“How about I help you find your mommy? Does that sound good?” He nods, his sobs slowing down a little. “What's your name?” My voice is calm and soothing. He's freaked out enough, he doesn't need me panicking too.
“Tim. Timothy Frederick Swanson.”
“And how old are you, Timothy?”
“Seven.”
“Do you like muffins?” He shakes his head yes. “Me too. How about we go get breakfast, and then we go to the police station so they can help get you home. What do you think of that?”
Tim smiles bashfully, shaking his head yes again. “Can I get a chocolate chip muffin?”
“You can get any kind you want. Hey, did you know that some of the police around here ride horses?”
“They do?” His eyes light up, big as saucers.
“Yup, they do.” I smile and nod my head, holding out my hand. “Come on, let's go.”
Tim takes my hand, and we walk side by side. He's a lot calmer by the time we get to the police station, and he’s able to give the police his mother's name and the street he lives on.
I give them my information if they need anything else, and when I leave, Tim is brushing one of the horses in front of the station.
Smiling to myself, I check my watch.
Shit! I'm really fucking late!
Darting out into the street, I stop the next taxi that comes by. “Vox Design, please, on Thirty-Eighth.”
The taxi rolls up to the building, and I jump out before it stops completely, throwing money at the driver as I slam the door shut.
Shoving my way through a few people on the sidewalk, I run into the building. There are a few angry looks thrown my way, but I don't care. I'm late and it's my first day.
This is not how I want to start.
Come on. Come on. Open up already.
Slamming the elevator button with my palm, I hit it until the doors finally open. People spill out as I force my way on. The panel of numbers blinds me for a second as I stare at them.
My mind is blank. I can't remember which floor Vox Design is on. What the hell is it? Racking my brain, my heart starts to race. This is terrible, this is absolutely terrible.
'Forty-five,' the voice inside my head says. “Yes,” I say out loud to myself as I tap the button.
The elevator jerks into motion, but I wish it would go faster. After what seems like an eternity, the doors open, spitting me out into a fancy foyer. There's a receptionist sitting behind a giant desk, the word Vox etched into its hard wood in a design that makes it seem like the name is being carried on a wave.
It's gorgeous, and I'm tempted to reach out my hand and trace the design.
My interview was in the HR department, one floor down, so I didn't get to see this part of the office when I was here for orientation and paperwork.
Marble tile shines under my feet, and a wall of windows looking out onto the city frames the receptionist.
“Can I help you?” The receptionist is looking up at me with a perfect smile on her face.
Swallowing hard, I smile back. “Yes, hi, good morning. I'm Dalia—”
“Dalia Greene, yes, of course. Welcome to Vox Design, I'm Giada.” She stands up from her seat, picking up a thin stack of folders, and holding them to her chest. “Did you get lost coming in this morning?”
“Oh, no, not exactly.” I want to tell her what happened, but I don't. I don't want to be that girl, the one with excuses, the one who can't take responsibility for her actions.
It doesn't look good being late, but it looks even worse coming in with a mouthful of an explanation that even I probably wouldn't believe.
Who finds a lost child on their first day of work?
No one except me.
She nods, still holding that perfect smile. “Follow me. I'll show you to your office.”
“Wait,” I say, holding my hand out. “I have an office?” My voice lingers in the air, stuck between a dream and reality.
I didn't expect to have an office. I thought I'd be working in a cubical or something. Trapped between twenty other employees, all vying for a chance to be noticed and rise to the top.
“Of course you have an office.” She chuckles softly, giving a little tick of her head to follow her. “Come on, this way.” Turning on her heels, she starts down a hall to her left.
Pulling my purse higher on my shoulder, I follow behind her. There are people milling about, walking in and out of doorways, heads down in folders, eyes smiling as they talk to some invisible person in their ear.
“You're right over here.” Giada stops just before the door and holds out the folders. “This is yours for today.” Pointing further down the hall, she says, “There's a break room with a coffee pot and fridge, a microwave, and other stuff you might need in the last door on the end to your right. And don't hesitate if you need anything, I'm extension four.”
“Thanks,” I say, thumbing the folders, and glancing inside.
When I look up, she's gone before I can say another word, already halfway back to her desk. I stand idle for a moment, just trying to grasp this new life I have. My own office, at my dream job, for a very reputable company.
I've made it. I've finally made it.
Opening the door, I step inside, and stop in my tracks.
You've got to be fucking with me?
Is this some type of sick joke?
Leaning against my desk is a woman I know all too well, Sandy Vox. She has the same dirty blonde hair, the same thin face with sharp cheekbones, and the same shitty frown I remember from high school.
Moving my eyes to the other figure by the window, my heart stops inside my chest.
It's Lyle, her twin brother. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
Vox Design.
