“Running late. Not a good sign. Probably means she’ll be late with rent each month.”
“Yes, Flint. You’re probably right. She got held up at work, a place she goes to make money. That’s definitely a sign that she’ll be late with rent.” Amanda swings back around to her desk.
“You’re rolling your eyes at me.” I return my attention to my computer screen.
“I would never do that, Boss.”
Twenty-five minutes later, there’s chatter in the waiting room. My focus stays on my computer. There’s no reason to give Ms. Rodgers the impression I have nothing better to do than wait for her.
My phone vibrates on my desk.
AMANDA: Ellen Rodgers is here. I imagine you know this. She’s not a client, so I wasn’t sure if her arrival warranted an intercom announcement or a verbal announcement since your door is open. How do you want me to proceed with this delicate situation?
ME: You’re fired.
AMANDA: For real!!!! Gosh, I have so much laundry to catch up on at home. Thank you!
Note to self: Never hire a female secretary again.
ME: Not for real. Send her back and get me that research I requested three days ago.
AMANDA: I’ll send her back. And I put that research on the bookshelf behind your desk 2 days ago. : )
“Women,” I mumble.
“Hello.” The woman applying to rent the space above my office charges toward me with her hand held out. “I’m Ellen Rodgers. I apologize for my tardiness.”
I stand and shake her hand. She’s unexpected. Cheerful—in need of a warning label. I let her enthusiasm for life slide this time because she’s easy on the eyes.
“Flint Hopkins. And it’s fine.” I glance over her shoulder to our audience of one. Amanda shoots me a sly grin. I narrow my eyes until she turns back around.
“Please, have a seat,” I point to the chair by my desk.
Ellen drops her handbag on the floor with an ungraceful thump. She must live out of her purse.
I home in on her shaky hands unbuttoning her gray wool coat that’s overkill for the sixty-degree day. “Forgive my appearance. I had lunch with a four-year-old girl who has a few coordination issues.”
Ironic. She appears to have a few of her own.
Long auburn hair stops short of covering the blotchy red stain on her fitted white sweater.
My gaze snaps to hers after it dawns on me that I’m staring at the stain, which happens to be over her breast. “Did you get the contract from Amanda the other day when she showed you the space?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Ellen drapes her coat over the back of the chair and takes a seat.
“Do you have any questions about it?”
“Nope. Looks pretty standard. I love this location, but it’s impossible to find available spaces. So I was really excited when I found your ad the same day you posted it.”
I scan her application even though I’ve read it over a dozen times. “You’re a music therapist?”
“Yes.”
“Music is considered therapy?”
Ellen chuckles. It’s childlike. Her face is childlike too. Must be the freckles and light blue eyes.
“Yes. Think of it as an alternative therapy. But it’s a legit job. I have a degree for my speciality like any other healthcare professional.” She points at my hands folded on my desk. “Nice cufflinks, by the way.”
I glance down and adjust each one. “Thank you.”
Her teeth trap her glossed lips as if she wants to grin, but something inside vetoes the idea. “Sorry. That was sort of left field of me. I’m a little nervous.”
“Why is that?” I ask while opening an email from a client.
She’s humming. Why is she humming?
“Because I want the space.”
“References?”
“Uh, yes. I sent them to your secretary.”
I press the intercom button. “Amanda, I need those references.”
“On the shelf next to the research you requested,” she calls from her desk. Then the intercom buzzes. “You’re welcome, Mr. Hopkins.”
Ellen stifles a laugh as I draw in a slow breath of control.
“Well, then. I’ll check your reference—”
“I checked them,” Amanda says sans intercom.
“You’re fired.”
Amanda stands and slings her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll file for unemployment in the morning.”
“Have a good evening,” I mumble, giving her a look—maybe the look.
“Night, Flint.” She winks.
When the lock clicks, I return my attention to big, blue, unblinking eyes. Even her cheeks, which had been a bit rosy when she arrived, are now void of all color except her freckles.
“I fire her on a daily basis. She has no respect for authority.”
Ellen’s body remains statuesque, eyes shifting in tiny increments searching mine.
I turn and grab the references off the shelf behind me. On the papers in my hands there are a fair amount of good references. There’s really no reason not to rent her the space other than my obsession with crossing more t’s and dotting more i’s than exist on the proverbial paper. Absolute control is my life.
A cautious smile rides up her face. “You’re a hard man to read, Mr. Hopkins.”
A dark read.
“And you’re my newest tenant. Welcome. I’ll need two months’ rent and your signature on these papers.” I slide the rental agreement that Amanda clipped to Ellen’s references across my desk along with a pen.
There’s a certain amount of envy I feel toward her. I can’t remember the last time I smiled like that over anything. And she’s lit up like a night in July over something as insignificant as a second-story space outside of downtown Minneapolis.
“Thank you. You’ve made my day. Heck, you’ve made my week.” She scribbles her name and initials by all the sticky arrows Amanda attached to the agreement, and she writes out a check with music notes on it.
“You’re welcome.” I unlock my side desk drawer and retrieve the keys. “Here are two sets of keys. One is to the building and the other is to your office space. Everything is secured with an alarm system, so I’ll show you how to set your own code for that. From six at night to seven in the morning, the main doors to the building are locked. If you see clients during those hours, you will need to escort them in and out of the building. If you have issues with anything, you first try Amanda and then you call me if she is unavailable.”
“Amanda? The woman you just fired?”
I stand and slip on my suit jacket, buttoning it and adjusting my tie. Ellen holds her smile like she’s waiting for my reaction to her comment. “Yes.” To the point. That’s all she will get from me.
It took Amanda five years to worm her way into my existence to the point where I need her—but only professionally. She could piss in my coffee and I still wouldn’t fire her because she’s the woman behind one of the best attorneys in Minneapolis—me. And the only thing that makes me happier than her anticipating my every move twenty-four hours before I make it is her husband and three children. I am her job. Period.
“Follow me.” I walk past Ellen, dodging the waves of happiness that flow from her all-too-giddy smile.