Chapter Four Jude
Chapter Four
Jude
Ineed to get up and walk around after this bewildering rapid-fire exchange with Veronica.
Are negotiations always like this? I could punt this over to Helen, our single HR manager, but knowing how swamped she is, the potential deal with Veronica could be drawn out over weeks, and I’m becoming more and more anxious to wrap this up and move on.
“That’s the goal,” he says, grinning.
Across the street, I order an iced Americano at the neighborhood coffee shop, and as I’m stepping back into the lobby, my phone pings with a new email.
It’s from Veronica, and it’s so long that curiosity gets the better of me and I stop mid-step in the lobby to read.
Jude,
The significance of the desk chair is that mine died of natural causes a few days ago and I just had to carry its lifeless body down to the dumpster.
Normally, I could weather this loss, you see, but my refrigerator also recently bit the dust, my laptop is toast, and I suspect my severance check is still making its way through the approval process of seven management levels and two spirit realms. I’m not going to be very useful as a consultant if I can’t look at slides, charts, and proposals on a screen that doesn’t have a giant green stripe across the entire middle, and I’m not comfortable working on the couch like a GenZ goblin, shaped like a shrimp while typing out *emotional damage* in lower case.
I suppose I could ask for a standing desk, because that would serve the same purpose, but I like to sit to work because it means I can get up and pace to think.
I’m asking for a desk chair because I have nothing to lose.
I realize this is a strange thing to hold the line on and that this email is a lot, but I’ve had too much caffeine because I slept like crap, and I think I’m just generally over giving in to anyone else’s demands, no matter how small. So, take it or leave it.
-Veronica
I read the email again and swipe my free hand over my mouth, stifling a laugh.
She’s funny, of course, but there’s something vulnerable beneath the salty stubbornness, and I like the playfully unhinged vibe I get reading this.
It speaks to the weariness and bubbling hysteria just beneath my own calm exterior.
Smiling, I reply to her email.
Veronica,
Your argument is valid. $7K for a one-month retainer, laptop, and the desk chair of your dreams. Go wild. I’ll get the contract drawn up today and emailed over for digital signature.
Best,
Jude
I’m so amused by the entire exchange that I clip the shoulder of one of my neighbors with my elbow, looking up in surprise to apologize. “I’m so sorry!”
A husky voice jokes, “Barely a flesh wound!”
It’s the woman from 4C, and when our eyes meet, she looks just as surprised to see me. My mouth immediately goes dry.
She’s petite but scrappy, with chin-length light-brown hair, hazel eyes, and a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks.
Today she’s wearing a blue fitted tank top and black workout leggings, and I struggle to keep from inspecting her figure too closely.
Her arms are strong and toned—her thighs, too.
She’s wearing flip-flops, and her toenails are painted pink.
There’s something so incongruous about the delicate color with her athletic exterior, but it only makes her more appealing.
I want to say something, to finally introduce myself, but we’re in the middle of the midday mail swarm, making it awkward. She looks away anyway when her phone pings in her hand.
It allows me to watch her, unguarded for a moment as she reads. Her hair is so straight and smooth it falls into her eyes, and she absently brushes it behind her ear. When she does, I see that she’s laughing down at her phone. She has the widest, most beautiful smile.
She looks up at me again, and I realize I’ve been caught staring. I quickly look away, turning to jog back up the steps to my apartment.