44. Margot
44
margot
My eyes burn into the paper calendar on my desk in my office. Taking off the sheet for October was bittersweet. Just two weeks ago, I was visiting Jackson. I had been counting down the days, doodling, and writing notes to myself just to get to the day I’d see him. I liked seeing that written excitement as a reminder even after the trip was over.
Now we’re officially in November, and there are no fun plans. No doodles. No notes. Just scheduled work meetings and deadlines penciled in. There won’t be anything Jackson related on my calendar until next month, and it already makes me wish I could skip ahead to the day I can peel off the November sheet.
Then he’ll be home. His tour will have ended, and even though his manager has talked about a headlining tour, there’s nothing officially on the books yet. Maybe he’ll be home for a longer stretch of time than he was in the summer. Maybe they’ll go back into the studio and take their time with it since they have more money to work with.
All things I should ask him, but all things I’m the tiniest bit afraid to know the answer to. There’s a chance he’ll have to go back on the road right away, and I want to hold on to this na?ve hope a little while longer.
Derek stops at my door and knocks on the frame. “I’m heading out, but there are a few cookies left in the break room if you want to take them home for your roommates.”
I get to my feet. My workday is done, too. I should probably get home and stop staring at this calendar. “Are you sure?” I ask as I pick up my cardigan from the back of my chair and slip it on.
He pats his stomach. “I certainly don’t need them.”
I laugh. “I’m sure my roommates would love that. Thank you.” I technically only have one roommate, but I think I talk about Matt and Braden enough for Derek to assume they must live with me.
He nods before giving a wave. “See you Monday, kid.”
“Enjoy your weekend!” I call after him as I gather my things.
Leaving my office, I turn to head into the break room, but stop short when I almost run into Karah. “Sorry. Hey,” I say, taking a step back.
“Oh, Margot. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” She smiles, but there’s a chill behind it. “I saw your latest submission, and it needs some work.”
“For the bookstore?”
She nods.
“Derek approved that already.” I falter as I point my thumb over my shoulder like Derek might still be behind me somewhere.
She nods solemnly. “I know. It’s just—well, I don’t think it’s your best work. It just didn’t grab me, and if we’re going to give it as much space as you insist, it needs to be . . . better.”
“Better?”
“I’m afraid so.”
I blink. “Oh. Um, sure. When do you need it by? ”
She grimaces, but it doesn’t come across genuine. “Well, it was supposed to be finalized today.”
“It was finalized today.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Right. I’ll just get it done now. I still have . . .” I check the time on my phone. “Ten minutes left in my shift.”
“Just make sure it gets done.” She beams with a catlike grin. “I’ll lock up behind me since you’ll be here alone, and you just do the same when you leave.”
Ever since I stood up for my story on the bookstore, being around Karah has felt like a double-edged sword. She may have commended me for my actions that night, but ever since, it’s felt like the opposite.
“Okay. Thanks.” I give her the best smile I can muster before stepping around her to go into the break room. I need one of those cookies.
“Oh, and Margot?”
Stopping, I slowly turn on my heels. “Yeah?”
“Don’t bury your voice.” She winks before turning and heading toward the front doors.
I stare after her, unsure of what that even means, but I have no interest in asking her to explain further. With a small nod, I give a tight-lipped smile and head into the break room. I stand, staring at the beautifully plated cookies for a moment and wishing Derek were still here so I could ask him what the hell I’m supposed to do now.
I wait for the sound of Karah closing and locking the front door to snatch the cookies off the table and march back into my office. My fingers punch the keys as I type in my password to log back into my computer. I pull up the story on the bookstore and glare at it. How is this not my best work? This is the story I’ve been most passionate about for weeks. Karah saw the original and seemed fine with it. Once I learned it would get more page space, I had to add to it .
Reaching for my phone, I debate texting Jackson. We’ve been texting more since New York. I think the trip is what we needed to fall back into a sense of normalcy. I thought I would feel distant from him now that we’re apart again, but I haven’t. He’s always within reach with a push of a button. I just wasn’t utilizing it enough before.
It’s a Friday night, though. I don’t even have to look up the tour dates to know he’s probably doing sound checks and warming up with the band. Plus, if I don’t want to be here all night, I need to work on this. Calling him will only delay the weekend at this point.
Instead, I unlock my phone and text Rae.
Margot:
Working late tonight.
The three dots appear right away.
Rae:
Noooo. On a Friday? That shouldn’t be allowed.
Margot:
I know! I’ll tell you about it later.
She likes the message, and I turn my phone face down so I can get to work. I scan over the words I carefully curated, trying to figure out what my voice even is, so I can know if I’ve lost it somewhere along the way.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been working, but I’m completely lost in what I’m doing. My fingers type away at the keys as I try to insert more of myself into my work, but I still don’t fully understand what she meant, and it’s making this a slow process.
A knock on the front door jolts me from my thoughts, and I stare in that direction even though I can’t see the actual door from here. I’d have to turn down a small hallway to get to it, but I’m suddenly gripped by panic. Reaching for my phone, I turn it over to check the time. Who the hell would try to get into this office right now?
The knock sounds again. It’s slow, not aggressive, but that somehow makes it more eerie. My heart races because I know I shouldn’t answer that door. I’ve seen enough crime documentaries to know that. But at the same time, all the lights are still on in the office. If I even walk out there to get a better look, whoever it is will likely see me.
Maybe it’s Derek? Maybe Karah told him she wanted me to stay late to redo the story and he plans on offering some help? As nice as he is, I think that would be a little too generous, even for him.
The knock sounds again, but this time it’s accompanied by a voice. “Margot?”