phone.
“Good morning, Mitchell Turner’s office. How can I help you?” an airy voice asked at the other end of the line.
“Um . . . Good morning.” Eden took a deep breath to regain control of her vocal cords. “I . . . um . . . need to speak to Mr.—” She’d missed the intro. “With Mitchell. “
“Of course. Are you already a client?”
“No.”
“Let’s see.” The sound of pages turning. “He could fit you in on Thursday morning at 11:30.”
“Is there anything sooner? I really need to talk to him.”
“Hmm. . . He is pretty busy. He has a half hour this afternoon, but if that isn’t long—”
“That’s fine. I’ll take it.” A half an hour should be enough time to introduce yourself as a total moron, shouldn’t it? A hello-help-me-figure-out-what-the-heck-is-wrong-with-me conversation with a total stranger?
“At one o’clock?” the woman asked.
“One is fine. Thank you.”
“I just need your name and phone number. If you will be billing our services to your company, I’ll need that information as well.”
“No, it’s just me.” Wondering where she would get the money, Eden gave the woman the information she’d asked for. Then the line went silent. Had the woman hung up already? “Hello?”
“I’m still here. Eden Colfax. Okay, Eden, we’ll see you at one.”
“Wait! What . . . um . . . what does Mitchell actually do?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
Eden imaged the woman rolling her eyes and taking an eraser to her name. “I’m not selling anything. I was given his name by someone who thought he could help me.”
“Who gave you his name?”
Good question.
“We like to thank clients who refer people to us.”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t get her name. She seemed to think Mitchell could help me, but I wasn’t sure of his exact job title.” Not a lie. A carefully crafted truth to cover her ignorance. Was that a lie? Yes, Eden. I think that constitutes a lie. Her stomach dropped a bit, and she silently whimpered, ‘ But I never lie’. At least, she never used to lie.
“He’s a life coach,” the woman said. “Do you still want the appointment?”
A life coach? Yeah, she sure as heck could use one of those. “Yes, please. One o’clock. Thank you.” Eden hit the end button so hard the phone bounced out of her hand onto the floor.
For the next half an hour, she wondered what a life coach would be able to do for her and who had stuck that napkin into her pocket. She’d be okay. She’d be okay. Some life coach named Mitchell was going to help. Maybe. Unless another woman named Eden had stuck the note in her pocket before lending her jacket to a nearby sleepwalker.
Sure, that made much more sense.
Eden got to the life coach’s office at 12:45 and sat on the edge of her chair for the next ten minutes. The walls of the building were glass, the majority of it clear. The only opaque one held the door she assumed led into Mitchell Whoever’s office. That made Eden even more nervous, imagining that some stranger was staring at her from the other side, judging her before they’d even met. Continuously. Unlike the beautiful woman at the reception desk who judged her briefly with every glance.
The woman, who dressed more like a socialite than a secretary, smiled politely whenever she caught Eden staring. “He’ll be with you soon,” she said.
“Thank you.” Eden flipped through one of the business magazines from the end table and tried not to squirm. She scratched her neck, wondering if her nerves were making her break out in hives.
“Let me check if he’s ready for you.” The woman stood up from her desk, slid her hands down her pencil skirt and went to the door. She was probably desperate to get the hive-covered wreck out of the waiting room.
And, quite frankly, Eden was too. The faster this was over, the more
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley