Bed of Lies (ON HOLD)

XXIII

Drafts of cold air from the air conditioning blast me in the face like a spray of icy water pellets. I sigh in relief as all traces of heat prodding me, specifically and most disturbingly stirring a sweat-storm in my pits, dissipate into nonexistence.

On the downside, my face feels drier than usual. I stop hurrying on my stilettos for a prolonged moment to catch more than a whiff of air and run a tongue over my lips as they are to the touch, cracked in likeness to a waterbed starved of rain.

I probably should not have worn the lipstick that I did. Matte lipsticks have never been my favourite type to wear. But they are usually a deep shade in colour and do not slip off my lips easily, therefore long-wearing. Their disadvantage is that they are super drying. Despite the thin layer of balm I applied before the lipstick itself, I still cannot avoid the crusty texture it's forming by creasing into the crevices of my mouth.

Then again, it might be that I am merely dehydrated. When I am extremely thirsty, my lips lose some of their moisture. It is especially worse now that I have a drying pigment on. Gosh, I really need that drink. It's dumb that I left the water behind. I could have held onto it and taken some sips as I made my way for Walter's office.

Oh well. It's too late for regrets or anything of the sort. I think as my hand strays to my tightly packed bun while I wait on the elevator. There are two lifts, but one is closer to the second floor where I presently am than the other.

There is a glass sheet over the panel between both elevators, and I shuffle over to it to check my reflection. My makeup is a bit tired-looking as expected of it after wearing it for more than eight hours, counting from the point I left home in the morning.

Nonetheless, in a blazer and suit pants, I have to say that I look every bit the respectable businesswoman I am, though I do not expect to wear that identity here. At this company, I am a marketer only. No one knows of my personal business, just as I prefer.

Apparently, according to the radio broadcaster in this office, AKA Tina, if it wasn't already crystal clear, both the COO and CEO have their offices on the same floor. I know that I should find Walter first and answer to his call since it might be important, but I have the urge, which I have no intention of fighting, to find Tony and... And do what, exactly?

I'm not sure I have anything, in particular, I want to do or want from him. But I do want, no need, to see him. It is essential that I do. As of now, it is a pressing need, one I am desperate to satisfy. Maybe, it's even a craving. I mean, what else can it be? It could be the bone-tiredness from working all day after doing so a long while ago talking, but I miss him. So much.

The elevator dings and I rush to its entrance to wait after purposely shuddering to loosen my shoulders and body in general. I don't have to press the button as someone already has. A woman bustles out in a hurry, and my eyes widen as I step into the lift. 

How is he here?

"Hello, ma'am!" The greeting comes from a blond floppy-haired man who has his back to the wall on the right, which is across the one I go to lean against.

"Hello, Mr. Tiller—I mean Redmond." I backtrack, almost tripping over my words as I remember him stating once the last and only time we met at the house that he'd prefer if I referred to him casually.

"Yes," he grins, all bleached white teeth shining like diamonds. "Redmond."

"Pardon me," I smile on a much miniature scale compared to his. "Things like that escape me often."

"It's quite alright," he puts up both hands in the air, palms out towards me, his friendly expression unwavering. "I understand it might take a few tries." He concedes, and I nod while trying to smile a little wider until my sight lands on his wrist. Well, not his wrist per se. More of his wristwatch. It's gold and gigantic and glints underneath the yellow overhead lights.