12
level fourteen

"Mrs. Adams, may I have a word?" Mr. Irving asked.

He was calm and collected, his signature warm smile tugging at his lips. His palm rested on my desk at as he leaned all his weight into it, something ominous in the way he clouded my view, my space, and my work. Nothing tangible in his demeanor could be attributed to the knots that tightened in my stomach, but the knowledge I possessed did, and I recoiled slightly. Carter glanced between us warily, chewing on his lip. We hadn't spoken at all that morning.

"Of course." I murmured, giving Mr. Irving a tight smile in return. If he noticed anything off, he did a poor job of showing it . His dark brown eyes lit up, and he beckoned me with a swift movement of his wrinkled finger. Reluctantly, I arose from my seat, yesterday's mistake making a throbbing reappearance in my mind.

Embarrassment pooled in my heart, and had stayed there for the remainder of the night as I had laid wide-eyed on the sofa, the image of what I'd done blinding me. Soft bruises licked at my wrists, tenderly basking in the face of rejection. Beneath the surface, there lingered a tainted part of me that hinted at the suggestion that Nate had done what he had not for the reasons he claimed he did. He texted me several times to reassure me, but the stinging burn was stubbornly ever-present.

I solemnly took a step with the intention of following Mr. Irving as he gave me his back and strolled towards the elevator. As I did, Carter's gentle hand captured my wrist, halting me.

"He won't give you a hard time." He said, his lips attempting a smile. It fell midway through, toppling down to the abyss of recognizable emotion while an imposter took its place. The result was a grimace, on the fence of unreadable, and he quickly let go of me.

"Thanks. I guess." I spoke flatly. Not that I could trust him either way. I took his words with an enormous grain of salt, and, without anything further, followed Mr. Irving to the elevator.

The button was already lit by the time I arrived, and Mr. Irving was humming to himself as he tapped his leather-coated foot, standing directly in front of the doors. Had anyone wanted to leave, they couldn't. Slowly, I took my place behind him.

"How are the Florida plans going?" He asked, his face firmly focused on the unmoving elevator doors. His voice carried a majestical warmth and friendliness, and for a moment I forgot my resolve.

"They're going well, sir." I responded politely. "I should have them done soon."

"I'm glad to hear that." Still with his back turned, he nodded. "You — of course — don't mind if I take a look at them before we finalize everything?"

"Of course not."

The doors slid open.

It was barren, and I smoothly stepped over the shining crevice as Mr. Irving entered behind me. He leaned over to press the button for fourteen, and we elevated to the skies in silence.

Level fourteen was the peak of Irving & Davis, in every sense of the word. The building cut off abruptly there afterward, prematurely meeting the skies while others continued to reach upwards. There, resided Mr. Irving, his most reputable of colleagues, and it was their insight and expertise that had us lift our heads towards the ceiling, waiting for it to rain down. The dream was to someday be promoted to level fourteen, but after six years — the closest I'd come was the interior Mr. Irving's office.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid wide open. We were not greeted by cluttered cubicles and shouting employees. The entire scene was quiet, and the only sense of space was that it was endless, stretching across tan carpets and cushy waiting chairs into oblivion. Hanging on every wall were one or two large paintings, staring unflinchingly back at whomever entered. They were black and white, objects and faces, each with a purpose that undeniably connected, but seemed just out of reach.

Mr. Irving led me out of the elevator and down the left-sided hallway to his office — which was at the very end. The walls lingered as I walked past, whispering soundless words which felt like screams against my throbbing head. I placed my palm against it, following Mr. Irving with a less than patient frame of mind.

We entered; his office was the place legends were made of. Crisp white walls lined his space,  playfully bouncing back the sunlight which gushed in through the single window of his office. Mr. Irving clearly had an affinity for irony — his entire office besides his desk, the chairs, a corner houseplant, and one bookshelf packed full of files — was barren. In addition, it mimicked its hallway counterpart in being so luxuriously spacious it was almost sickening. It was easy to get lost in, and upon the realization of why you'd been brought there — it was either heaven or hell.

Mr. Irving suddenly closed the door, startling me a bit. He stiffly crossed the room and immediately sat in his obscenely large desk chair, gesturing to do the same with the matching one that was opposite him. I obliged, biting my lip as I met his eyes.

His eyes — deep and dark, held mine. They were glass orbs without a hint of stain; I'd seen them before, on someone else. The color was dark chocolate, wrapping around everything it could reach like a blanket. A dead ringer for Carter Green's eyes.

I nibbled on the inside of my cheek as Mr. Irving rubbed his hand along his scruffy beard, appearing deep in thought. He gave me a look that was part serious, part apologetic. "I'm not exactly sure how to start this conversation." He admitted. I nodded absentmindedly, saying nothing.

"Carter...he explained that you found out that I was his grandfather." His voice was kind, kinder than expected.

I nodded again. There was a pause as he delicately tapped his fingers against the cool wood of his desk.

"Are you...are you planning to go public with that information?"

I shrugged. Publicity was the last thing on my mind. "I don't know. It depends."

"On what, may I ask?"

"Why did you do it?"

My question echoed off the walls, reverberating  through the office and slicing through the atmosphere. No more pretenses.

I elaborated, "The whole reason why I joined your company was because you told me that it-it was different from other architecture firms." My voice wobbled a little. "No dishonesty, no secrets, and no favors. I really believed that."

Architecture was as unforgiving and ruthless as any other endeavor, and it was a well-known fact that many people got their start through unethical means, whether it was sleeping with someone or cashing in favors from a family friend. That was the beauty of Irving & Davis. It was supposedly free from all of that.

"Mrs. Adams — "

"Did he even apply for a job?" I asked quietly. "Or did you just promise him one — I'm assuming — when he got out of school?"

"Mrs. Adams, I understand your anger. I really do." His tone took on an unreadable edge. "And — I'm not at liberty to discuss this with employees — but yes, Carter did apply. He got hired without any of my help, and that's the honest-to-God truth."

That made me soften a little, but I frowned. "And then...what? Did you figure that once he was in, you would pull strings in order to get him to the top?"

"I cannot discuss this with you at the moment — "

"Why not?"

"It's a security risk." He looked at me warily. "Especially since you don't know whether you plan to go public with this or not."

I slid down into my seat. "Alright. I won't go public."

He shook his head. "Merely saying that isn't good enough."

"My word's not enough?"

"I'd need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement." His eyes trailed elsewhere. "Just to be certain."

I was dumbfounded. "This isn't Hollywood." I reasoned softly. "Do you really think the press would make that big a deal out of something like this?" Before he could respond, a terrible idea popped into my head and I looked at him uneasily. "Unless...there's more to the story than that. Is there?"

"That would depend on what exactly is it that you already know."

I struggled to stay calm. "I know that you used me and lied to me." I said lightly. "That you made up this shadowing thing just so Carter could get experience, right?"

"Yes." He said without a hint of remorse.

A part of me broke then; the last, flickering piece of hope I'd carried into this meeting completely vanished, and I was left feeling hollow as I stared up at the man I'd admired for the vast majority of the past six years, mouth gaping.

Something flashed in his eyes, and he looked away as he traced circles onto his desk. After a short while, he murmured, "You...you have children, don't you Mrs. Adams?"

"I do." The image of them entered my mind, almost managing to make me smile. I instinctively reached for my pictures — but soon remembered that I'd given them to Nate as my fingers relaxes. "We've talked about them before."

"I remember." He nodded, a solemn expression clouding his features. "You must know what it's like, then, to not know what might become of their lives in the future."

I did. Everyday I worried, wondering, praying for things to work out for them, even though they were still so young. It was included in the package when you made the decision to be a parent, not that the fact made it any easier. I opened my mouth to respond but didn't get a chance, as Mr. Irving rose abruptly from his desk and turned away from me.

He walked to his window, peering down into the streets below. "I don't think I can really say I succeeded as a parent." He spoke wistfully. "My kids — they're alive and well — I should be happy, right? But...I know they struggle, and — this isn't an excuse but I thought you should know why."

I said nothing.

"I really do care about Carter." He said, more to himself than to me. "And I want things to be different for him. I never planned to keep him here permanently, but I did at least want him to learn."

"At my expense." I whispered my confirmation.

"No, never at your expense." He turned around, looking at me through hooded eyes. "Is that what you thought?"

"How could it not be?" I replied, equally confused. "All the praises and everything — it wasn't just because you liked my work. You were using me."

"Mrs. Adams, not once have I ever lied about the quality of your work, nor the tremendous talent you have. I paired Carter with you because I wanted him to truly learn from one of my best, not to undermine you."

"This is wrong." I insisted, shaking my head.

"I don't blame you for feeling that way." He sighed. "And I suppose nothing I can say will change your mind?"

"Not on this." I agreed. "It's not ethical. It's not...right."

He shifted from foot to foot. "You aren't still thinking about going public with this, are you?"

"No." I shook my head. "But...that doesn't mean I'll support it either."

Before I could leave, Mr. Irving halted me with a small, bittersweet smile. "If it had been your kids, wouldn't you have done the same?"

I thought about Celia and Joseph. My morality screamed no, chanting incoherently as I swallowed the depth of his question. The image of their innocent faces crept back into my mind, their toothy smiles playing out before my eyes. When they were born, I promised myself I would do anything to make them happy. If that included betraying my values, my integrity — I didn't know.

I felt Mr. Irving's smile on my back as I stalked out of his office, leaving him and his question high in the skies.

That night at dinner, Celia noted my quietness and — abandoning her joyful mood — leaned over to Nate. "Is Mommy okay?" She questioned.

"Mommy's fine, sweetheart." He gave her a brilliant, adoring smile, placing a sweet kiss on her uplifted forehead. His gaze shifted to mine, worry clouding over.

"She's just thinking, sweetheart. It's not easy being a Mommy."

Even I had to chuckle at that as pain shrouded my heart — for it was true, in more ways than one.

* * *

Hey guys!

Sorry that this wasn't as eventful but I felt it was necessary to establish why Mr. Irving did what he did. Has your view of him changed? If so, how?

Thank you all so much for reading and have a wonderful rest of your day/afternoon/night. Love you all!

xoxo,
twyla