Perfect Little Lives by Amber Brown

Author:Amber Brown [Amber & Brown, Danielle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-05T15:58:53+00:00

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I am usually intentional about showing receptionists respect. I worked as a temp for a handful of firms before landing my current gig. I know the hustle, the rampant thanklessness of the job. But this Saks-mannequin-looking chick perched behind the massive mahogany desk in the Sachs & Marston lobby is trying me. She was snotty from the point of my arrival, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed she is like this to everyone, but her negligence is starting to feel personal. If she takes another call before paging Hunter, I’m going to go full Illtown on her.

“Sorry,” she says, placing her receiver down for the fourth time. “Who were you looking for?”

“Bishop.” She just stares at me. “Hunter Bishop.”

“Hmm. That name’s not ringing a bell.”

My impatience makes me want to grab the cup of expensive-looking pens from her desk and haul them at her forehead, but I tell myself she is probably new and hasn’t memorized all of the attorneys’ names yet. I see her consult a binder-bound directory and use a gel-manicured finger to help her scroll past all the A last names, the Bs...

“Yeah,” she says, double-checking the list. “There’s no Hunter Bishop here.”

“You mean like here right now?”

“I mean here at the firm.”

“Maybe you’re not looking in the right directory.”

She looks at me as if to say she didn’t get hired yesterday. The phone rings again and of course she reaches for the receiver with no hesitation. It’s already fifteen past the hour, so I wander away from the desk and shoot Hunter a text.

I’m in the front. Receptionist isn’t letting me back

He responds right away: Coming to get you now.

I glare at the brunette behind the desk and have to tell myself that deeming her chin-length bob as passé is purely a result of my bias. Her haircut is as flawless as her makeup. I can’t deny how well put together she is, but I’ll still get to shoot her a shady look when Hunter, who’s probably the hottest lawyer here, comes out.

“Did you still need help?” she asks.

I don’t answer her. My phone buzzes with another text from Hunter. I don’t see you?

I glance around the space one more time. There’s a massive orchid arrangement on the front desk, a woman talking on the phone by the door, people coming in and out of the doors, but no Hunter.

Another buzz.

Are you at suite 2300?

How embarrassing. I could have sworn the directory downstairs said this was the Sachs & Marston suite. I glance up to see what company I’ve actually stumbled inside and freeze. There’s a sign right behind the flawlessly bobbed mannequin. Sachs & Marston.

I hurry out of the suite and press the call button for the elevator four times. I shift my weight from leg to leg, the suspense killing me as I wait and almost cause a head-on collision with two exec-looking types who step out of the elevator when it arrives. I apologize for my haste and feel one of them boring a hole into my ass with his gaze as I turn around in the stall.

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