King of Hearts
Page 5
“Hey,” she said, voice soft. “How’d your first day go?”
“It was good,” I replied. “Good but weird. I swear, it’s a whole other world over there.”
She sighed and sat down on a stool by the counter¸ watching me chop carrots. “Tell me about it. Some days I just feel like chucking it all in and finding a rich man to marry. It’d make life a whole lot easier.”
I snorted. “Yeah.”
Despite her profession, Karla could actually be a very sensitive person. Some would even go so far as to say shy. She was hard-working, and tough as nails in her own way, but she was also quiet and kind. She fell into police work due to her dad being on the force, but I always wondered if that was what she really wanted to be doing.
“Did something happen today?” I asked as I studied her. She seemed more tired than usual.
Rubbing at the crease between her eyebrows, she answered, “I had to break up a really vicious fight between two kids today. One of them was hurt pretty badly and had to be hospitalised. He was only fourteen. I’m still kinda reeling.”
“Oh, my God,” I exclaimed, putting down the knife and going to her. I threw my arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, accepting my hug. “It’s just so hard sometimes. You try your best to help people and keep them safe, but kids are still out there, killing each other, stealing, doing all sorts. You end up feeling like there’s no way the system can ever work.”
I didn’t say anything, just squeezed her tighter. Finally she let out a long breath and pulled away. “Don’t mind me. I’m just being morose. A good night’s sleep and I’ll feel better.”
I gave her an understanding look and returned to the carrots. Trying to take her mind off it, I said, “I think we should go out this weekend. I know money is tight, but we need to let off some steam.”
Her eyes lit up at my words. One thing that the both of us loved was dancing, and every couple of weeks we’d go out to a club.
“The Silver Bullet is putting on a ska night on Friday,” she said. “I saw the poster on my way home from work.”
I grinned at her. “A ska night it is then. We’ll paint the town beige, since red is reserved strictly for those age twenty-five and under.”
That solicited a giggle from her, and I felt good that I’d made her laugh. She picked up a carrot and took a bite. “Well, of course.”
***
The next morning I arrived at work bright and early. This time I didn’t see King in the elevator, which I found curiously disappointing. Okay, all right, shut up. So my peepers found it disappointing, because he was one hot slice of A. Plus, remembering that smile we’d shared yesterday made my belly feel all a-flutter.
I was sitting at the computer, completing some data entry that Eleanor had tasked me with while she scanned the morning’s papers. Gillian’s lightning fingers danced over her keyboard like a percussionist portrayal of busy, busy, work to do. Her desk was on the other side of our atrium that led to King’s large office. When he arrived at around eight-thirty, he gave each of us a nod hello as Gillian hopped up from her seat, the same as yesterday.
“Morning, Eleanor, morning, Gillian, morning, Alexis,” King chirped. He gave Eleanor a sparkly-eyed look. “Have you heard the news?”
She glanced up at him, licking a finger before casually turning another page. “I don’t partake in salacious gossip, Mr King. You know that.”
I nearly snorted at her dismissive response but managed to hold it in. Eleanor was quickly becoming my lady hero, because I knew for a fact she was the only person who got away with talking to King like that. I also had a hunch that she was the one who’d suggested he apologise for saying what he said to me in my interview. I was seriously looking forward to being her age and gaining that “Miss Trunchbull, I don’t suffer fools gladly” vibe.
King let out an amused huff and turned to Gillian. “Have you?”
Gillian seemed oblivious as she nervously cleared her throat and clenched the folders she was holding. “Oh, um, no, sorry, I haven’t.” She seemed disappointed in herself, like she considered letting down the Oliver King in any way was a failure on her part. I felt like telling her to buck up and be a woman, not a simpering girl desperate to please her boss.
Finally, he looked at me. “Well, you obviously haven’t, either, newbie. God, is it so much to ask to have some ladies who like to gossip around here? I’m practically bursting at the seams.”
Eleanor shook her head, but I saw her lips twitch with a hint of a smile. Mr King was obviously in an unseasonably personable mood this morning. While chatting with her yesterday, she’d told me that his moods could be somewhat unpredictable, so it was always best to err on the side of caution.
“Well, tell us what you know, and I’ll be happy to oblige,” I said. “Gossiping is my forte.”
“Oh, thank God.” King exhaled with false dramatics as he approached the desk and eyed me mischievously. “George Bacon, one of the top guys over at Citibank, died last night.”
I let out a breath. “That’s terrible.”
“A-ha! But you haven’t heard the worst of it. Poor Georgie boy popped his clogs during a rather intensive session with a lady of the night. His old ticker wasn’t up to the challenge.” He shook his head, but he clearly felt no sympathy for the man. Well, since we’d just been hit with a motherbutcher of a recession, very few people felt sorry for those working in the financial services industry these days. However, being a banker himself, I thought Mr King might be able to empathise.
“It was good,” I replied. “Good but weird. I swear, it’s a whole other world over there.”
She sighed and sat down on a stool by the counter¸ watching me chop carrots. “Tell me about it. Some days I just feel like chucking it all in and finding a rich man to marry. It’d make life a whole lot easier.”
I snorted. “Yeah.”
Despite her profession, Karla could actually be a very sensitive person. Some would even go so far as to say shy. She was hard-working, and tough as nails in her own way, but she was also quiet and kind. She fell into police work due to her dad being on the force, but I always wondered if that was what she really wanted to be doing.
“Did something happen today?” I asked as I studied her. She seemed more tired than usual.
Rubbing at the crease between her eyebrows, she answered, “I had to break up a really vicious fight between two kids today. One of them was hurt pretty badly and had to be hospitalised. He was only fourteen. I’m still kinda reeling.”
“Oh, my God,” I exclaimed, putting down the knife and going to her. I threw my arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, accepting my hug. “It’s just so hard sometimes. You try your best to help people and keep them safe, but kids are still out there, killing each other, stealing, doing all sorts. You end up feeling like there’s no way the system can ever work.”
I didn’t say anything, just squeezed her tighter. Finally she let out a long breath and pulled away. “Don’t mind me. I’m just being morose. A good night’s sleep and I’ll feel better.”
I gave her an understanding look and returned to the carrots. Trying to take her mind off it, I said, “I think we should go out this weekend. I know money is tight, but we need to let off some steam.”
Her eyes lit up at my words. One thing that the both of us loved was dancing, and every couple of weeks we’d go out to a club.
“The Silver Bullet is putting on a ska night on Friday,” she said. “I saw the poster on my way home from work.”
I grinned at her. “A ska night it is then. We’ll paint the town beige, since red is reserved strictly for those age twenty-five and under.”
That solicited a giggle from her, and I felt good that I’d made her laugh. She picked up a carrot and took a bite. “Well, of course.”
***
The next morning I arrived at work bright and early. This time I didn’t see King in the elevator, which I found curiously disappointing. Okay, all right, shut up. So my peepers found it disappointing, because he was one hot slice of A. Plus, remembering that smile we’d shared yesterday made my belly feel all a-flutter.
I was sitting at the computer, completing some data entry that Eleanor had tasked me with while she scanned the morning’s papers. Gillian’s lightning fingers danced over her keyboard like a percussionist portrayal of busy, busy, work to do. Her desk was on the other side of our atrium that led to King’s large office. When he arrived at around eight-thirty, he gave each of us a nod hello as Gillian hopped up from her seat, the same as yesterday.
“Morning, Eleanor, morning, Gillian, morning, Alexis,” King chirped. He gave Eleanor a sparkly-eyed look. “Have you heard the news?”
She glanced up at him, licking a finger before casually turning another page. “I don’t partake in salacious gossip, Mr King. You know that.”
I nearly snorted at her dismissive response but managed to hold it in. Eleanor was quickly becoming my lady hero, because I knew for a fact she was the only person who got away with talking to King like that. I also had a hunch that she was the one who’d suggested he apologise for saying what he said to me in my interview. I was seriously looking forward to being her age and gaining that “Miss Trunchbull, I don’t suffer fools gladly” vibe.
King let out an amused huff and turned to Gillian. “Have you?”
Gillian seemed oblivious as she nervously cleared her throat and clenched the folders she was holding. “Oh, um, no, sorry, I haven’t.” She seemed disappointed in herself, like she considered letting down the Oliver King in any way was a failure on her part. I felt like telling her to buck up and be a woman, not a simpering girl desperate to please her boss.
Finally, he looked at me. “Well, you obviously haven’t, either, newbie. God, is it so much to ask to have some ladies who like to gossip around here? I’m practically bursting at the seams.”
Eleanor shook her head, but I saw her lips twitch with a hint of a smile. Mr King was obviously in an unseasonably personable mood this morning. While chatting with her yesterday, she’d told me that his moods could be somewhat unpredictable, so it was always best to err on the side of caution.
“Well, tell us what you know, and I’ll be happy to oblige,” I said. “Gossiping is my forte.”
“Oh, thank God.” King exhaled with false dramatics as he approached the desk and eyed me mischievously. “George Bacon, one of the top guys over at Citibank, died last night.”
I let out a breath. “That’s terrible.”
“A-ha! But you haven’t heard the worst of it. Poor Georgie boy popped his clogs during a rather intensive session with a lady of the night. His old ticker wasn’t up to the challenge.” He shook his head, but he clearly felt no sympathy for the man. Well, since we’d just been hit with a motherbutcher of a recession, very few people felt sorry for those working in the financial services industry these days. However, being a banker himself, I thought Mr King might be able to empathise.
