Margo beams at him, no doubt making Tom’s bad heart beat faster than it’s supposed to. “I’m Margo,” she answers, reaching across the desk to shake his hand. “Margo Moretti,” she finishes.
Tom looks a little shocked that she’s holding her hand out to him, giving him her full attention. He’s used to the pricks and uptight women who work here. None of them spare him a second glance, let alone take the time to shake his hand.
He takes it, his calloused hand enveloping hers. “I’m Tom. Tom Banks.” She stares at him in wonder. If it were anyone but Tom, I’d feel a tad jealous at the huge smile Margo aims in his direction. I do know that Tom has been married for thirty years, and the only thing he loves more than this job are his wife, children, and herd of grandchildren.
Margo laughs. The sound thaws my black frozen heart a little. It wouldn’t take much for me to get used to the sound. “Tom Banks? Like Tom Hanks but with a B.”
He smiles at her triumphantly, eating up the fact that she finds him funny. “Sure is. Except I’m much more handsome.”
“Well, obviously,” she responds, propping her elbows on the counter of his desk.
I clear my throat, moving an inch closer to her. “Miss Moretti here is my new assistant. Could you add her to the system for me and get her a badge? Most mornings she should be coming into work with me, but on occasion she’ll be coming in alone, and she’ll need the clearance so she doesn’t have to get a visitor pass.”
“Sure thing.” He’s quick at printing off a piece of paper, clipping it onto a clipboard and handing it to Margo. “If you could just fill out all of this information for me. Do you have a driver’s license?”
“I do actually,” she answers, pulling out her license and handing it to him. Margo gets busy at filling out the form as Tom works at getting her license scanned in. Most people here don’t have a license. I keep mine updated for when I travel, but I rarely ever drive. Most of the time Ezra drives or I’ll walk if it’s close enough.
Tom finishes up and places her license in front of her. He gives me a questioning glance. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to Polly, Mr. Sinclair?”
“You wondering if you’ll no longer be getting your homemade sourdough every Monday morning?” I tease.
Tom looks a little embarrassed as he shakes his head at me. “She’s always been kind to me. I just wanted to check in on her.”
I stop giving him shit. While I’m sure he does enjoy the homemade bread from Polly, I know I do, his intentions do seem pure in asking her status.
Margo hands the clipboard back to him as I take a breath before speaking. “Polly is still my executive assistant, but as she ages, I don’t want to make her travel with me like she used to. She’ll be handling my affairs here while Margo will be traveling with me and assisting me in other ways. Like getting my coffee.”
She narrows her eyes at me, trying to get a read on if I’m serious or not. I’m still deciding what tasks I’m going to have her do when we’re not traveling.
“Glad to hear it,” Tom mutters and focuses on his computer screen as he fills Margo’s information into the computer.
“We’ll see if Mr. Sinclair here will trust me getting his coffee or not.”
I lift my eyebrows. “And why’s that?”
She shrugs, a taunting smile forming on her lips. “I’m known to be a bit clumsy and absent-minded. I would hate to mess up or even spill your fancy coffee order.”
“Hot Americano, no cream with two sugars,” I deadpan.
“I pegged you for an oat milk in the coffee kind of guy,” she teases.
My tongue clicks. “Says the girl who betrayed New York and moved to the West Coast. Tell me, Margo, what’s your order?” I hold a finger in the air, stopping her from answering me. “No, wait, let me guess. An iced lavender oat milk latte.”
She bites her lip, a small frown appearing on her perfect lips.
I smirk, grabbing the badge Tom just made Margo and holding it in the air between us. “Am I right?”
Rolling her eyes, she plucks the card from my grip. “It’s a generic coffee order,” she gripes.
Margo mutters a quick goodbye to Tom before she steps away, clearly annoyed with how I got her coffee order correct. I’ve got a stellar memory. It’s annoyingly perfect. I have the inability to forget almost anything. Therefore, I remember her order from her trip to The Hamptons to meet my family.
Tom beams, watching Margo stop in the middle of the lobby. She pulls out her phone, giving herself some kind of distraction. “She seems like one that’ll give you a run for your money, Mr. Sinclair,” he notes.
I look away from Margo to look at him. I nod my head. “You’re probably right, Tom.”
He whistles. “I like her already.”
Me too. The problem is, it’s maybe a little too much.
“I can’t believe this is the view you have from your office.” I marvel at the city below us. “You can see everything. It’s stunning.”
My nose presses to the cold glass as I can’t get enough of the breathtaking view below me. I’ve always been in love with New York. My heart belonged here the moment I first visited for a college tour. One of the saddest days of my life was when I packed up my things and moved to LA. I was meant to be in the hustle and bustle of the city. But at the time, I thought I’d made the right choice.
“The view from here is spectacular,” he agrees, his voice coming from behind me. I hear him take a step in my direction, but I don’t turn around to face him. I’m too busy looking at the only place I ever want to call home.
It’s funny how things worked out. Never could I have imagined that the reason I returned to New York would be because of Beckham Sinclair.
I feel his presence next to me without even looking over. Even from the time we met in The Hamptons, I’ve always been oddly aware of him. It was like we knew, or at least understood, each other—and with barely ever speaking. I think back to the night he’d found me drawing on the beach, using only the moonlight to fuel my sketches.
We hadn’t even exchanged many words that evening. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he’d leaned over my shoulder, inspecting what I’d been sketching. Somehow under the glint of the moonlight and his smell engulfing me, I hadn’t been embarrassed about what he’d found—who he’d found.
His shoulder brushes against mine. “What are you thinking about?”
I longingly look at the city for a few more moments. I’ll do anything to stay here, to find a way to get Winnie and Emma to move back here and make this our home all over again. LA was kind of like a sellout. And now that I’m back, I’ll do whatever it takes to stay here. To be one of the many calling New York home. Part of me aches to know the stories of the people below. When I was in college and had days where I wasn’t busy, I loved to sit in bustling coffee shops and at outdoor cafes and just sketch the people around me. Sometimes I’d create a whole life for them in my head. Instead of drawing them sipping coffee in a booth, I’d draw them somewhere exotic, somewhere mundane, different scenarios for different people depending on the story I felt was right for them.