Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Works at Clemens Corp.
Of course he does. Clemens Corp is a technology company. They just made headlines for selling a multi-billion-dollar web browsing project to the entertainment industry. They’ve also developed apps you likely use every day. GPS apps for tracking your children or spouse, that kind of thing. It’s the hot place to work in Philadelphia. The perks are supposedly amazing, like using technology before it’s released, free on-site daycare, a free cafeteria, that kind of thing. He probably used company time and resources to break into my account. Real appropriate, Sawyer.
But the good news is their headquarters are in Logan Square, and I know exactly where the building is.
I Uber myself a ride and say a silent prayer of thanks when the app tells me a car will be here in three minutes. I could walk to Logan Square, it’s less than two miles, but I’m in a hurry. Plus, let’s be real. I want to look good when I arrive, so I’m not hiking over there.
My Uber ride arrives and we shoot over to Market Street. The driver agrees with me, by the way, about Sawyer being completely out of line with this Facebook stunt. See, know your audience. It helps that he has none of the backstory, and I’m the customer so he’s probably going to agree with me anyway, but still. It’s much more satisfying than venting to Chloe.
We loop around City Hall Station then past JFK Plaza before hitting traffic on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. I check my Facebook app and fume some more.
The car finally pulls up to Logan Square and I thank my new friend Tom and hop out, then head straight for the revolving doors. Once I’ve whooshed through them I realize I’ve got two problems. One, there’s security, and I can’t just grab an elevator. And two, I have no idea where to find him in this fifty-story building. Well, no matter.
My phone dings. It’s my mom, asking if Sawyer eats red meat because she’s thinking of making a roast for Christmas. I think my nostrils actually flare as I march up to the security desk and slap my hands on the counter.
“I need to see Sawyer Camden. Now.”
The smile drops from the guard’s face and a bored look replaces it. “Ma’am, we don’t have an on-site customer service department. If you go to our website there’s a ‘contact us’ tab at the top of the page. You can’t miss it.” He gives me an uninterested smile. “Or I can give you a card with our 1-800 number,” he says, placing one on the countertop when I don’t move.
“I don’t need customer service, I need to see Sawyer Camden. He works here, and I’d like to see him.” I smile tightly, trying not to take out my frustration with Sawyer on the poor guy at the desk. I wave at the phone behind the counter. “Call him or give me a guest pass or something.”
The guard doesn’t make any moves to pick up the phone, but he does tilt his head and observe me a little closer, as if I’m being irrational and might need to be dealt with.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to—”
“Everly!”
The guard and I both snap our gazes up. A blonde woman clicks across the lobby to reach us. “Everly Jensen?” she asks, but more as a courtesy than because she’s unsure.
“Yes,” I agree, cautiously. She clearly belongs here, the guard murmuring a “Miss Adams,” and tipping his head to her upon her arrival. She’s wearing the cutest black jacket over a skirt, paired with a pair of heels I’m coveting. Her blonde hair is pulled into a low pony, the ends of it curled in what looks like a natural wave. An official building ID badge clipped to her waist completes the outfit.
She beams and holds out a hand. “I’m Sandra, Mr. Camden’s assistant,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting you or I’d have made sure you had building clearance. I’m so sorry,” she adds, and it’s totally genuine. “Ted,” she addresses the guard, “I’ll take her up with me and send you a clearance to be held on file for her at the desk.”
He nods with a, “Ma’am,” even though he’s old enough to be this woman’s father, and with that we’re through the turnstiles and she’s swiping her badge at the elevators.
“He’s in a meeting. I’ll bring you up and let him know you’re here, but I’m not sure if he can step out this second,” she adds, and she says it apologetically, as if I’m the one who’s being inconvenienced.
We’ve just stepped into an empty elevator car and I’m rapidly questioning my decision to crash his workplace unannounced. He deserves it after the stunt he pulled today, but this is too weird, even for me. “You know, I could come back at a better time,” I offer as the elevator slows to a stop.