Just a Hair Stylist - Chris Evans story \\✔️

Chapter Fifty-seven

You flung the cab door shut, hurrying into the building on west 50th and quickly finding your way to the front desk of Marvel HQ. Your toe involuntarily impatiently tapped, waiting for your turn behind the FedEx guy. You were a few minutes late. You'd sent a text to Chris, letting him know you were running behind because of traffic, but he hadn't replied. With your arms crossed in front of you, you held up your hand, biting at your thumbnail, a little anxious. You looked around, looking for a familiar face but Chris, or Scott or anyone else, was nowhere in sight. Nope. No one. Stupid traffic.

Your arms dropped to your sides, seeing the delivery guy wrapping up his business. You checked your watch, blowing air out through your puffed cheeks. The delivery man stepped aside and you moved up to the counter, flashing a polite smile to the woman at the desk, when she asked if she could help you.

"Yes. Hi," you began. "I'm here for the tour. I'm running a few-"

"I'm sorry," she interrupted. "We don't do tours for the-"

"Oh, no," you grinned. "I'm not here for a public tour. I'm here with Mr. Evans' tour."

Please don't think I'm some psycho fangirl. Pleasepleaseplease.

With a meek smile, you gave her your name, hoping there was a list or something for people Chris was traveling with today. You hoped even harder that you were on it. The receptionist turned to her computer and asked you to wait while she called someone in Media Relations. You took out your phone sending a quick SOS to Chris.

You: In the lobby. They might think I'm a stalker. Halp

The message was delivered, but that was it. You didn't know if it had been seen, but it certainly didn't get a reply. Too bad you didn't have Scott's number to try. You wondered, when exactly was the appropriate time in the relationship to get the numbers of your significant other's siblings and family? You know, for the next time you're trying to catch up with your millionaire, Hollywood boyfriend in New York on a press tour for his next blockbuster movie. No, seriously. That's a legit thing for you now. Holy crap. When did this happen? Better yet, how did that sound less weird before now?

You kept a patient grin on your face, despite the nervousness in your gut that the receptionist was actually calling Security to kick you out. Even the guy sorting the mail and deliveries onto his cart at the end of the desk gave you a wary look. The receptionist was dialing another number now, mumbling something about someone not being at his desk. Yeah, she's definitely calling Security.

You looked around you again. Hell, at this point, you'd settle for seeing Megan, or anyone else who looked vaguely familiar. While the receptionist worked her phone and computer to try and get someone to verify your story, the elevator off to the side of the lobby dinged and a young man with a fade and man bun crossed the lobby. He leaned over the end of the high countered desk, so far that his toes drifted off the ground and his loosely knotted, skinny tie hung down to the desktop. He came back up, after trading an envelope to the outgoing mail bin and taking a couple of pieces of candy from a dish near the woman's phone.

The man slid back off the counter, while the receptionist smiled and shook her head, still on the phone. Popping a peppermint into his mouth, he quietly tried not to interrupt her call, asking, "Has anybody come in?"

Your ears pricked and you stood a little straighter. The receptionist hung up her phone, checking, "Who are you looking for?"

"[Y/f &l/n]," he said, shifting the candy to the side of his mouth. "Chris Evan's PA."

His PA? Shit, yeah! You'll take it! Anything to get you back to him and Scott. You demurely raised your hand chiming in you were Chris' personal assistant at the same time the receptionist gestured an open hand to present you.