Threshold (Old Version)

Chapter Four

I decided to call him Aaron. He hadn’t shared his name, but I figured he needed one. Aaron was the first I could come up with.

And Aaron was all I could think about. Not in the obsessive, questioning way, but in the subtle repeating of our conversation… the sights and sounds from the night before undermining the present ones. Even busy with a stack of old forms, I couldn’t get him out of my head.

The phone sang from its cradle, a blatant series of tones I was slowly beginning to loathe. I shuffled the papers in my arms, pulling the receiver up to my face.

“Blackwell residence, may I help you?” I asked with a fake cheeriness. My morning had begun in a fog and I was about ready for it to end. My brain said I should have been excited, or anxious, or something other than the blank apathy I was feeling. I’d finally talked with Aaron… but all I could do was remember the facts, not process any of the information.

“Yes, this is Dr. Elkaly…”

My stomach growled as I copied down the message, lunch an approximate forty-eight minutes away. I’d have to wait. I replaced the phone of its cradle, sauntering to the recycle bin with the stack of papers. My efforts to green-ify my father’s business had only gone as far as to get a recycle bin in the reception area.

“Scarlett?”

“Yes?” I jerked around, looking up to see the half dazed face of my father.

“Could you come into the office for a moment?”

“Sure.”

The door clicked shut behind me as I slipped in behind my father. I froze just behind the closest couch, a Miss Amelia Varion commanding the center of the room. She lounged effortlessly against my father’s desk, her black blazer and slacks screaming board member while the too-professional edge of her cropped hair and makeup whispered of a cold, commanding ego. I’d met her before—though usually only at Comwell functions. And her emails were relentless—a stream of “My courtesy is show, you can’t actually refuse.” She did get things done, though, and well, so I had to respect her.

“Scarlett, good morning.” I navigated the sofas in time to accept her handshake, returning a smile.

“Hello, I didn’t notice you arrive, Miss Varion,” I said, letting a little bit of warning into my voice. On some level, I wasn’t sure I actually cared what my father did with his free time, I just thought I should know about it. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, actually, there is. We are looking at a new marketing direction and were wondering if you’d be willing to help.”

My father took his noncommittal stance by a window, his eyes already glazed over with separate thoughts. But he was listening, I was sure.

“In what way?”

“Well, Comwell is a bit of a foreign name to the common man. While that’s not exactly alarming given our industries, we don’t want to appear an impersonal entity.” She took a moment to refold her hands. “What we’re proposing is making Comwell appear more as the personal, quality business we are.”

“I’m sorry, how do I fit into all of this?” I’d heard enough pitches to be wary of impending boredom. While I didn’t mind the momentary break from the usual, I didn’t want to spend it listening to a longwinded Amelia trying to indirectly kiss up to her boss.

“We want you to be the new face of Comwell.”

“What?”

“It’s quite simple, darling, really. We want you to be what outsiders see when they first encounter Comwell.”