Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 44860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
"Thank you." Third time was the charm, and wasn't it so nice of Rhea to let her finish speaking even though everyone behind the counter was quite busy entertaining the endless influx of visitors coming in?
Chelsea made her way to a low seating area near the elevator bank, which was really more of an arrangement of leather and chrome that looked like it had been designed to be admired rather than sat on. She lowered herself carefully, the way she'd learned to do, testing the depth and firmness before committing her weight, and found that the seat was exactly as uncomfortable as it looked.
Fancy.
Still, she'd sat in worse. Hospital chairs held the undisputed record in that department, and at least this one didn't have a mysterious stain and a broken armrest.
Johnny came down in search of the "pushy" nobody that he was supposed to deal with and was taken aback upon seeing the girl in a flowery blue-and-white dress. Maybe she was just lost?
"Um, hi." Johnny cleared his throat. "I'm Johnny from Mr. Cannizzaro's office."
"Oh, hi." Chelsea gripped the chrome armrest and pushed herself up, her left leg taking a moment to find its footing before the rest of her followed. Her smile, though, was already there, bright and immediate. "I'm Chelsea Regis, and I'm truly sorry for all the trouble, but I was just wondering if it's possible to speak with Mr. Cannizzaro?"
"Um..." Johnny couldn't remember hearing anyone speak with such a delicate voice. "Today's a little hard..."
Chelsea perked up at this. "Hard, but not impossible, right?"
Johnny couldn't get over how lovely this girl's voice sounded, but this only made his job more difficult. He was supposed to turn her away. He was even sternly instructed by the front desk manager to put her in her place. But how did one do that when this girl was just so...nice?
"So—-" All Johnny could do was clear his throat as he fumbled for the nicest words to say. "If you could come back on Thursday—-"
"I can, absolutely," Chelsea promised, "but is it alright if I still wait here? Just in case there's a spot in his afternoon that opens up? Who knows, right?"
If she was seriously asking if there was someone who knew about the chances of his billionaire boss agreeing to meet a virtual stranger, never mind if she had the voice of an angel (or at least this was how he imagined it would be, if angels were real)—-
The answer would be a big, fat...zero.
There were zero chances for someone like Olivio Cannizzaro to meet with her, but instead of giving her the cold, hard truth—-
"It's alright for you to wait here," Johnny heard himself say lamely, "if you're sure."
"Thank you so much!" Chelsea beamed at him, and even though she was far from being the prettiest girl he had ever seen (and he had seen a lot of them in person, since his boss dated some of the most beautiful women in the world)—-why did that smile have him feeling a little dazed as he walked back?
Blond beauties with big personalities had always been his type while Chelsea was the exact opposite, with her air of old-fashionedness, braided dark hair, and a voice as delicate as a nightingale's.
Must be because she was nice, Johnny thought as he headed back to the elevators. He could feel the women's gazes following him from the reception desk, and Rhea's in particular had a quality that went beyond annoyance—-it was the sharp, cataloguing stare of someone keeping score.
He took one last look at the girl over his shoulder and was not surprised to find her already lost in her reading. She had a quilted case next to her, with an assortment of highlighters, pens, and sticky notes tucked behind its pockets. And in her hands was a book that he could see was already causing multiple eyebrows to arch.
How to Study the Bible by Dwight L. Moody.
If it had been anyone else, Johnny would've bet it was just an act. Like someone thinking a pair of boots would make them a cowboy. But this girl, though...
Unaware as always of how she had left the strongest (and polarizing) first impressions on other people, Chelsea found herself genuinely fascinated just by observing the rhythm of activity that played inside the lobby like a classical piece. More Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries than Grieg's Morning Mood, with deliveries coming through a side entrance, people in business attire going in every direction, either talking to each other or talking to someone on the phone, and then there was the maintenance staff with how they had mastered the art of blending in the background while making sure everything was fragrantly and meticulously spotless.
A young man appeared with a spray bottle and began misting the flower arrangement on the central table, circling it with the kind of concentration that suggested he took his job seriously regardless of whether anyone noticed. Chelsea watched him and thought she understood that particular way of caring about something no one else saw. She understood it quite well, actually.