Brothers of Paradise Series

Terri is waiting for me when I arrive at work. Her blonde bob is perfectly straight, a severe cut that makes her look even more professional. She’s printed out our material, and our slideshow is ready on not one but two separate USBs.

“You can never be too careful.”

“Definitely not.” I skim through the printed material, counting the copies once, then twice.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “There’s enough for every board member we’re pitching to, with five extra copies just in case.”

A woman of my own heart. Terri doesn’t seem like someone who takes any crap, and it’s not hard to imagine why Kyle had a problem with her. She’s not someone you intimidate.

She gestures for me to take a seat next to her desk. “Now, we’ve gone through this pitch backwards and forwards. Do you feel like you know what you’re going to say?”

I nod. She’s being heavy-handed, but I don’t mind. The woman was handed a personal assistant, told she had an architecture degree, and one week to complete a months-long project. “I do. When you’re done with the main pitch, I’ll break down the financials. We have all the numbers and slides for that.” I put a hand on the booklets she’s prepared. “And don’t worry, I’ll highlight the final cost for them. And re-highlight it.”NôvelDrama.Org: owner of this content.

“Good.” She sinks into the chair opposite me, her fingers fiddling with one of the USBs. “That’s the one thing we have going for us. It’s going to come in significantly under budget compared to our competitors. At least, I think it will.”

“It’s a good project. You and Kyle came up with something truly beautiful.”

Terri half-smiles. “In the end we did, yes. We’d better get this project, Faye.”

“I know,” I say, because I do. We’ll have to answer to both Rykers and Henry if we don’t-that’s the way firms of this caliber operate. Take no prisoners and make no mistakes.

Perfection isn’t applauded, it’s expected.

She rolls her neck. “Let’s get going. I want to get a coffee on the way, and I’d rather be early than late. Rykers will meet us there.”

“She’s joining?”

“Yes, she just texted me to let me know she’s sitting in.” Her voice is tight. If one of the partners wants to supervise our pitch… this must be an even bigger deal than I’d realized.

We head out of the office in silence, our heels clicking in unison on the marble floor. A few of the other architects watch us go. Dean pops up from his cubicle to wish us good luck, but he’s one of the few. In the back of the office, I see Kyle by his desk, staunchly ignoring us.

I check my phone in the elevator, double-checking arrivals at Chicago O’Hare airport. Henry’s flight landed on time, forty minutes ago. Excellent.

I prepped everything in his calendar-the names of the people he’s meeting, the location, the damn lunch order-but I still have my phone on vibrate in my pocket. The assistant’s creed has become my own, trying to anticipate his every need.

Terri clears her throat. “You know, you surprised me, Faye.”

“Oh?”

“A degree in architecture, and you’re working as an assistant. I didn’t know that when you started here.”

She doesn’t say it with any malice, but there’s an edge to her voice. It’s the same quiet competitiveness that permeates the entire office.

I shrug. “I wanted a change of scenery, and I’d been looking for a way into Marchand & Rykers for a while. You learn a lot from working with the best.”

“Hmm. Yes, it’s a great firm.”

I resist the urge to smile. Of course she liked an explanation that made her job seem even harder to get. “Definitely.”

“Has Marchand mentioned anything about shifting you permanently to the architecture team?” Her eyes are intelligent, narrowed, giving nothing away. I’ve heard the ruthless office politics played out over coffee in the break room, and I have no intention of becoming one of the topics.

“No, he hasn’t,” I say carefully. “I’ve only been working for the firm for a month, after all. I’m still in the trial period.”

“I’m sure you’ll pass it with flying colors.” Terri nods to the receptionist. “Call us a taxi?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The car ride is silent. I imagine Terri’s working through her words the same way I am. I know I’m the weak link in this whole situation; the only person who vouched for me is Henry. He might have cracked the door for me, but I’m the one who needs to shoulder it open.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Henry Marchand. He usually emails or calls; texts are reserved for quick communication.

Henry Marchand: Good luck with your pitch. Kill it.

It’s a small text, but I read it twice. I can’t imagine that he texted any of his other assistants-or employees-with encouragement. Can you be friends with your boss?

You can, I decide, but only a friend. I’ve been ignoring the butterflies that go wild in my stomach around him sometimes. And I’ve definitely not thought about the night on the roof at the museum-when it felt like we were the same person. My response is quick.

Faye Alvarez: Thanks. Enjoy Chicago, the city that invented spray paint.

Three dots appear; he’s typing. What did I just send?

Henry Marchand: I can’t possibly imagine why you’d remember something like that. Do you spend your evenings memorizing facts?

My smile is half amusement, half relief at his response. I’d sent something stupid, but he’d played right along with it.

Faye Alvarez: I’m deadly at trivia games and pub quizzes.

Henry Marchand: Tell me another one.

I try to think of something that might amuse him. It’s not hard, given our mutual interest, although it’s not Chicago-related.

Faye Alvarez: Architecture was once an Olympic sport.

It’s something I read in school, and it always stuck with me, for some reason. There’s a faint pause before his response, though I see him typing. Is he walking to a meeting? Sitting in a car, like I am?

Henry Marchand: I knew that. The Empire State Building makes more money from the observation deck than from all the floors of office space. Combined.

Damn. I didn’t know that. A slow smile spreads on my face, staring down at his words. Are we competing with facts now? This is silly, and childish, and amazing.

How can I top that? I rack my brain for information. Things he might not know, facts regarding building, structures… architectural history.

Faye Alvarez: The Inca civilization considered bridges to be so sacred that anyone who tried to sabotage them was immediately put to death.

There. Not a lot of people knew that-fingers crossed he wasn’t one of them. A voice breaks me out of my texting.

“You’re never off the clock, are you, even when he’s out of town?” Terri glances at me and my thumbs moving across the screen. “Does Marchand run you ragged?”

I put my phone down. “He’s a good boss.”