ONE FINE DAY
♀
November 2012
It’s 6:15 a.m. and my phone alarm wakes me up from a deep sleep. I’m tired, and put my alarm to snooze. Then suddenly I remember that today, I’m not going to my office. I have been invited to a breakfast meeting at Gibson Enterprises headquarters on King Street.
Shit.
I forgot to check the subway route last night. The thought of it drives sleep from my head; I get up and head to the washroom. I come out in no time and blow my long hair dry. I definitely need a haircut in winter. This drying process takes a long time in the mornings.
I finish my morning prayers in ten minutes and dress for work. I haven’t even decided what to wear. I have never attended a breakfast meeting, except those in my office. I wasn’t sure why I’d been invited to this one—my boss hadn’t told me much. But as a senior Creative Designer for Greenway Advertising, I couldn’t skip it, and I had to look professional. I settle on a long navy-blue sweater dress with matching tights.
Born and brought up in Beirut, I have collected all the usual values of Muslim families. Offering my prayers on time. Not exposing my body parts for men’s attention. Remaining reserved from strangers. And most importantly, no sexual relationships outside marriage. I am not really a perfect Muslim girl, though. I do not cover my head with a scarf; I believe that modesty lies within your heart and not in your appearance. Although I am Lebanese, I have inherited all of my mother’s Egyptian features: dark eyes, black hair, clear skin. I don’t find myself very attractive, so I do not understand why men keep offering me relationships and friendships that I am not interested in. Do I have an “available” sign on my forehead?
Not anymore.
I shift my mind from past to present, as this is not the right time to dig up old memories. I am seven seas away from that old misery. I give myself some final touches and look one last time in the mirror before leaving. Taking my necessary stuff—my bag, phone, umbrella and jacket—I lock my apartment and take the elevator. My apartment is on the sixteenth floor of a high-rise condominium on Yonge Street, very close to the Finch subway station. I simply adore my neighborhood. Everything is very close to my place—the theaters, restaurants, subway station, and the mall. Just outside my building is a bakery where I always buy breakfast. They sell the best pumpkin bread.
It is really cold outside, even without snow. I open my umbrella to avoid the November rain and walk toward the station, listening to music through my earbuds. As usual, the station is overcrowded, though many people take off on Fridays. I check the map to see which route will take me to King Street and pull out the address of Gibson Enterprises headquarters to verify which will be the closest station. I usually enjoy walking, but not in winter.
The train comes in plenty of time, and I find a seat, pull out my Kindle and start reading. The story is interesting—a girl with time travel power. I am enjoying it, even though I don’t believe in such a thing. The past always ends. It cannot be reincarnated. Only if God wants it to be. He is the creator of the Universe. If He can create the time, He can also bring it back or take it to the future. There is nothing impossible in His hands.
Can He erase my nightmares? I do not doubt His abilities, but if everything is possible for Him, why doesn’t He consider my appeal? I tell myself that everything has its own time. Maybe my time has not come. My mind shifts back to my book and I start reading again.
When I reach my destination, I exit the station and notice that it is not raining anymore. I walk down the entire block and see the Gibson Enterprises sign on the opposite side of the street. It is a tremendously tall building, fifty stories at least, touching the skies above. Outside the building is an ostentatious stone and marble entry with the company’s name etched on it. It makes me smile, wondering how much money has been spent just to carve the marble. As I continue toward the main entrance, my bag gets stuck on one of the decorative bolts sticking out of the wall. Everything spills out of it like spring showers.
Damn! Why do things like this always happen to me? And always in the wrong place? I free the strap on my bag and begin to pick up my belongings.
Thank God it’s not raining, otherwise my Kindle would have been soaked by now. I realize someone is gazing down at me intently, and I look up to meet the most beautiful dark green eyes I have ever come across. I look away and continue picking things up, cursing my handbag and the decorative bolts and wondering why the hell he is not helping me pick up the stuff. I look up again and the emerald eyes are still on me, apparently dumbfounded. They are not just eyes; they are like two precious gemstones with all four Cs: Color, which is composing my soul, Cut, which is ripping my clothes off to expose me, Clarity, as if he is looking through me, and Crystal, like he is an open book, with nothing to hide. Each emotion is visible from his eyes. As if he has not seen anyone like me. As if I am the only woman on this planet at this very moment.
Or is he enjoying my misery?
I get up and look at his blank face, then head to the door.
We were told two days ago that since the main office of Greenway Advertising is also located somewhere in this building, we are authorized to go through the turnstile by swiping our badges. I check the time: 8:55 a.m., still five minutes to the start of the meeting. I would have arrived early if not for the bolts. I reach the turnstile and slip my hand in the front pocket of my bag where I always keep my badge.
It’s not there. Damn! Where is it? Did I lose it when I dropped everything?
I curse myself and turn back so as not to block other people coming through. My body slams into a tall strong masculine form, causing me to lose my balance. He holds me tightly by my waist. I meet those amazing eyes again as he swipes the badge and propels me through the Plexiglas door into the building.
Whoa! What was that?
He releases me and I see a silent smile curving his lips. He has not spoken yet. The security guards are looking at me with ‘it’s okay’ expressions on their faces. What kind of security do they have here? I am here for the first time and they let the green-eyed man bring me through the high-security door without any questions. Why didn’t they check his ID?
He finally condescends to speak, hiding his smile. “You dropped this when you were struggling with the bolts.” He hands me my badge.
So you were enjoying the sight and didn’t have the courtesy to give it to me earlier?
“Thank you for picking it up for me.” I don’t hide the sarcasm in my voice. I leave the doorway, as people are passing through the turnstile and it is not appropriate to stand here and gaze at this alluring man. I move toward the elevator and take out my phone to confirm where the breakfast meeting is actually happening. The invite says “The Maple Room,” but not where it is located. I read the email again and again to make sure I am not missing the floor number. I should ask the management or those guards if they know.
“You look lost. May I help you?” I look up from my phone and meet those green eyes again. This time he is actually smiling. His bright shiny teeth look like they belong in a toothpaste commercial. For the first time, I notice that he is not only the owner of beautiful emerald eyes but he has a charming physique—the kind of guy who can seduce a girl with his sexy body. Along with a beautiful smile and magical eyes, he has a really charming face with a little bit of stubble, but very neatly trimmed. He is hot. Just like a Hollywood celebrity.
Control yourself, Rania.
I put my diva back to sleep again. He is still looking at me for a response.
“You work here?” What am I asking? Of course he works here; the guards know him, that’s why they let him in without question.
He closes his eyes for a moment and opens them, smirking at me. “Yes, Miss Rania, I… work here.”
Oh! He knows my name.
“I read your name from the badge you dropped.”
I’m glad he told me
before I asked how he knew. “Okay, that is good to know. Then you can tell me where the Maple Room is. I am already running late and my meeting invite does not show me the floor number.”
“The Maple Room?” he asks, as if hearing it for the first time.
“Yes, Maple Room. You know where it is?” I am not sure if he is sure or not.
He closes his eyes once again for a moment. “Yes, I know where it is. I can take you there.” He is looking at me as if searching for something. No man has ever looked at me like that. I feel his gaze traveling down through my heart, unlocking all the doors, straight to my soul.
“Well thanks, Mr… . ?” I don’t know his name.
“Adam,” he says.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Adam, but if you can tell me on which floor it is located, I can go by myself. I am sure you have work to do and you could be late because of me. I don’t want your boss to get annoyed at you.”
And I am old enough to find the room myself if you just tell me the damn floor.
“No, Rania, I don’t have anything particular to do right now. I can take you to your meeting. Consider it my pleasure.” He speaks very warmly and scrutinizes me from head to toe. It makes me self-conscious and I shift, taking a half step away. What’s his problem? But I’m already late and I don’t want to start an argument.
“Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.” I have to say something nice, and this is the best I can do at the moment. I put my finger on the elevator call button.
“SHIT.” Shit.
We both speak together. Our hands meet on the call button, my hand over his, and I feel a sudden spark as if thousands of watts are surging in my neurons. Why did he say the same thing I did? Did he feel the same ignition? We both take a step back. What was I thinking? If he was supposed to show me the room then it was obvious he should call the elevator.
Embarrassed, I say a silent prayer to either disappear from here, or give him amnesia for a while.
Ting.
The elevator door opens and we both step in, trying not to get electrocuted any further by each other’s touch. I had not noticed that there are others standing behind us, waiting for the elevator. The elevator starts to fill up and he shifts to stand behind me. I can’t see him, but I still hear him breathing. His heart is beating like a drum and I can hear it very clearly. Or is it my heart? I can’t tell. The elevator goes up, stopping at each level, people getting on and off. Every person entering the elevator smiles at the man behind me. So people do know him here.
By the time we reach the 45th floor, the elevator is empty except for the two of us. One wall of the elevator is glass, and I can see his reflection. His eyes are closed, as if he is trying to feel something. He is still breathing hard. He opens his eyes and looks up into my eyes through the reflection. I think I broke his concentration.
“We have almost reached the top. You have forgotten to press the button. Which floor is it?” I say very politely, trying not to dominate the situation.
He moves his head closer, behind my neck. “Pleasures!” he says in a very low tone. What? What is he talking about?
I look at him uncertainly. He closes his eyes again, tilting his face toward the ceiling. “You are wearing Pleasures. Right?”
My perfume? All this time, he was breathing behind me to smell my fragrance? I ignore his observation skills and finally gather my courage to turn around and voice my frustration.
“Do you really know where we have to go?”
He looks down at the floor. “No, I don’t know.”
“So you were wasting my time?” I can’t believe it; he was entertaining himself all along. First, he was enjoying my misery outside while I fought with the bolts, and then he kept my badge purposely and, without even asking me, grabbed me and pushed me through the security door. He showed off with his manners, offering to act as a guide, and all he could do was sniff behind me to identify my fragrance.
He still looks down with no answer. Without wasting further time, I press the ground level button to go back where we started, so that I can ask the management to help me out or call someone from my team to find out where I have to go. I shouldn’t have trusted him. He presses the sub-basement button without saying anything. The elevator descends from the 45th floor down to ground level—luckily, without stopping and wasting any more time. His eyes are still reading my face, trying to discover something. The doors at the ground level open and without even looking at him, I move forward. He stops me by holding my elbow and the door closes again within seconds, the elevator descending to the lower level, the sub-basement.
How dare he bully me?
“I told you I will take you to your meeting. Why can’t you trust me?” This time, his eyes are more intense.
The doors of the elevator open at the lower level.
He leads me out, still holding me firmly by my elbow. He releases his grip gently and looks at me again.
“I am sorry to delay your arrival, but I was preoccupied. Let’s go, it’s closer from here.” I follow his lead, not sure what to say.
During our short walk, I notice he is wearing a very expensive suit fitted elegantly on his masculine body. It is navy blue with an ice-blue shirt, accented with a matching tie. The outfit looks pricy, very close to my whole month’s salary. His movement is very elegant, like that of a high-profile gentleman. His watch, which is just visible on his left wrist, also looks very valuable. He must be spending a lot of his salary just to look good. He stops by another glass door and swipes his badge on it, and heads into the corridor.
The corridor is quiet and I can hear only our footsteps. We don’t speak at all. At the end of the long passage, I see a double door entrance to a very large room. The name ‘Maple Room’ is written outside on a hardwood board, embossed with bronze letters. Both doors are wide open and I see my team in there.
“Here we are… finally,” he says with pride, as if he has discovered a new country.
“Yes, finally. Thank you.” I smile at him. I couldn’t agree more.
“So, what is this all about?” He gazes at me again, this time with curiosity, and then peeks inside the room.
“Well… frankly speaking… I don’t know. We were invited to attend a breakfast here. And some other departments plan to show up as well. Other than that, I really do not have any information.”
And even if I have, who are you to ask?
“Can I join you? I haven’t eaten anything this morning.” He takes a gander inside the room again, to check out the food. He looks quite serious.
Is he really hungry?
“I don’t know what to say, Mr. Adam. I am not organizing this meeting. And this is actually not my office. I am not sure if I can bring uninvited guests with me. I have no idea about the policies of Gibson Enterprises.” I look inside the room, following his gaze, to find out what he is looking for. It is very rude of me to refuse someone breakfast who confessed to being hungry. “I am sorry, Mr. Adam, to refuse you like this. If you had come to my office, I would have invited you for breakfast, but this place is new to me too.” I look at him with an apologetic smile. “But… umm…” I start digging in my handbag and take out my travel mug and my pumpkin bread from the bakery, which I haven’t had a chance to eat at all. “You can have this meanwhile; it’s tea though, not sure if you take tea or coffee, and this is pumpkin bread, which I am sure you will like. It’s the best in town.” He looks down at the items I am offering him with amusement. “Oh yes, I took only one sip of the tea,” I say. “It is still hot though. You do not need to warm it up. I already have a breakfast invitation, so you can have this.”
He takes the food from me without saying a single word. “You don’t need to apologize,” he says. “I completely understand. And please call me Adam only. No ‘Mr.’” He gives me his million-dollar smile. “And thank you for the breakfast. I really appreciate it. I w
ill return your mug soon.” He starts digging in the brown paper bag, as if wondering whether I have given him the right food.
“If you don’t mind, can I ask you something… umm… Adam?” The question pops into my mind from nowhere. He nods, but without taking his eyes off of me. “If you knew this place was in the sub-basement, why did you let the elevator go all the way up?”
He searches my face intently again.
“I don’t know…” He shakes his head. “I really don’t know… you made me… lost… I got carried away by your presence… by your… fragrance.”
Lost? Fragrance? That’s it?
I look at him with my mouth open. I have nothing to say.
“It was really nice meeting you, Rania. I hope to see you soon. Enjoy your breakfast.” He smiles and turns around, and within seconds he is out of my sight.
AT FIRST SIGHT
♂
Shit! Is that really her? Is she the same woman who cast the spell on me?
“Sylvain, get in here immediately,” I say to my personal assistant in a very unpleasant manner, without looking at her. She follows me into my office.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Gibson?” she asks in a motherly tone.
Something wrong? I am fucked up, Sylvain!
“There is some breakfast meeting or get-together going on in sub-basement… umm… in the Maple Room. Find out all the details about it—who is holding it; what it’s about. Ask the security department to fetch me the list of all the invitees along with the pictures from their security badges.” I have never been so insistent about anything.
Sylvain leaves immediately. I sit down behind my huge dark wooden desk and swivel my leather chair to face the view outside. It has started raining again. My office is on the fifty-fourth floor. It feels powerful to take in the view and own a place so high, yet I felt so weak in front of that girl.
What is in her that I couldn’t articulate?
She is undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and it was quite unsettling to me that the charm that other women usually see in me was completely invisible to her. Is she truly an enchantress from some other world, or is she a part of my fantasy that I have conjured? I am spellbound. A human can’t cast a spell. There must be some witchcraft going on.
A Silent Prayer Page 2
