Page 48 of Cakes for the Grump

I send him another message.

ME

Still at the office?

He responds by the time I finish packing up.

LUKE

I’ll be here all night. No choice.

That sucks.

Going to the fridge, I open it up and look at the soup.

He probably hasn’t eaten properly today. The man is picky and typically hates ordering out which is why he hired me in the first place.

Should I ask him about it?

Or maybe?—

A crazy idea comes to me.

I could stop by his office and drop off the soup. And—checking my purse—I do have some over-the-counter medicine if he needs it. It won’t take long, and it’s also the least I can do after the great day I’ve had. I’m so hopeful and dispute whatever complicated doubts I have about Luke, he is part of the reason why my fake-cheer persona is not faking it today.

Well, his kitchen is.

FOURTEEN

It is wonderfully sunny outside,birds chirp conversation circles in the trees, and the site of Abbot Industries is a black rectangle of gleaming glass and steel.

I feel pastoral in my sundress, bringing in a bag of homemade soup and bread. The gingham pattern napkins and the single orange on top (for Vitamin C) certainly don’t help my professional credibility either. Might as well skip over to the reception desk for full effect.

I don’t. Nor do I make nonsensical small talk with the stern man by the security turnstiles.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m his employee,” I say.

“But do you have an appointment?”

I don’t, though I insist Luke will want to see me anyway. I’ve come with food for him, and he gets cantankerous when not fed.

Technically true.

I’m told to wait to the side so my identity can be confirmed. I wait and wait some more. Other people get in ahead of me. Not understanding why it’s taking so long, I go up and ask the man again. He looks confused by my appearance. Apparently, I’ve been forgotten. Lovely.

Again I sit and wait, but this time I notice he’s not calling anyone. No,he’s meandering around and arguing with another guard who snacks on their lunch.

Seriously?At this rate, I’ll spend the whole night here.

I see the next rush of people leaving. They look like prisoners on release day, sweeping toward the exit in the quickest way possible without breaking out into an actual run. They crowd around the turnstiles, which gives me the perfect cover to slip through them too, but in the opposite direction. Not my best moment, but the soup is getting cold! And I need to drop it off so I can go home. I’m starting to feel a little wobbly, but chalk it up to the stress of prolonged exposure to this humorless air.

Scared of getting caught, I run to the elevator and slip between the doors of one conveniently closing. There’s a few people inside already. They give me curious looks, but I keep staring straight. Only after we’ve risen a few floors do I feel comfortable enough to select my floor. The top one, of course.

Now I can feel them really staring at me.

Do people not go up there? And why is there such an aura of skittishness around me? I’m starting to get nervous about this plan to see Luke at work.