The Unnatural Habitat of a Cat Lady (Cat Ladies Rule The World #1)
1. Fuck You
1
Fuck You
Amelia
I can feel his eyes on me. Don't say it. Don't you bloody say it.
"Maybe we need to get an expert in to advise us on the security situation." That little twerp said it. I glare at Richard across the table. He just won't accept that I, as the Head of Security Risk Management, am in charge of security (it's in the title!) when it comes to trips our staff take.
"I mean, what do we really know about the risks in—"
"It's my job to know," I cut Richard off. When he throws in the "we," he really means me. Back when I was hired he was baffled by the idea that a woman could possibly be in charge of security, and instead was heavily rooting for an ex-army guy who also applied for the job.
"With all due respect—," Richard starts. Give me a fucking break. The minute someone mutters with all due respect, you know they mean the exact opposite.
"Richard, Amelia’s right. It’s her job to assess the situation and I'm not having this conversation yet again. If she says we need risk committee approval, then we do. So put a business plan together and explain why it is essential for one of your team to be present on the ground rather than liaising from London." Uh, what is this, did he just side with me, like, for the first time ever? Graham is making it crystal clear that he won't accept any objections. So far, Graham has agreed every time Richard has pushed for an "expert", and I have had to reach out to yet another security consultant to come in look at my assessment and mitigation plan and then, in a condescending tone, explain to me how they would do it, which usually is exactly the same way I had proposed, just in different words. It’s a waste of resources and time, let alone a constant source of frustration to me.
I was hired a year ago when Lisa, the owner of Connect Beyond Borders, secured major investment to take the company global. We provide communications solutions to the NGO sector, more specific to aid agencies working in remote areas. When the company started, Lisa and her partner Shaker offered advice as consultants, but with the new investment the company has hired engineers and technicians to provide innovative solutions connecting aid workers with their offices.
I'm aware that I sound like our company brochure but that's because I’ve attended about fifteen million corporate events where this line was repeated so often that it sounded as if our sales team were peddling a new religion.
"If there’s nothing else, just a reminder that I need your budget review by the end of next week." Graham dismisses us. "Oh, and Amelia, can you stay for a minute?" I watch as the others file out of the COO's office. He is one of the few with his own office in the otherwise open plan concept. , His office is surrounded by glass on three sides, so we call it the fish tank behind his back.
Samira, the Director of HR gives me a quick side eye as if to say "What the fuck does he want from you?" before scuttling from the office. She is probably the only one at work that I am close to and I know she'll be waiting at her desk for me to give her the gossip once I come back.
The glass door falls shut behind the last person leaving the office.
"Right. I had a look at your budget and you’re way over and we still have two months left in the financial year." Graham looks at me expectantly, as if I could explain it all away as a fluke.
"Forty percent of my budget has been used up by the security consultants you wanted me to hire for the Syria and Yemen trips."
"And you never said that would exceed your budget," he replies. I am waiting for him to tell me that this is all a joke. Nothing.
"But you know how much these consultants charge."
"It's not my job to manage your budget." What a dick. I try to calm my breathing because I can feel anger rising. "Amelia, you are a senior member of staff, and if you don't agree with a decision in your department, for whatever reason, I expect you to fight it and not let Richard bully you into it."
"But you agreed with him."
"Because you didn't object."
"I did."
"Well, not very strongly. In any case your expenditure is too high. Lisa has agreed to top it up a little but if you need any additional funding for any experts for the rest of the year you’ll need to make an application directly to her." Aha! So, this is why he sided with me in the meeting. Lisa had words with him and he threw me under the bus. There is a lump in my throat that makes it difficult to swallow, a ball of anger that I try desperately to suppress.
"Fine." I grab my pad. "Anything else?" In my head I sound super pissed off but I know that Graham won't notice a difference. I am a master at concealing what I really feel.
"Can you have a look at your budget and let me know if there are any activities you need to postpone?"
"Sure." I leave the meeting room without another word. That will show him. I glance back and see him typing away on his laptop. I'm not sure he’s even noticed that I have left.
I hate this job, I hate this job, I haaaaate this job. Richard is such a wanker! And Graham, throwing me under the bus like that. Argh. I swear they're both a couple of donkeys with their heads up their arses. I hope they get a nasty case of genital warts and have to explain it to their partners. Ugh, why am I surrounded by utter tossers? Grit your teeth and smile, Amelia. Just another day in paradise.
"What happened?" Samira asks as I take a seat next to her on the bank of desks in the far corner. These are the most popular seats in our open plan office. You have to be quick to get them booked before everyone else has a chance, but Samira and I both have reminders in our calendars and if one forgets the other one will book the desk for both of us.
"I overspent on my budget and apparently it's my fault because I didn't object strongly enough when Richard and Graham railroaded me on the Syria and Yemen trips."
"Dicks!"
"Samira!" I admonish but give her an appreciative smile. "I'm sure as Director of HR you should not say that."
"Maybe. But as your friend and as a woman with a brain I call it as it is." She shrugs and returns her attention to her spreadsheet.
"Want to go for a coffee after work?" she asks whilst formatting a table. Samira and I first bonded over our love for Excel. If you find someone else who gets a metaphorical boner for conditional formatting, you have to become friends, right?
"I can't. I'm meeting the girls for dinner," I shoot her a sad look. Honestly, I'd rather have a cuppa with Samira, but it's been ages since I caught up with my friends. Usually when we do manage to meet, for them it's all about hitting the booze and taking the mickey out of me. I'm not much of a drinker, though―it tends to bring me down, and Smutty, my feline overlord, can't stand the smell of alcohol on me. Yeah, my cat rules me with an iron paw, but those big yellow eyes in his squishy black face? They're impossible to resist. So I'm a good subservient and stick to lemonade. There’s nothing duller than being the lone teetotaller in the room. What drunk people find amusing is about as entertaining to sober me as a trip to the gynaecologist.
"Uh, the witches of Battersea," Samira rolls her eyes. She met Miranda and Bea once and took an instant dislike to them. She doesn't get why I let them insult me. I tried to explain that it’s just a bit of banter but she thinks they’re bullies. They are my oldest friends though. We grew up together in a small village not far from London and have known each other for donkey’s years. Whilst I still live in the village―I love that place―, they convinced their other halves to move to a fancy estate in trendy Battersea where they are stay-at-home mums.
Bea is married with two kids and Miranda’s wedding is happening in a few weeks. Sim-Sim (or Simon Gordon junior for those not in the know) is finally taking her down the aisle after they had a child out of wedlock, and it's all everyone can talk about. Both their families were in uproar when Miranda and Simon announced that they were pregnant before getting hitched, like we were still in the 1950s. The christening of Simon junior junior was tense, to say the least.
But however different our lives may be, they are my oldest friends and really they are some of the few people I have in my life. I was never particularly close with my parents and now that they live in Madeira―Mum needs the warmer climate―, I see them once a year at the most. There are a few people I occasionally meet up with, but I wouldn’t consider them friends. They are more acquaintances. Getting close to people isn’t my strong suit. So, there's Samira at work, and then there’re Bea and Miranda.
“You should join us sometime,” I suggest and Samira raises an eyebrow. “Honestly, they are nice.” I mean, Miranda is definitely the nicer of the two. Bea can be testing sometimes.
Before Samira can reply her mobile rings, interrupting our conversation. I open my emails; the first one is from Richard with the subject line “Consultants we could use.” I hate this job.
T he screen of my phone lights up when I tap it. Ten past six. They’re half an hour late again. They’re always late. Always. And I don't get it. They’re mums with nannies. Surely you can plan to leave the house on time to be at the restaurant when we agreed.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Miranda squeaks dramatically as she takes a seat. "Simon needed some help with his homework and then Sim-Sim called and asked me to drop off some documents he’d forgotten at home. Just be glad you’re single," she exhales to show how exhausting her life is.
"That's okay,—" I don't get to finish my sentence as Bea drops into the remaining chair. Both immediately start complaining about their lives and try to outdo each other with who is the busiest and whose kids are the most gifted. As always, I fade into the background. The most I could share is that Smutty managed to vomit his furball in my slipper last night.
"So, how are you?" Bea addresses me.
"I'm… fine." I never know what else to say. My life revolves around work, Smutty and my adventure trips abroad. "Well, aside from my boss throwing me under the bus." I laugh a little apprehensively. I have tried talking to them about work before, but they didn’t show much interest.
"Ah, men are just idiots. Look at my husband to be. Sim-Sim told me to get the purple flowers because they’re his mother’s favourite because what does it really matter , and… I’m sorry, Amelia. We were talking about you. It’s just this wedding's driving me crazy. So, any interesting dates on the horizon?" she asks with a sheepish look on her face.
Oh, here comes the dreaded conversation. I know exactly how this will go. I’ll confirm that I am indeed still just dating my vibrator, aka I mumble "No, nobody." And that causes them both to give me a sorrowful head tilt and a sad, "Maybe you’re too picky." We have been down this road a million times.
"I thought you just said men are idiots?" I counter Miranda's question. I'm really not in the mood for the usual pity party.
"You just need to train your significant other properly," Bea laughs and takes a sip of my lemonade. "Eww, I forgot you don't drink."
"You mean you trained your husband like a poodle?" I can't help myself, I had to say it. Two pairs of eyes bore into me.
"You can't expect to find the perfect guy, Amelia. You have to make him perfect," Bea rebukes, giving me a stern look. It stings a bit because she's suggesting that, naturally, the issue lies with me. But it also makes me squirm a tad because I don’t want to have to “train” a guy. I'm not searching for Mr. Flawless; I'm yearning for someone whose quirks fit mine like a jigsaw puzzle. I'm more into the "let's embrace each other's weirdness" vibe.
But then, I’m the only single person at the table. Maybe Bea and Miranda are right and I'm just a bit green, but I've been with guys who seemed like they needed “fixing,” and you can't fix a person. Everyone has their own personality, and I believe you should love them for it, not despite it.
"Well, maybe you’ll find out soon," Bea announces excitedly before grabbing her menu, like she doesn't already know she'll have the salad. She’s on a strict fitness regime and I can't remember ever having gone for a meal with her when she didn't eat a salad. There is always a twang of guilt when I stuff my face with a creamy lasagne or juicy steak whilst she scrapes dressing off her lettuce to reduce the calorie intake, but then the food touches my tongue and the flavours explode and I tell myself fuck it. This is worth the squishy bits on my hips, and arse… and, well, thighs.
"What do you mean?" Miranda probes, but before Bea can reply the waiter interrupts to take our orders. One salad and one plain chicken breast with broccoli for the girls, mac and cheese for me. Fuck it! I have a feeling that when Bea tells me what she’s done I’ll probably need some comfort food.
Bea leans back and looks at us with a smirk. She pauses dramatically before holding up her phone and announcing, "I’ve signed you up for online dating."