smelled like … like fresh starch. How, she wondered, could he still smell fresh at six o’clock? He was pointing to one of the changes and she noticed that his cuff was whiter even than the printer paper. Yeah. And her sneakers smelled. ‘Will it take long?’ he asked, interrupting her self-loathing.
Claire shook her head and then managed to find her tongue. ‘About two hours, I think,’ she told him.
‘Great!’ he said. ‘You’re a lifesaver.’ He gathered up the pile of papers and handed them to her. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait in my office. And let me buy you dinner.’
Not counting the time Claire spent nearly fainting, then the dance she did around the room, it still took her a little longer to finish the Worthington revisions than it should have because she kept forgetting formatting codes and her fingers trembled for a long while after Michael Wainwright left the room. She also couldn’t stop herself from imagining what it would be like sitting across from that face for an hour. Would he ask her questions about herself or talk about his own life? What in the world would she say? Somehow she doubted he was interested in the kitchner stitch. Perhaps, she thought, Cinderella would get to go to the ball. Of course, she told herself, Michael Wainwright wasn’t interested in her, but even if the shoe didn’t fit she could wear it for one night.
She was hungry and tired by the time she was through, but she was also elated by the prospect of dinner with Mr Wonderful. She proofread the pages twice just to be sure that there wasn’t a single typo then printed the final draft out on high rag content bond. Ready to run it in to him she stopped her frantic activity, uncertain for a moment. Should she put on her coat and meet him ready to go out to eat, or just bring the document over then go back for her things? Perhaps she should call him. She knew his extension number was just one digit different than Tina’s, so she took a deep breath, sat down and dialed. He answered on the first ring. ‘It’s … it’s Claire,’ she said. ‘I’m finished.’
‘Terrific. Do you mind bringing it to my office?’
‘Not at all,’ Claire said and heard how stiff it sounded. ‘Sure,’ she added. ‘Right away.’
She emptied her bulky bag of her knitting, her sneakers, her book and her muffler. She put on her new green coat, smoothed it and checked the pocket for tissue since she was starting to get the sniffles. Then she quickly ran a brush through her hair and wished she’d remembered her lip gloss. But she was flushed with exhilaration, and as she glanced at herself in the mirror hidden behind the supply closet door, she was actually pleased with what she saw. She regretted not having the silk scarf she’d bought to go with the coat but it had been far too cold this morning to wear that. Oh well. Her muffler would do.
She walked out of the windowless maze and over to Tina’s desk. The office behind it had a single light on and in the shadowy room she could see Michael Wainwright at his PC, apparently still working. We’ve been working together, she thought and smiled. That and her new coat gave her the courage to enter his lair with a bit of confidence. ‘Here it is,’ she said, walking up to his desk. He continued working at his keyboard. She put the report down in front of him.
‘Thank god!’ a voice behind her said. Claire spun around. A slim, dark woman was sitting on the sofa behind her. Her legs, up on the coffee table, were crossed neatly at the ankles. Even though the light in that corner was dim, Claire could see the elegance of the cut of her hair and her gray suit. Claire didn’t know all the female investment bankers on the floor by name but she certainly would have noticed this chic woman. Was she a client from Worthington? ‘I’m absolutely famished,’ the woman said. Her voice was clear, her accent as polished as her obviously costly heels.
‘Me, too,’ Michael Wainwright agreed. Then he turned from the PC and looked up at Claire. For a panicked moment she thought he might invite the woman along for dinner. But perhaps Ms Chic just wanted the report and would be off to some elegant penthouse or spacious loft to study it overnight. Claire fervently hoped so. Mr Wonderful picked up the document, slipped it into his briefcase and stood up. ‘Ready to go?’ he asked.
Claire nodded, grateful she had worn her new coat. She could see that in comparison with the other woman’s clothes it was a cheap and shoddy thing but at least it was a hell of a lot better than her old one. ‘I’m all ready,’ she said.
Michael Wainwright and Ms Chic rose together. They both grabbed their own coats. Claire was ushered out the door in front of them and, to her dismay they walked as a trio to the elevator. In the fluorescent light of the hallway Claire could see the woman was about her age, with perfect skin, a size eight figure and the long legs of a fashion model. The shoes were spectacular, very sexy in contrast to the restraint of the suit. Claire hoped the woman would break a slender ankle.
‘Thanks a lot for doing this for me,’ Michael Wainwright said as they got into the elevator.
‘I can’t believe it took so long,’ Ms Chic complained.
‘I’m sorry,’ Claire apologized, then wanted to bite her tongue.
To make it worse the woman smiled at her. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s Michael’s,’ she said, dismissing Claire and focusing on Michael Wainwright’s face. She was not only much thinner but a little taller than Claire, and now she gave Mr Wonderful a look over Claire’s head. ‘You’re so inconsiderate,’ she told him.
Claire didn’t like her tone: it was provocative in the same way her shoes were.
‘Jesus, Kate, give it a rest,’ Michael Wainwright told her. When the elevator opened he allowed the two women to precede him into the deserted lobby, Ms Chic’s heels tap-tapping on the marble floor. At the huge glass doors of the building entrance a uniformed guard rushed up.
‘Let me unlock it for you, Mr Wainwright,’ he offered. Claire looked out into the dark. It was raining ferociously, but Claire was delighted to see a black sedan waiting at the curbside. She only realized the implication of a single car as the door was unlocked. Was this Kate going to go to dinner with them after all? Claire should have known not to get her hopes up or expect too much. She sighed.
Hearing her, Michael looked down at the top of her head. ‘You must be exhausted,’ he said. ‘Should I have Gus here call you a car?’
For a moment Claire was completely confused. He seemed to be looking at her but was he asking this Kate woman the question? Claire said nothing. Michael continued to look at her. Did he want to take two cars? Did he still have business to discuss with Kate before their dinner? What should she do? Now she felt both Gus’s and Kate’s eyes on her.
‘No, thank you,’ she said and hoped it was the right answer. What was going on?
Michael shrugged. ‘Okay. Well, thanks again.’ He turned then paused and put his hand into his pocket. He drew out his wallet and turned back to her. ‘I almost forgot,’ he told Claire. ‘I’m buying you dinner.’ He took out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and handed it to Claire. In her embarrassment and horror she accepted it. She felt tears rising, her throat closing.
‘Have a nice evening,’ Michael Wainwright said. ‘Good night, Gus.’ He took the chic Kate’s arm and the two of them stepped out the door, almost running through the freezing downpour to the warm waiting car.
‘What a great guy,’ Gus said.
‘He’s
