Late. Late. Late.
I was running so freaking late, and the worst part of it all was that I couldn't be. Not today. Running late today meant that it could be the last day I ran, period.
Chelsea made sure to drill it into my head last week that she would kill me herself if I wasn't on time.
Ugh. When I'd left my apartment this morning, I wasn't expecting this. In fact, I'd made damn sure to leave twenty minutes earlier than usual just so that this wouldn't happen.
I forgot to take into account of where I lived. Seattle was a freaking shit show when it came to traffic. And, it was a Friday. Double ugh.
By the grace of god, a short while later I see that familiar skyscraper building with all its little tinted windows and sparkling metal when I turn the corner of Berkeley Street. A breath of relief puffs out when I notice the eight minute marker on my wristwatch, the sound of my quickstep heels drowned out by the bustling streets adjacent when I pump my aching legs faster.
After escaping the taxi ten minutes ago when I realized he wouldn't be moving any quicker than a snails rate with the wild bumper-to-bumper traffic, it's been a nonstop jog/fast walk for me. Despite my fit form, I was anything but. So it's safe to say every muscle in my legs were burning like I'd doused them in lava.
Not cool.
The chilling air conditioner blasted across my heated skin the moment I walked through the sensored glass doors of WestPoint Corporations. A welcoming sensation, considering how suffocating the humid air of Washington in June had been. I almost get too wrapped up in the delightful feeling until I remember I was running late.
Quickly, I walk over to the short line of stuffy business suits and pencil skirts, shuffling through my bag.
"Good morning, Miss Miller," greets the security guard at the terminal when I reach it.
"Hi, Jo! Doing alright today?" I kindly wonder with a smile to match his warm one. I scan my laminated i.d. card as he releases a soft chuckle.
"I'm doing great, thanks. I'm surprised to see you here so early. Does this have anything to do with that group of important looking people who came in a little while ago?"
I internally groan. Of course they were here already. Chelsea's going to have a fit when she sees me. "That would be it."
Jo holds open the waist-high gate that swings upon the swipe and verification of my key, a slight wrinkle forming between his bushy brows.
"The merger?"
"A big one." I wasn't surprised he knew. Everyone in the building has known about the potential partnership for weeks now. It was a massive deal since Gregory West, the CEO, had a reputation of denying offers of partnership left and right.
This has been going on for years. According to Chelsea, this particular meeting for today should be the one that gets the cake. It's because Gregory West had initiated it. In the past, he never has.
"I'll catch you later, Jo," I tell him as I walk through the gate and hightail it to the elevators.
"Good luck!"
After pressing the button for the lift, I quickly fix up my appearance when I notice the wayward strands of chestnut hair that glare back at me from the reflection of the doors. Luckily, my make up managed to stay in tact through my spontaneous "run" and I silently thanked my friend, Jan, for introducing me to that finishing spray a while ago.
As if thinking her into existence, I grabble for my phone when I hear it ping and notice a text from her.
There's no fighting back the disgruntled noise that leaves my throat after viewing the message.
