Chapter 6
Danni
I grab my Tylenol travel bottle out of my purse and deposit two extra strength caplets into my mouth. With a generous swig of ice water, I send them down my throat to quell the pain. I brought an old throw pillow, one that’s lost some of its poof but is still squishy enough to provide relief. My office chair is relatively new, a streamlined ergonomic model made of gray plastic with a stiff layer of lime green upholstery. Ergonomic does not mean comfortable.
I peek around my dual flatscreen monitors, feeling a little smug that I have a relatively private spot over here by the breakroom. My teammates sit across the aisle in desks with low dividers that allow everyone to see everyone else’s business. It causes problems.
For instance, Gopal stares when he’s waiting for database patches to load, which can take a while depending on network speed. Violet, who sits next to him, gets mouthy if she feels his eyeballs anywhere near her person. “Get out your phone and scroll through Facebook. You can stare at my profile picture as much as you want, just get those eyes off me when I’m try’na code.”
Life in an open-concept office is fun.
Kayla sits at the end of the farthest row next to the ample windows. Morgan sits on the other side of Violet. She gets Gopal’s eyeball treatment whenever Violet gets fed up and stomps off to the breakroom.
The JetAero Systems Support offices are in the fourth and fifth floors of the Citizen’s Tower and are fully remodeled with polished wood floors and open ceilings that offer a full view of the ductwork and piping. Both floors accommodate over one hundred employees and are divided into multiple office spaces, each equipped with glass offices, one or more conference rooms, and a kitchen with an attached breakroom.
Somehow I lucked into the best seat in the house. I’m a generous distance from the rest of the team, next to the breakroom in a bank of desks that are separated by low walls for the illusion of privacy, but it doesn’t matter because I’m over here by myself. I don’t have a cubicle, but I have peace and quiet.
I arrived at eight thirty, and I haven’t accomplished much. A typical Monday morning. My coffee needs to set in. The weekend fog needs to wear off. Becoming lost in code and losing track of the world takes energy, and I don’t have the voltage yet.
An email notification with the subject “IMMEDIATE TASKER” grabs my attention. I click on Outlook, read the email, open the attachment, and laugh out loud.
Hey. Did you see the email? I type into Teams.
Morgan: what a clown show.
Kayla: j3rkwad
According to the email, management decided our employee IDs should remain private so they created IDs for our IDs. The algorithm that generated the new IDs created offensive words, some so raunchy I can’t repeat. Others more benign, but still giggle-worthy.
Kayla: P00P
Morgan: What nincomP00P decided creating IDs for our IDs was a good idea?
Me: Someone with BA11z.
Kayla: 8OOBS
Morgan: I’m not working that tasker. If Christopher gives it to me, I’m quitting.
Me: No you won’t.
Morgan: Did you tell Christopher about your date yet?
Me: Nope.
Kayla: How is your 8UTT today?
Me: Varying shades of blue and purple.
Morgan: Aw, Danni’s 8UTT looks like Uranus.
A loud hiccup fills the office.
Kayla: This is my second case of hiccups today. Shoot me.
After several more minutes of aimless chatting while Kayla chirps like a bird, we head to the conference room for our weekly team meeting.
I take a seat at the table, settling into one of the faux-leather, well-cushioned chairs. The tempered glass wall across from me isn’t soundproofed in the slightest but it lets me watch the rest of the team saunter over.
We’re a motley crew. Young, middle-aged, old, White, Black, Hispanic, Indian. Abeer sits to my right. He’s older. An immigrant turned citizen and a dependable coder who takes orders well but rarely throws out new ideas. Reese, a tall, White, lanky Charleston-native with a tech-related, 50K-follower YouTube channel sits to my left. He’s thumbing his nose at his premature alopecia by growing every remaining hair on his head to its fullest length, including his scraggly beard which he pulls into a ponytail.
Morgan and Kayla sit across from me—Morgan next to Tanner, the twenty-three-year-old newbie to the team, and Kayla next to Juanita, who switches into Spanish whenever she’s super annoyed with management or with any of us. Usually Drew.
Drew is a contractor who carries his silicon-valley experience as a chip on his shoulder. He started six months ago to upgrade HR’s out-of-date web services after a data breach. Corporate wanted the best of the best. We got Drew. He’s good at what he does, I guess, but whatever.
He flops into a chair at the foot of the table and tosses his bangs out of his eyes. His 3D-printed equine blinkers lack sex appeal, existing only to block peripheral distractions like a horse who needs help staying focused.
“I’m here. We can start,” he says.
Juanita mutters something in Spanish.
Abeer nudges me with his elbow and looks down. I follow his gaze to his phone. It’s open to his translation app. Lord grant me the serenity to not kick that idiot in the teeth.
“You’re recording her?” I whisper.
“I’m learning Spanish,” he answers. “Curse words mostly.”
I snicker.
Kayla hiccups so violently that she bounces in her seat. “Sorry,” she says, followed by another hiccup.
“Can we put a bag over that?” Drew says. As Corporate’s golden boy, he gets away with more than the rest of us.
“We can put a bag over that attitude,” Violet answers.
Juanita mutters something in Spanish again.
Abeer angles his phone screen toward me, and I read the translation. We can put you in a bag and throw you in the dumpster.
Christopher walks in carrying his laptop. “Ignore Drew, Kayla. I don’t think he’s had his coffee yet.”
“I have had twenty-four ounces of pre-workout.”
“Take off those idiotic glasses,” Bruce grunts. He’s a stout, older Black gentleman. The best coder on the team until Drew came along. He’s bitter. I don’t blame him.
Drew looks confused, the nerd-spectacles so integral to his being that he forgot they were there, then he snatches them off his face, folds them demonstratively, and sets them on the table.
“Glad to see everyone is in a good mood this morning,” Christopher says from the head of the table. He sets his laptop down and opens it.
Christopher is short, part-Asian, surprisingly muscular. He’s rotating through various management positions as part of his executive training, but remains down-to-earth, approachable, and fun. Too fun, almost.
He drops into a chair that’s so low he looks like a toddler. After quickly adjusting the seat’s height to suit him, he turns on the flatscreen behind him. It surrounds him in a blue halo as he types.
“Fun stuff first,” he says.
Our upcoming team-building activities appear on the screen along with the dates. Christopher rubs his palms together, his excitement palpable. It doesn’t transmit to us. He’s undeterred. “This is the summer of fun people. We’ve got a full schedule.”
Violet groans.
“Tonight is Jeb’s farewell party at Stinny’s.”
Jeb, a thirty-something, red-haired contractor, raises a hand. He’s only been here two months. Not sure why he needs a going away party. His expression indicates that he doesn’t want one either.
“Our summer beach party is up next. You get six hours of admin leave, so no excuses. Bring your swimming gear. We’re going to have a superfun beach day whether you like it or not.”
No one objects. It’s six hours of leave. At a beach. That’s a no-brainer.
“The Temporal Grifter binge party is at Cassie and Luke’s house in three weeks. They’ve generously allowed us to use their theater room. The party theme is Mexican, so bring your favorite south-of-the-border or TexMex treats.”
“I’m bringing my empanadas,” Juanita says, “They’re hot. Spicy hot, with habanero peppers, so bring milk and tissues you crybabies.”
Christopher nods at Juanita. “Thanks for the warning.” He sweeps his eyes over the group. “You heard her. Bring Kleenexes and a gallon of milk.”
“I got it covered,” Bruce says.
Kayla hiccups. Her eyes go wide, and she covers her mouth.
“Spicy food causes hiccups,” Drew says.
“Seriously? I had jalapeno poppers last night!” Kayla says.
“Don’t eat my empanadas,” Juanita quips.
Kayla hiccups again.
“Breathe into a paper bag,” Abeer offers.
“Drink a glass of water upside down,” someone else throws out.
Hiccup remedies start bouncing off the walls.
“Stand on your head and recite the alphabet backwards.”
“Spin on your head three times while holding a beach ball between your knees.”
“Bungee jump upside down from the Arthur Ravenal Bridge.”
“Ha ha, everyone,” Kayla says. “I’m not doing anything upside down.”
“Bats sleep upside down,” Bruce says.
Christopher motions for us to quiet down. “Okay. Everyone.” He points two fingers at us and then repoints them at himself. “Focus, young grasshoppers.”
“Asians don’t train grasshoppers in the martial arts,” Reese says. “That’s a myth perpetuated by White male colonizers.”
“I’m not in control here, am I?” Christopher says.
“Control is an illusion,” Abeer offers. “None of us control anything.”
“Can everyone shut up?” Morgan says loudly. “Some of us have work to do.”
“Everyone listen to Morgan.” Christopher drops into his chair. After the room quiets down, he continues. “As you know, we have a new CEO. He’s reviewing our telework policy. Rumor is he’s pro-telework. I’m supposed to tell you he’s reviewing the company’s telework policy. That’s all I know.”
“Teleworking is for losers,” Drew says. “Real employees go to the office.”
“Okay, Elon,” Violet barks. “Why don’t you go work for X?”
“I might. After I set this place straight.”
Juanita grumbles. It’s too quiet for Abeer’s translation app.
“You couldn’t set a ruler straight,” Violent says.
“You could not keep your data safe,” Drew retorts.
“That web service was written before my time. Christopher, can you put a leash on your golden boy?”
“Again. Some of us have work to do,” Morgan hollers over the unfriendly banter.
“I don’t put leashes on anyone,” Christopher says.
Violet cackles. “Good to know, boss. Good to know.”
“Now, about the tasker,” he says.
The entire room groans. The actual room. I didn’t know that was possible.
Drew raises his hand. “I am on it. I will have it fixed in fifteen minutes.”
That’s not possible. I keep this observation to myself. If Drew wants to scramble a bunch of IDs, I’m not going to argue. Whenever there’s a tasker, it comes with a corporate executive breathing down your neck. No thanks.
As Christopher explains the tasker to Drew in more detail, I glance into the office and nearly swallow my tongue. Visions from the recent past flash through my mind. Chance tapping on my shoulder in line at the Carolina Excursion’s dock. Chance making my stomach bottom out on the dance floor while simultaneously filling me with helium. Chance on his balcony with his shirt off. Chance in JetAero’s Systems Support office. My office. What is he doing here?
“IT contractor.” The words echo through my mind. Chance is an IT contractor. Of course he is and of course he has a contract at JetAero.
This is not a coincidence. This is God punishing me for killing that cockroach in the parking lot!
As Chance and another guy head toward the conference room, I contemplate diving under the table and curling up in the fetal position. They’re all used to Drew being weird. Why not me?
Because then Chance would know he got to me.
I suck in a breath as he enters the room. Anymore and I’ll pop. We lock eyes. He furrows his brow. I shrug and refocus on Christopher whose words are garbled by the blood pounding against my auditory nerve.
Chance is staring at me. I feel it.
“…new contractors,” I manage to translate. “Have a seat.”
This gives me an excuse to look at Chance again. He is looking at me. I knew it. I quickly avert my eyes as he slides into a seat next to Drew.
Breathe. This is no big deal. He’s just some guy who lives next to you. Who happens to be horrible. Who now works in your office. Not a problem. Not at all. Breathe.
The pep talk calms down the throbbing in my ears. I’m able to understand Christopher’s words.
“Chance and Heng are replacing Jeb. We’re getting new work which will require extra help.”
Where will Chance sit? What project will he work on? Will he ever be in my general vicinity, and if so, should I file a restraining order? These are questions I want to ask. I stay quiet.
It’s time to go around the room and introduce ourselves.
“I’m Juanita.”
“Bruce.”
“Reese.”
“Abeer Karnik.”
“Da—“ I choke on phlegm. Chance narrows his eyes at me. “Danni,” I manage, after clearing my throat.
I bug my eyes at Morgan even though she has no idea Chance is the guy. The conceited, insensitive, arrogant, muscular guy .
Morgan looks at me funny.
Oh. She’s going to know. She and Kayla are about to get an earful as soon as this meeting is over.
Christopher rattles on for a few more minutes about our workload, customer expectations, deadlines. When he dismisses us, Drew jumps from his chair and runs through the open doorway. Maybe he has to pee. I don’t know. I don’t want to know.
As I stand to leave, Christopher says, “Chance and Heng, hang around for a bit. I need to go through some onboarding.”
Chance pushes himself away from the table and steps back, arms folded, leaving me two options. Swing behind Christopher (the long way) or cross in front of Chance. If I cross behind Christopher, I’m admitting defeat. If I cross in front of Chance, I have to cross in front of Chance .
I’m no chicken. And he’s not in control. I press my lips into a line and barge to the foot of the table, eyes locked onto Chance’s. As I pass, he doesn’t budge, but his head cocks to one side, his eyes boring into mine, like he knows . Of course he knows. I’ve never painted houses. I’m not a general contractor. I lied. Sue me. At least I didn’t upload a fake photo to MatchAI and try to catfish blonde chicks.
I stomp over to Morgan who has already settled into her low-rider ergo chair. She looks up at me and her eyes round.
“What?!” she exclaims.
“Kayla.” I summon her with my pointer finger. “Meeting. Now!”
She scrambles out of her chair and meets Morgan and me at the end of the cubicles. “What happened?” she asks.
“Private meeting in the storage room,” I say.
The storage room is behind my desk. Its footprint along with the breakroom’s creates my private little nook, necessitating my odd bank of desks.
Morgan opens the storage room door and lets out an adrenaline-inducing scream followed by, “What are you doing in there?”
“I am changing,” I hear Drew say. He doesn’t sound at all fussed.
“Why don’t you do that in the men’s bathroom?” Morgan’s voice has surpassed shrill. Soon only dogs will be able to hear her.
“I change in here every day before my bike ride. It is supposed to be private.”
I hear him shuffle to the door. It closes with a loud thud, making us all jump.
It is supposed to be private. The private go-to place where people make phone calls and have conversations they don’t want the rest of the office to hear. But it’s not a changing room.
Morgan’s mouth is hanging open and her complexion is stark white. I grab her arm and pull her toward the double doors. Kayla follows, chuckling.
We bypass the main elevators and duck into the emergency stairs. They’re private enough.
“I saw his...” Morgan says.
“Oh geez,” Kayla groans. “I don’t want to know.”
“Neither did I,” Morgan says.
“I can’t believe he’s been getting naked behind me every day,” I say.
“Fully naked,” Morgan adds.
“Seriously?” Kayla’s on the floor now, her back to the wall and her knees folded in front of her. “Why do you have to get naked to go on a bike ride?”
“He’s obviously been working out,” Morgan says.
“Can we not talk about naked Drew?” I cut in. “I have a serious problem here.”
Morgan waves her hands and shakes her head like she’s emptying it of memories. “Sorry. Right. What’s going on?”
“Chance is him .”
“Who?” Morgan joins Kayla on the landing and crosses her legs.
“ Him .“ I give in to peer pressure and collapse onto the floor.
“Chance is him?” Kayla says. “You mean crappy neighbor, horrifically heinous date him?”
“Yes!”
Morgan’s jaw drops. “No way.”
“There should be no way that we just happen to keep running into each other.“ I grab a lock of hair and ferociously twist it around my finger.
“Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something.” Morgan gently lowers my hand. “Maybe it’s trying to give you a sign.”
I slump and catch my forehead with my hands. “The universe is inanimate. It doesn’t give signs.”
“She’s right,” Kayla says.
“Don’t be so cynical.” Morgan waves away Kayla’s comment.
Kayla swats back. “I have evidence. This morning I tried to manifest a snow day and it didn’t happen.”
“It doesn’t snow in South Carolina,” Morgan says.
“Sometimes it does. And if it did, I might be able to stay home and sleep in.”
Morgan looks at Kayla dully. “It’s July.”
“Point is, I had to wake up at six thirty and get my tushy here. The universe didn’t listen.”
I sigh and straighten. “It doesn’t have ears.”
“You two are impossible. This could be the most romantic thing to happen to Danni ever.”
“If the most romantic thing to happen to me is working with the guy who bruised my butt, I’m throwing in the towel. No husband or babies for me.”
Kayla hiccups. “Aw, snails.”
“Here we go again,” Morgan says.
“I’m sick of esophageal spasms.” Kayla throws up her hands. “Also, I didn’t get enough sleep last night. Thanks universe. Given these challenges, I’m having trouble tracking. What are we talking about again?”
“We’re talking about how romantic it is that Danni keeps running into Chance.” Morgan grabs a ruffle on her rayon blouse and rubs the fabric thoughtfully between her thumb and forefinger. “Isn’t there a rule of threes?”
“No,” Kayla says forcefully.
“I think there is. If something happens three times, it’s not a coincidence. It’s a sign. Like, an answer to prayer. Surely you’ve prayed to find your soulmate.”
“Nope.”
“Your most adequate match?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“See??”
“What does it mean when you get the hiccups three times in one day?” Kayla asks. “I’ve hiccuped at least three hundred and thirty-three times today and it’s making me question the meaning of life.”
“Go gargle Dr. Pepper,” Morgan says.
“Does that work?”
“I don’t know. Try it and report back. Danni and I are talking about something important.”
“I’m talking about something important too.” Kayla pushes up her glasses and rubs her nose. “Danni, it’s all just a coincidence. The universe, if it moved us around like chess pieces, would not match you with a jerk. If anything, Satan is trying to ensnare you.”
Morgan drops her ruffle. “You don’t believe in the universe, but you believe in Satan?”
“I grew up in the church. You know that.”
“None of this is helping me,” I cut in. “How am I supposed to work with that jerkwad?”
“I get why you said he’s a ten,” Morgan says wistfully.
“Not. Helping.”
“Sorry.”
“He’ll be across the room.” Kayla hiccups and then rests her hand on my arm. “You won’t even be working on the same project. It’ll be fine.”
“We work in a fishbowl,” I say.
“But you’re in your happy little nook with your happy little desk.” Hiccup.
“Painting happy little trees,” Morgan adds.
I consider Kayla’s positivity for a second. It doesn’t pass muster. “So, the God and Satan thing makes more sense to me. I’m pretty sure God is punishing me for killing the cockroach that scoped out my cleavage.”
“You actually think that’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
“It’s the most recent. Besides getting ‘cranky’ with Chance. But that was his fault, so it doesn’t count.”
“God doesn’t even like cockroaches,” Kayla says.
“A cockroach scoped out your cleavage?” Morgan asks, smartly moving away from pointing out my past wrongs.
“After I threw jerkwad’s trash in the dumpster.”
Morgan looks impressed. “The plot keeps thickening.”
“Did you throw up?” Kayla says after another hiccup.
“All over myself.”
They know about my tendency to throw up in the presence of gross bugs. It happened at their apartment when I saw a silverfish crawl out of the tub drain. So gross.
Morgan rests her hands on her knees. “So. What have we concluded here?”
“Nothing,” I say glumly.
“A: Maybe Chance isn’t as bad as you think he is,” Morgan continues despite me, “and B: You’re stuck working with him so you may as well try to get along.”
I gape at her. “We concluded that?”
Morgan nods. I look at Kayla for backup.
“She’s right,” Kayla says. She sucks in a deep breath and holds it.
“I could quit.”
“You are not quitting over some jerkwad,” Morgan says.
“You just said he might not be as bad as I think he is.”
She leans toward me. “If I’m wrong, do you want him to win?”
Her comment ignites something in my chest, stirs the young embers, causes sparks to fly out my ears. She’s right. JetAero is mine . My best friends are here. I have a great boss. As grumpy as my teammates are, they’re fun to work with. Maybe because they’re grumpy.
Point being, I’ve established myself here. I’ve developed the best friendships of my life. I’m not going to let Chance ruin it. He’s a contractor anyway. They come and go. “Okay, fine.”
Morgan dips her head to meet my eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’ll be fine. I’ll ignore him. He’ll ignore me. Life at JetAero will go on.”
Kayla forcefully blows out her breath. And then hiccups. “Do you guys think you could hold me upside down for a few minutes?”
“No,” Morgan and I say in unison.