Reviving Haven by Cory Cyr

rolling my eyes. If only she knew, she would send me back to the shrink A.S.A.P.
    So this is Latch’s business, McKay Enterprises . . . okay, now I’m kind of impressed. When I enter the building, I see people everywhere around me. The place appears vast and very busy. It’s definitely casual Friday around here because everyone I see has on jeans or khakis, a t-shirt and flip-flops. The women that work here appear to be in their late teens, early twenties, and they are what Weezie terms “cookie-cutter girls”: skinny, blond, tan, and carrying hefty, expensive silicone boobs. The receptionist, whose counter nameplate says “Amber”— of course it does —is wearing a tight, little halter dress that is more shirt than dress. I internally groan. I look old enough to be her mother. Thank God I am not wearing “mom jeans.”
    The inside design of the building is plush. The floors are black marble and the walls are a rich, dark wood. Huge framed photographs depicting video games that most likely deal with mass destruction, blood and violence, accent the walls. Below the photos, there are at least thirty computer screens with joysticks lining the walls every few feet. I can only assume that they are for testing and playing the video games Latch has designed. Black sofas and chairs rest in the center of the receptionist’s area and a juice bar is located on the left side. It actually looks like it might be a fun environment in which to work.
    I turn and spy a huge portrait in the middle of the far wall. It reads “Latch McKay, CEO” and the focal point is Latch himself, smiling and looking happy while surrounded by his equally happy, smiling employees. Even seeing him in a photograph makes me grind my teeth and puts my nerves on edge, not to mention making my core ache.
    I stroll casually up to Amber.
    “Excuse me— I’m here to see Mr. McKay.” I say it with a tone of authority. Maybe she’ll think I’m a client or rep.
    She looks me up and down, almost examining me like a possessive girlfriend.
    “Do you have an appointment, because I don’t see any on the books for today,” she replies while chewing her gum. Ugh . . . that’s so unprofessional . . .
    “No, not really, and it doesn’t matter. He’s on the fifth floor, right?” I try to sound confident as I walk to the elevators.
    Amber runs out from behind her desk.
    “Can I at least say who you are?” she asks, sounding annoyed as she twirls a strand of bleached blonde hair with her fingers.
    “No, that’s okay, Amber. I want it to be a surprise,” I reply, stepping into the elevator.
    I watch as the doors start to close on her. When they completely shut, my legs buckle, and I brace my back against the elevator wall just to stay upright. I feel high-strung and keyed up, and I nervously wring my hands together. I hope she hasn’t called ahead and told him some old crazy woman is on her way up.
    Okay—time for a pep talk, Haven. I can do this. It’s been seven long years since I tried it. Maybe it will be good. Maybe quality comes with age. Jesus, what am I thinking? It can’t be good. The entire point of this is that it’s so bad— he will want to back off. I mean, seriously . . . who wants an older woman with no experience? From what I understand, younger men go after older women for money and experience. I have neither, so this is a good thing. He’s so hot that he can have anyone he wants, and he can easily find someone else. I bet he doesn’t even have to walk in the room—he can just conference call and women all over the world will drop their panties in a heartbeat.
    The elevator comes to a stop. I stand glued to the floor as the doors open. I am literally petrified, but I finally work up the nerve to move and walk out of the elevator. I’m almost terrified to the point of turning back and forgetting this outrageous plan. The good thing is that no one is around to witness my inner coward fighting to turn me around; looking around,