Soulmates & Twin Flames

19 - Corporate Policies

The security desk hands me a visitor's card when I arrive at the magazine. The familiar cucumber air freshener and hints of sweat accompany me to the elevators. I dive in with a small crowd and hit the button for the sixth floor.

I'm fine. I really am. Why shouldn't I be? I completed the job before the due date and slurped a large cup of iced coffee on the way. I'm ready to get my paycheck, call Olga and buy her a drink when she gets out of work.

I smile at my reflection against the elevator's shiny doors and fix my bangs. Unlike the suited white collars around me, I can wear a summer dress and sandals on a hot day like this. I pity them. I'm not pitiful. Roman's words have no power over me. He is the one living in a corporate fantasy world, not me.

Control freak! His authoritative voice echoes in my head, 'La Vue at eight o'clock! Opera at seven!' Who speaks like that?

Mr. Daddy issues...

Okay, I'm stooping lower than I should. It's sad that Roman felt abandoned as a child. Unloved. Inferior. He had to mature at a young age when his dad died and tried his best to support his family.

But am I supposed to feel sorry for him? Who the hell gets a magazine as a present at fifteen and complains about it? So what if Roman had to work his ass off for Optimus Maximus to succeed? Everyone else works just as hard to pay their bills. They don't make stupid marriage commitments to stay afloat.

Roman is the only monster here. He deserves to rule this corporate shit-hole all alone and live a sad life with his picture-perfect wife-to-be.

Fuck.

My chest tightens when the elevator's bell dings on the sixth floor. God, I hope I don't see him today.

This floor is much quieter compared to Claire's production unit. The space is divided into larger offices and glass meeting rooms instead of cubicles. A phone rings as I pass a couple of busy-looking faces behind tiny desks. I'll turn left and give my name to the lady at the first desk around the corner. Easy as pie.

When I finally stop, I clear my throat and smile at the plump blonde facing a massive office.

"May I help you?" she asks, eyeing me up and down.

"Yeah, Abby Shepherd. I'm here to collect my paycheck from the..." My voice trails off when I look over my shoulder at the stained glass room. I can't see what's inside but I have this... feeling. 

A giant wave rises in my chest and crushes against my ribs. I'd call this primal feeling my beast a few days ago. But I stick to the clinical terms now... Anxiety. This is nothing but anxiety. Something to do with losing with my mom at an early age and my dad's lack of presence around the house. Once I let someone in, I can't let them go easily because, yeah... Separation anxiety.

I have no reason to be anxious now, though. I'll just take my money and get the hell out of here.

The blonde narrows her eyes and leans forward to read my visitor's badge. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Abby—oh, Abigail Shepherd."

She raises her index finger and signals me to wait as she picks up her phone. After dialing a short extension, "Your visitor is here," she says, nods, and then hangs up.

No... No way. My heart thumps as I stare blankly at the girl.

"You may enter," she says with a polite smile.

"Is this...?" Fuck. "It's not the HR, is it?" I ask, drumming my fingers on the desk. My cheeks—even the roots of my hair are on fire. I don't need to hear her answer. I turn around, push the glass door open, and enter Roman's office.