Chapter 9
JILL AND I WALK through the doors of The Rundown at nine the next morning. Imani brought in bagels that are still hot. I slather mine in cream cheese, grab a bottle of water, and take a seat at my desk. I’m expecting the same chatter as yesterday, but the women work in complete silence. Jillian had told me nine o’clock to noon is when everyone is their most productive.
I’ve eaten two bagels when Camilla steps out of her office around ten. She’s wearing these vintage flared jeans and a tight button-up shirt that rests just above her belly button. “Time for our weekly rundown,” she says, standing behind my desk. “Who wants to go first?”
“I will,” says Maude. “I’m still working on my meet-the-writers campaign. Fatima is working on some of the graphics for it, and I’m planning on running it sometime next month. There’s a huge trend for transparency on socials right now. Users who feel a connection with the people behind the brand are more likely to follow and engage with their content. I’m hoping that when this campaign launches, we’ll see a spike in engagement and readership. If we do, I have a ton of ideas on how we can build this up even further in the future.”
As Maude speaks, I open my notebook and jot down notes. Her ideas are so interesting. Before today, I had no idea that social media could even be considered a full-time job.
Beneath the table, Jill kicks my foot. “You don’t need to write this down,” she hisses.
I ignore her and keep at it.
“Maude, that sounds amazing,” Camilla says. “Definitely keep me updated on dates for when that’s going live. Fatima, run the artwork by me whenever you’ve got some rough drafts ready. Who’s next?”
Everyone else takes turns sharing: Imani is working on a piece covering a new restaurant opening down the street, which I make a mental note to order takeout from one day for lunch, and Michelle is editing her article on sustainable fashion, which I already can’t wait to read.
It’s only day two, and it feels like the world of Ridgewood is slowly expanding. There are more people to get to know, family-owned shops to visit, new career paths to explore. I tap my foot excitedly.
When it’s Jill’s turn to share, she checks her watch before speaking. “I have someone coming in today for an interview in an hour. We’ll be hanging out on the couch, if everyone could give us a bit of privacy.”
I watch Camilla, who is looking around the room with something similar to pride on her face. “Thanks for the great works as always. Jackie, how do feel about reorganizing some files?”
Which is how I end up buried in boxes of paperwork dating back three years. There are bills, receipts, employee documents, and so many other papers I can’t even decipher. Since the office is so small as it is, there’s barely enough space for all of it. Luckily Jill has abandoned her desk, setting up on the couch for her interview. I take over her area for the meantime and begin sorting through these files.
I’ve barely dug into them when the front door opens and Jillian jumps off the couch like her legs are bouncy springs. I’m ready to ignore whoever she’s interviewing so I can tackle the gigantic stack of papers, when I see a familiar figure standing in the doorway.
A figure that preoccupies the majority of my nightmares.
Wilson steps into The Rundown and crosses so many metaphorical lines. Monte’s is mutual space where we can coexist, fine. The entire town of Ridgewood is also big enough for the two of us to live in. But you know what isn’t? This teeny-tiny office, which is barely big enough to fit seven woman, let alone Wilson and his ego the size of Mars. The second his denim-clad legs step inside, these four walls have been tainted. Ruined. I watch in real time as this growing safe haven is invaded by rival forces.
It’s beginning to feel like the only solution left is to move to another state, because this one is clearly too small.
Wilson has the audacity to make himself comfortable on the couch. Has he spotted me yet? Unknown. I’m too busy staring daggers into my traitorous sister’s back—which is well deserved since she just stabbed me in mine.
Jillian waltzes back over to her desk. She may as well be whistling a show tune and skipping, she is so nonchalant. “Holy shit, Jackie. I’ve been gone for twenty minutes, and it looks like a tornado hit.”
“Jillian,” I say sternly. “How could you?”
She pauses, a sheet of paper dangling from her fingers. By the look on her face, she is genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”
I cannot believe her. “You brought Wilson here!”
“And?”
“You know he’s my enemy. You couldn’t give me a heads-up?”
“Oh my God, Jackie.” She sighs, shoveling more papers aside and grabbing her laptop buried beneath. “You’re eighteen. You don’t have an enemy.”
I do, and she has now been added to the list. “What is he doing here?” I risk a glance at Wilson, who is thankfully looking down at his phone.
“I’m very obviously interviewing him,” she says. “I’m writing a piece on Monte’s and how Wilson’s younger management style will shape the future of a Ridgewood landmark.”
I think my sister has been abducted by aliens. “‘Ridgewood landmark’? Last week you referred to it as ‘that dump Jackie works at.’”
“Can you”—she glances around, flashing me a look—“keep your voice down. I have to go interview him. We can discuss this later.”
Before I can respond, she’s walking back to the couch, her laptop tucked beneath her arm.
I get Jillian having to do the interview, I do. This is her job, and my emotions shouldn’t get in the way of that. But I was venting to her about Wilson just a few nights ago. The least she could’ve done was give me a heads-up that he’d be here! Instead of him walking through the door and Jillian acting as if I’m the one being delusional.
Deciding I need to cool off, I go for a walk around the neighborhood—ignoring Wilson as I leave—and grab a croissant sandwich from a bakery nearby. When my break is over, I head back to the office and spot Wilson standing outside, like he’s waiting for me. He’s leaning against the window, his obscenely tall limbs causing him to obstruct a poster that reads Women: Half the Population, All the Brains.
“You’re blocking a very important message,” I say, nodding toward the window. Wilson glances behind him, takes an absurd amount of time to read seven words, then scootches over.
“Does that apply to all women but you?” he asks.
“Congratulations. That’s the first decent comeback you’ve ever had.”
Before I can shove my way inside, he asks, “When did you start working here?”
“Yesterday,” I say casually, crossing my arms.
“Does that mean you’re leaving Monte’s?” He asks it with a little too much excitement.
“Luckily for you, I’m not. I’m working here mornings that I’m not scheduled at Monte’s.”
He crosses his long legs and leans back against the window, away from the poster this time. “Oh yeah? Is that lucky for me?”
“Yes,” I say. “Good luck trying to find someone with low enough self-worth to wear a frog costume four times a week.”
I don’t know what Jillian said to put Wilson into a good mood, but he laughs at that. For a split second, I swear his eyes run over my blue dress before finding their way back to mine. “I’m sure I can find someone,” he says. “And probably someone with a lot less attitude and a way better work ethic.”
“Don’t talk about Anita like that,” I say. “Why are you, like, being weird?”
Wilson’s eyebrows draw together. “How am I being weird?”
“You’re smiling. Stop it, it’s off-putting.”
Wilson pushes off the wall. Standing up straight, he towers over me. “Your sister’s really great is all,” he says. “Hard to believe you two are related.”
“Okay, wow . And you were just complaining about my attitude?” Because it looks like he’s about to leave and I’m not done annoying him yet, I add, “How did the interview go? Should I expect your resignation once this tell-all is published? What skeletons are coming out of your closet?”
“You should,” he says. “It’ll be filled with lots of scandals, like how I gave our night cleaners a raise, or my idea to hire real chefs to create an entirely new menu that focuses on food that is actually, you know, edible and slightly nutritious.”
I gasp. “You know we Americans hate nutrition.” I mean, I did just eat a pastry for lunch that is half butter so, case in point.
But... It sounds kind of like a good idea. Back when I was waitressing, there were more than a few moments where customers asked for something green on the menu—to which I could only recommend the fried pickles. Still, I would rather melt into a puddle than admit that to Wilson’s face.
“I know you hate nutrition,” he says. “Don’t think I’m not aware that you and Anita are responsible for our candy supply running out so quickly.”
“Prove it.”
“Jackie, we have cameras everywhere.”
“Then I’ll see you in court.”
I’m sure he is about to sling some retort to one-up me, but a baby blue Mini Cooper pulls up on the street, with all the windows down and the radio blasting. Kenzie is in the driver’s seat, waving out the window.
“Hi, Jackie!” she calls.
“Hi!” I wave back, then turn to Wilson and add, “Please just tell me how much you’re paying her to date you.”
“Whatever you’re thinking, double it,” he says.
I gasp the biggest gasp of all gasps. “I knew it!”
Wilson just shakes his head like a disappointed parent. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” he says. “Unless you’re still too sick to come in for your shift.”
Somehow, my gasp grows bigger. “I made a miraculous recovery.”
Wilson purses his lips. “I can see that.” Then he gets into the car with Kenzie, they kiss, and she tosses me another wave before her tires screech and the Mini flies down the road.