CASSIDY #2
I’ve finally managed to settle back into work after my disastrous encounter with half the male population of Opus, and the universe immediately decides I’ve become too comfortable.
My inbox pings.
I ignore it, trying to finish what I’m currently doing, but it pings again.
And again.
With a sigh, I open the email app to see who is harassing me.
My stomach drops the moment I see the email thread.
Fuck.
The supplier responsible for the campaign’s display units has just informed us that the dimensions they’ve been working from don’t match the approved retail specifications.
Harlan’s forwarded this over to me to get fixed, and all I can think is that he blames me for this.
Surely, he must. If I’m the one fixing it, then it’s likely because I caused the mistake.
Shit.
I didn’t think things could get worse between the two of us, but clearly, it can.
The dimensions are wrong, and since they’re not massively off, nobody has noticed.
I’ve really screwed this up.
By 4:30, I’ve rebuilt nearly half the display package. By five, I’ve identified three possible solutions.
By 5:30, I’ve narrowed it down to one.
I lean back in my chair and stare at the revised mock-up on my screen, and it looks good.
A small spark of satisfaction settles in my chest. For the first time all day, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.
Not because my life has magically fixed itself. Not even because anything from yesterday hurts less.
But I’ve managed to solve a problem I caused. I’ve managed to fix it all on my own.
I’ve proven myself useful.
Again.
I send the email over to the supplier and BCC Harlan into it, just in case.
Annoyingly, not even five minutes after I do, I get another email from Harlan.
Subject: Urgent
As is everything with him lately. The body of the email contains exactly six words.
Need to handle the client complaints.
Attached beneath it are three forwarded client concerns.
No greeting. No sign-off.
No thank you.
I know it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but I still take it personally.
This time last week—well, earlier on this day last week—we were in a good place. I thought he liked me, valued me, and could see my usefulness.
But now… I’m not. After I pushed myself onto him, he’s got no interest in pleasantries.
It doesn’t matter the time, we all know I’m not going home anytime soon.
Not with my parents gone. At home, I lose the distraction of work, and I’m stuck alone with my thoughts.
So, here I’ll stay until there’s nothing useful left for me to do.
I make it through exactly one client complaint before my phone vibrates.
I ignore it, until thirty seconds later, it vibrates again. And again, and again.
I stare at the screen suspiciously. There are only a handful of people capable of bypassing my Do Not Disturb function.
One of them is my mum.
Another is Frankie.
Frankie
Survived another day of corporate nonsense?
Frankie
Actually, don’t answer that.
Frankie
Nobody survives corporate nonsense.
Frankie
We merely endure it.
Frankie
The bamboo bends in the storm. The mountain stands against the wind. Karen from Accounting replies all to everyone. We all have our burdens.
Despite myself, my mouth twitches, and I giggle.
I’ve spent most of the day avoiding emotional landmines and convincing myself Harlan hates me.
But Frankie somehow always knows exactly what to say to bypass all of that.
Cassidy
That’s an alarming quote.
Cassidy
Is it one of yours, or has Mr Visionary come up with it for you?
Frankie
I’m working hard on trying to outdo my colleagues.
Frankie
Thoughts?
Cassidy
I think you might need to try harder.
Cassidy
Sorry.
Frankie
Well, we can’t be good at everything.
Frankie
Important question.
Frankie
How attached are you to civilisation?
I stare at the message, furrowing my brows, before laughing.
Cassidy
That depends.
Cassidy
How worried should I be?
Three dots immediately appear, and then my phone buzzes repeatedly.
Goodness, I need to turn that off. Especially since Frankie is clearly finished work, whereas I’m not.
Frankie
Moderately.
Frankie
Potentially significantly.
Frankie
Have you ever wanted to pet a goat?
Fuck me. I can’t tell if he’s bored or if he’s just wanting to start a conversation.
Cassidy
Is this a metaphor?
Frankie
No.
Frankie
That’s what makes it exciting.
Frankie
There is an actual goat involved.
Another message follows.
Frankie
Tomorrow.
Frankie
You. Me.
Frankie
Questionable life choices.
Frankie
And apparently a goat named Angelo.
I stare at the screen for a long moment as something warm settles in my chest.
Cassidy
Really?
This is what I love about Frankie. He gives me exactly what I need without even realising I need it.
Frankie
Really. I might even spring for dinner.
Cassidy
You had me at goat.
Frankie
Excellent.
Frankie
I knew your standards were appropriately low.
Cassidy
Rude.
Frankie
Accurate.
I roll my eyes, but laugh again.
Frankie
Pick you up at six?
Cassidy
Sure. Can you pick me up from the office?
Frankie
I already thought that’s where I’d get you from.
I smile.
Frankie
Wear shoes you don’t mind getting muddy.
Cassidy
I’ll bring some in my bag.
Frankie
That’s probably for the best.
Frankie
I can’t imagine Moody McAsshole would be impressed with your attire otherwise.
Cassidy
You’re not wrong.
Frankie
And don’t bring anything you don’t want to get eaten.
Cassidy
That sounds ominous.
Frankie
It absolutely is.
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. Then I place my phone back beside my keyboard and get back to answering complaints.
Today has been awful. Tomorrow probably won’t magically fix anything.
Isaac will still be my mate.
Evander will still have been caught up in the lie.
And Harlan will still be avoiding me.
None of that changes.
But tomorrow, for a few hours at least, I won’t have to think about any of them.
And right now?
That sounds wonderful.
By the time I finally run out of things to do, the office is practically empty.
I’ve sent Harlan enough updates that he could probably build an entire second campaign from my emails alone.
He has replied to none of them. Not that I expected him to.
But it still hurts.
I shut down my computer before my brain can argue with me, then pack my laptop into my bag and slip my shoes back on.
The carpet has left faint marks across the soles of my feet, and for some reason, the sight of them makes my chest ache.
I don’t want to go home.