Weightless (H.S. BWWM)

Girls Your Age

Fall in LA isn't much different from fall in Texas. It's still hot, just a little less, you can still wear shorts and be completely okay, and if it wasn't for the change of month on the calendar you wouldn't even know the seasons had changed thanks to the excess of palm trees here. I will admit it gets cooler at night which I love and dare I say it's actually cold if you're by the water.

My gaze falls out the window of my office onto the cityscape. It still blows my mind that I'm living in LA. There were times I doubted this would be possible. I doubted I could save enough money, doubted I would have the work ethic to work two jobs religiously, and most of all I doubted I could leave my family and everything I knew. I'd lived in Texas my entire life but I knew it wasn't where I wanted to be, I didn't want to live my entire life out in one spot, it's never been in my nature. Even when I was a child and would imagine my life I never imagined it in Texas. I was always somewhere where the air sung when it whipped past you, where the sun shined brighter but not hotter, somewhere I could be myself completely. That's what I found in LA, I found my place.

The door to my office opens just as my phone vibrates from a text message making me jump. Assuming it's either Amita, Damien, or both coming through the door I plaster a big smile on my face. The corners of my mouth fall into a line once I see the dark grey suit enter the room. I watch his back as he closes the door softly behind him. He looks good, his shoulders are a bit broader as if he's been working out.

Turning to me he rests his back against the door setting his intense green gaze on me. As he usually does he scans my outfit. Simple blue jeans, a sleeveless peplum blouse with a black and white design, and silver accessories to make the outfit pop. My makeup is light, just eyeliner and lip gloss and my hair is down in soft waves framing my face.

He better not give me any shit for participating in "casual Friday" even though he clearly isn't. His dark grey suit is paired with shiny black shoes, a solid blue button down, a white pocket square, and a yellow tie. His hair is parted to the left in a modern twist on a thirties hairstyle, he looks damned good.

He watches me as I watch him walk over with the authoritative stride that used to make me weak in the knees. I'd still jump his bones, but these days I prefer a walk with a little more swagger. Mostly when it's attached to a man with long brown hair so smooth it slips through your fingers.

Taking his seat on my desk I watch as the wheels in his head turn, trying to form a coherent thought. Something along the lines of, "I'm sorry I've been being an inattentive asŝwipe, please forgive me," would work. Especially since we were supposed to go out last night to finally talk and he stood me up.

He seems to decide upon something as he turns to me with a concentrated look in his eyes. I never noticed how similar his eyes are to Harry's, although Harry's are a bit more interesting. Shaking the thought away I tune back in to our conversation where he's looking at me expectantly.

Instead of admitting I wasn't paying attention I just agree, nodding my head.

"Great," he says getting up from my desk and heading towards the door, "I told Mr. Price you wouldn't mind. Enjoy your lunch, I'll see you at two."

My skills at using context clues are unparalleled for a reason. I deduce that racist asŝhole Price wants to meet with Berkley privately, again. He met me one time, when we took on the absolute task that is his failing company, and treated me like I was covered in ŝhit. After that, every meeting we should be having together he wants to change and only meet with Berkley. Normally I would be furious but checking my phone a smile rises to my cheeks. This will probably be the only time I thank him for anything.