Key of Valor
Page 25
“Sounds to me like you’re putting it all together.”
“It feels right, you know? I got Chris on board to do massages and some of the body treatments. And my friend Dana? She’s hired this woman to work in her bookstore, and she has this friend who just moved back to the Valley and used to work at a spa out in Colorado. I’m going to be talking to her, too. It’s so exciting—as long as I don’t think about the payroll.”
“You’re going to do fine. Better than fine.”
“The plumber was in today, setting things up for my shampoo sinks. I got the lights in, and I’m going to be working on the stations. Sometimes I just look around up there and think this has got to be a dream.”
“You don’t have to earn dreams, Zoe. And you’ve earned this.”
S H E had earned it, Zoe thought later as she washed out the color brush and bowl. Or she was earning it. Still, so much of it was like a gift. She promised herself she would never take it for granted.
She would do good work. She would be a good partner, and a good employer. She knew what it was to work for someone who was more interested in filling up the spaces in the appointment book than in the basic needs of her operators. Someone who’d forgotten what it was to stand on your feet hour after hour until they burned, until the small of your back ached like a bad tooth.
But she wouldn’t forget.
Maybe this wasn’t the road she’d expected to take, all those years ago when she was a young girl who imagined having pretty things and a quiet life that she would earn by using her brain.
But it was the road she’d taken, and she was making it the right road.
“You could go back, change it all.”
She turned from the sink and looked at Kane. Surprise, shock, even fear were buried under thick layers of fog. She knew they were there but couldn’t quite feel them.
He was beautiful, with a dark beauty. The black hair and deep eyes, the sharp bones sculpted under pure white skin. He was taller than she’d pictured. Not powerfully built like Pitte, but with a graceful, elegant body that she imagined could move as swiftly as a snake.
“I wondered when you would come.” Her voice sounded hollow, as if formed more in her mind than with her mouth.
“I’ve watched you. A pleasant pastime.” He stepped closer, and his hand brushed her cheek. “You’re very lovely. Too lovely to labor as you do. Too lovely to spend your life working on the appearance of others. You always wanted more. No one understood.”
“No. It made Mama angry. It hurt her feelings.”
“She never knew you. She used you like a slave.”
“She needed help. She did her best.”
“And when you needed help?” His voice was gentle, his face full of understanding. “Poor young thing. Used, betrayed, discarded. And a lifetime of payment for one reckless act. What if it had never happened? Your life would be so different. Don’t you wonder?”
“No, I—”
“Look.” He held up a sphere of crystal. “Look at what could have been.”
Helpless to do otherwise, she looked, and fell into the scene.
And swiveled in a deep leather chair to gaze out a wide corner window at the spears and towers of a great city. She had a phone to her ear and a satisfied expression on her face.
“No, I can’t. I’m leaving for Rome tonight. A little business, a lot of pleasure.” She glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. “The pleasure is a little bonus from upstairs for bringing in the Quartermain account. A week at the Hastler. Of course I’ll send you a postcard.”
She laughed, swiveled back to face the office as her assistant brought in a tall, slim china cup. “I’ll talk to you when I get back. Ciao.”
“Your latte, Ms. McCourt. Your car will be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks. The Modesto file?”
“Already in your briefcase.”
“You’re the best. You know how to reach me, but as of Tuesday I’m off the clock. So unless it’s dire, pretend I’ve gone to Venus and can’t be reached.”
“Count on it. Nobody deserves a vacation more than you. Have a wonderful time in Rome.”
“I plan to.”
Sipping her latte, she turned to her computer, brought up a file to check some final details.
She loved her work. Some people would say it was just numbers, accounting, black or red ink. But to Zoe it was a challenge, even an adventure. She handled finance for some of the biggest and most complex corporations in the world, and she handled it very well.
A long way from doing books for Mama’s hair business, she mused. A very long way.
She’d studied hard to earn that scholarship to college, worked hard to complete her degree and secure an entry-level position with one of New York’s most prestigious international banking firms.
And then she’d worked her way up. A corner office on the fiftieth floor, her own staff, all before she hit thirty.
She had a beautiful apartment, an exciting life, a career she loved sinking her teeth into day after day. She’d traveled to all those places she’d wondered about when she snuck out to walk the woods at night as a girl.
She had what she’d never been able to explain to her family that she needed. She had respect.
Satisfied, she logged off, sipped the last of the latte. She pushed away from the desk, picked up her briefcase, tossed her coat over her arm.
Rome was waiting.
Work would come first, but then it was play. She was planning to carve out a nice chunk of time for shopping. Something in leather, something in gold. A sortie to Armani or Versace. Maybe both. Who deserved it more?
She started toward the door, then stopped, turned back. There was a nagging sensation, a tug at the back of her mind. She was forgetting something. Something important.
“Your car’s here, Ms. McCourt.”
“Yes, I’m coming.”
She started for the door again. But no. No, she couldn’t just leave.
“Simon.” Her head spun, so viciously she had to brace a hand on the wall. “Where’s Simon?”
She rushed through the door, shouting for him. And fell back through the crystal and onto her kitchen floor.
“I wasn’t ever afraid,” Zoe told Malory and Dana. “Not even when I landed on the floor. It was more, ‘hmmm, how about that.’ ”
“It feels right, you know? I got Chris on board to do massages and some of the body treatments. And my friend Dana? She’s hired this woman to work in her bookstore, and she has this friend who just moved back to the Valley and used to work at a spa out in Colorado. I’m going to be talking to her, too. It’s so exciting—as long as I don’t think about the payroll.”
“You’re going to do fine. Better than fine.”
“The plumber was in today, setting things up for my shampoo sinks. I got the lights in, and I’m going to be working on the stations. Sometimes I just look around up there and think this has got to be a dream.”
“You don’t have to earn dreams, Zoe. And you’ve earned this.”
S H E had earned it, Zoe thought later as she washed out the color brush and bowl. Or she was earning it. Still, so much of it was like a gift. She promised herself she would never take it for granted.
She would do good work. She would be a good partner, and a good employer. She knew what it was to work for someone who was more interested in filling up the spaces in the appointment book than in the basic needs of her operators. Someone who’d forgotten what it was to stand on your feet hour after hour until they burned, until the small of your back ached like a bad tooth.
But she wouldn’t forget.
Maybe this wasn’t the road she’d expected to take, all those years ago when she was a young girl who imagined having pretty things and a quiet life that she would earn by using her brain.
But it was the road she’d taken, and she was making it the right road.
“You could go back, change it all.”
She turned from the sink and looked at Kane. Surprise, shock, even fear were buried under thick layers of fog. She knew they were there but couldn’t quite feel them.
He was beautiful, with a dark beauty. The black hair and deep eyes, the sharp bones sculpted under pure white skin. He was taller than she’d pictured. Not powerfully built like Pitte, but with a graceful, elegant body that she imagined could move as swiftly as a snake.
“I wondered when you would come.” Her voice sounded hollow, as if formed more in her mind than with her mouth.
“I’ve watched you. A pleasant pastime.” He stepped closer, and his hand brushed her cheek. “You’re very lovely. Too lovely to labor as you do. Too lovely to spend your life working on the appearance of others. You always wanted more. No one understood.”
“No. It made Mama angry. It hurt her feelings.”
“She never knew you. She used you like a slave.”
“She needed help. She did her best.”
“And when you needed help?” His voice was gentle, his face full of understanding. “Poor young thing. Used, betrayed, discarded. And a lifetime of payment for one reckless act. What if it had never happened? Your life would be so different. Don’t you wonder?”
“No, I—”
“Look.” He held up a sphere of crystal. “Look at what could have been.”
Helpless to do otherwise, she looked, and fell into the scene.
And swiveled in a deep leather chair to gaze out a wide corner window at the spears and towers of a great city. She had a phone to her ear and a satisfied expression on her face.
“No, I can’t. I’m leaving for Rome tonight. A little business, a lot of pleasure.” She glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. “The pleasure is a little bonus from upstairs for bringing in the Quartermain account. A week at the Hastler. Of course I’ll send you a postcard.”
She laughed, swiveled back to face the office as her assistant brought in a tall, slim china cup. “I’ll talk to you when I get back. Ciao.”
“Your latte, Ms. McCourt. Your car will be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks. The Modesto file?”
“Already in your briefcase.”
“You’re the best. You know how to reach me, but as of Tuesday I’m off the clock. So unless it’s dire, pretend I’ve gone to Venus and can’t be reached.”
“Count on it. Nobody deserves a vacation more than you. Have a wonderful time in Rome.”
“I plan to.”
Sipping her latte, she turned to her computer, brought up a file to check some final details.
She loved her work. Some people would say it was just numbers, accounting, black or red ink. But to Zoe it was a challenge, even an adventure. She handled finance for some of the biggest and most complex corporations in the world, and she handled it very well.
A long way from doing books for Mama’s hair business, she mused. A very long way.
She’d studied hard to earn that scholarship to college, worked hard to complete her degree and secure an entry-level position with one of New York’s most prestigious international banking firms.
And then she’d worked her way up. A corner office on the fiftieth floor, her own staff, all before she hit thirty.
She had a beautiful apartment, an exciting life, a career she loved sinking her teeth into day after day. She’d traveled to all those places she’d wondered about when she snuck out to walk the woods at night as a girl.
She had what she’d never been able to explain to her family that she needed. She had respect.
Satisfied, she logged off, sipped the last of the latte. She pushed away from the desk, picked up her briefcase, tossed her coat over her arm.
Rome was waiting.
Work would come first, but then it was play. She was planning to carve out a nice chunk of time for shopping. Something in leather, something in gold. A sortie to Armani or Versace. Maybe both. Who deserved it more?
She started toward the door, then stopped, turned back. There was a nagging sensation, a tug at the back of her mind. She was forgetting something. Something important.
“Your car’s here, Ms. McCourt.”
“Yes, I’m coming.”
She started for the door again. But no. No, she couldn’t just leave.
“Simon.” Her head spun, so viciously she had to brace a hand on the wall. “Where’s Simon?”
She rushed through the door, shouting for him. And fell back through the crystal and onto her kitchen floor.
“I wasn’t ever afraid,” Zoe told Malory and Dana. “Not even when I landed on the floor. It was more, ‘hmmm, how about that.’ ”
