’ve dropped.”
I look up to see the numbers edging up as we make our journey to Mr. Marks’s office. “It’s really good news, isn’t it?”
He leans closer to drop his voice to a whisper. “You didn’t hear it from me, but yes. It is damn good news for you.”
Chapter Nine
Juliet
We step off the elevator on the executive floor of Marks Creative, and I need a second to take it all in.
I thought my sister’s offices were beautiful, but this puts them to shame.
The floor is polished stone. The reception desk is crafted from steel with sleek edges. The lighting is muted, but the fixtures themselves are breathtaking.
“Wow,” I whisper.
“I know, right?” Hugo shoots me a look. “The first time I was called up here, I snapped a few pictures for my wife. She’s an interior designer.”
I take one last glance to the left and then the right before my gaze lands on the man behind the reception desk. I suck in a deep breath. “Is it show time, Hugo?”
“It is,” he says, gesturing to the right. “They’re waiting for us, so let’s head in.”
I turn to look at him. “They?”
Hugo moves a hand, so it’s hovering just inches from my arm. “We need to get in there, Juliet.”
Nodding, I start in the direction I know we’re headed. “I wish I would have worn something else today.”
Hugo chuckles. “You look great. Stylish with a little edge.”
I glance down at my dress. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”
Smiling, he leads me around a corner past an open area where many people are seated around a large table. “Mr. Marks appreciates personality, and you have it in droves. It shows in your work, in your outfit…you’re one of a kind.”
This sounds like a pep talk my dad gave me before my first job.
I suspect Hugo is close in age to my father, so I take some comfort in his words of encouragement.
We round another corner with the heels of my boots clicking out a reminder of every step I’m taking toward the unknown.
“Good morning, Hugo.” A dark-haired woman wearing a brown pantsuit approaches us. “I need to run up to marketing for a moment. He’s expecting you. Go right on in.”
“Thanks, Shirlene.” Hugo smiles. “This is Juliet Bardin.”
“Hi, Juliet.” She raises a hand to wave at me.
“That’s Mr. Marks’s assistant,” Hugo whispers as Shirlene walks toward a corridor. “That woman is the salt of the earth.”
I nod, still taking in my surroundings while butterflies flutter in my stomach.
“This way.” Hugo gestures to the right.
I make the turn and then stop as soon as I see the open double doors that reveal a gray-haired man sitting behind a desk that outshines the one in reception.