Before Her Billionaires by Julia Kent

opposite directions, Josie to her bed and Laura to yet another day of anonymity in a cocoon of mirrored glass and concrete.
    And no dream men.
    * * *
    As she rode the elevator up to the thirty-second floor of the massive, glass-and-concrete tower that St ohlman Industries inhabited, Laura kept her eyes on her hands. Head down, crushed by bodies that pretended they weren’t touching, she lived in her head. The scent of ten different perfumes and colognes, of various hairspray brands and deodorants, and a faint whiff of sour alcohol from someone who’d overindulged last night was, oddly enough, a familiar comfort.
    May be comfort was a bit of a stretch, but it was a signal.
    Monday morning.
    W ork time.
    Her boss’ s boss was gone for a three-day business conference on government contracts and sexual harassment compliance, a meetin g Laura was grateful to skip. Requests for business travel were rare for her. Financial analysts tracked numbers, so her face-time with clients wasn’t a priority.
    On the rare occasions she did travel, it was always the same. A boring flight spent next to that one guy on the plane who drank too much and grossly flirted with you. The endless wait for the rental car (if the company was willing to get you one), then the complicated drive that always involved a few missed turns to get to the hotel.
    The hotel that looked like every other hotel next to an industrial business park.
    A quick check-in, the rush to find a restaurant still open (or a quick breakfast if the flight was on a M onday morning), and then ten hours of pretending to care about some business regulation that—frankly—had nothing to do with the daily reality of her job.
    And, of course...the occasional pass from a business colleague who was the equivalent of Overreaching Drunk Airplane Guy.
    As the elevators doors opened and closed on their slog upward, she wondered when she’d become so cynical.
    Ding! Her floor. No time to think about that now. “Hey, Laura!” called Debbie , the receptionist. “How was your weekend?”
    “Great! How was yours?”
    Debbie’s eyes lit up. Laura knew she was just waiting to be asked. Debbie was Laura’s age, with long, silky brown hair that looked like something out of Vogue magazine. She wore low-cut sweaters and a full set of make-up every single day. Her nails were perfect, her clothes fit her trim body, and she was always charming—to the men. Women wanted to look like her and men wanted to sleep with her.  
    “I met this new guy who took me to see The Book of Mormon, and we went to Tempo Bistro . Can you believe it?”
    Laura pretended to know that those two details were a big deal. She had no idea what Tempo Bistro was, but it sounded fancy. Debbie was very status conscious, and threw brand names and social signals around like currency. “Nice! What wa s the guy like?”
    Debbie’s face shifted from excitement to boredom. “ H e was okay.” She s niffed, clearly unimpressed. “But the raw tenderloin nigiri was to die for. Entrees start at $70 a pop.”  
    Laura wouldn’t be eating there any time soon.
    “ A nd he got us backstage VIP passes and I have pictures of me with the cast!”
    Debbie’s smartphone was already in her hand, turned to a picture that showed a toothy-smiled Debbie with a group of cast members still in heavy stage makeup. Laura had no idea who any of those people were, but knew that in Debbie’s world, this was important, so Laura played along. She hated to hurt anyone’s feelings.
    “Wow, Debbie. I’m jealous.” She wasn’t really, but she knew that’s what Debbie wanted to hear.  
    Magic words. Debbie’s face lit up. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said, clearly enjoying her perceived imbalance between herself and Laura. “You’ll find a perfectly decent guy some day.”
    Laura almost snorted. Perfectly decent. Shoot for the stars for me, why don’t you?  
    Laura’s smile tightened a notch and she looked away. “Got a lot of email to