2. Lucienne
Thursday, October 5th
Colette waves frantically from the driver’s seat. “Morning, sunshine! I come bearing gifts. Well, a gift in the form of coffee.”
I plop myself into the passenger seat and give her a coy smile. “Is it really a gift if I sent you $6.25 via Venmo this morning?”
“I sent it back, so yes, it’s still a gift.” She pokes my nose.
As Colette pulls away from the curb, I peer over at her through half-closed eyes. Her sleek, strawberry blonde hair is pulled into a French twist. She’s wearing a periwinkle blue blazer and matching slacks, her nails painted a complementary but neutral beige.
“You look fantastic. Stop it,” she snaps.
I let my head loll lazily to my shoulder, “Can’t I just admire how hot my best friend is?”
“You could if that’s what you were actually doing. I’m a blazer gal; you’re a cardigan gal. You look great.” Colette uncurls my hand from my dress and holds it in hers. “Seriously, Lucy, you pull off the witchy vibes better than anyone.”
My patchwork dress cuts off right above my knees. I paired it with a chunky olive green cardigan, black tights, and brown ankle boots.
The witchy vibes are, indeed, strong.
If my outfit isn’t workplace appropriate, Colette doesn’t say anything. Her style has always been very prim, proper, and polished. We could not be more different in so many ways.
I squeeze her hand in mine, grateful for the reassuring gesture. “So, what fresh hell awaits me today, boss?”
Colette lets out an airy laugh. “Do you want me to answer that as your boss or your friend? I can do either. Or one then the other.” She catches her bottom lip with her front teeth in a smile.
“Surprise me,” I say.
She sighs, removing her hand from mine to take a sip of her coffee. “Okay, well, I think it will generally be fine, but the system demonstration and new team assignments are at the end of the day. You have to promise me you’ll have an open mind. Just because this system starts you off with a template doesn’t mean your expertise isn’t needed to create something unique, that stands out. You’re the designer and without you, every website would just look the same.”
“I see you took the route of answering as both my boss and my friend. Crafty,” I say.
“I’m getting better at it. What are you thinking?” Colette locks eyes with me for a brief moment.
“Look, I just need to keep my job. I’ll make this system work for me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t complain about it. Digital design is dependent on technologies and software. I just get nervous when those technologies and software try to mimic human creativity. Before you respond, I know that wouldn’t be fair to say about this whole thing because I haven’t used it yet, but I don’t know. It feels like that’s what’s happening. It makes me nervous.” I shrug.
She finds my hand once more. “There’s no technology, software, robot, or other form of intelligent life that could replicate what you do.”
I don’t know what I’d do without her, honestly.
I’m teetering between crippling self-doubt and stubborn confidence. It’s called stress.
I trace the rim of my coffee cup with my index finger. “Okay, okay. I didn’t ask last night because I wanted to make sure you were trapped in the car with me unable to get away, but when are you going to tell me about your date? You’ve been holding out on me.”
She curls her lips inward, suppressing what I would describe as a shit-eating grin.
Oh, it must have gone very well.
Her cheeks burn bright red. She blinks rapidly, shaking her head as if to snap herself out of a trance. “It was fine.”
I’m invested now and insatiably curious.
I turn my whole body toward her, straining against my seat belt. “You’re a filthy little liar. It was more than fine! Do we need to crack your window or—?” I laugh as she clears her throat, loosening her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.
“I don’t kiss and tell,” she squeaks.
“Since when? Colette Elizabeth Ashburn, tell me!”
Colette rolls her eyes and bites her lip. She’s been seeing Zade for a few weeks now. They met at a pub down on Church Street during Oktoberfest and she hasn’t stopped talking about him since. I have never seen her so taken with someone before. Colette is all doe-eyed as she turns to me, her emerald eyes gleaming.
“I may or may not have spent the night, okay? Don’t be fooled by the put-together ensemble today,” she laughs. “He’s—erm—very generous in bed. That’s all I’m saying.”
A pluck of jealousy makes my chest feel tight. Colette deserves to feel this way, to find someone who makes her feel like she’s walking on air. I know it may be early, but I am happy for her. However, her newfound companionship is just another reminder that I am, indeed, alone.
It’s by choice, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it or that it’s what I want.
Relationships have always been more painful than pleasurable for me. I tend to fall first and foolishly go all in. Maybe I’m too intense because it has always resulted in whoever I’m with slowly disentangling themselves and, eventually, ending things.
They try a gentle approach to spare my feelings as much as they can. I can appreciate that in a way, but it has the opposite effect. Seeing how hard they try to make it about themselves just makes me feel ten times more undesirable. At one point, I believed I wasn’t someone anyone would want. I’m not too sure that’s changed, but I’m holding out hope that it can when the right person comes along—
“Lucy? Hey, where did you go? Lost you for a second there.” Colette is eyeing me affectionately, her hand on the door handle.
I smooth out my dress in my lap and give her a small smile. “I’m here. I was just thinking. And I’m happy you got laid.”
“Me too! Come on,” she laughs.
We arrive at the office as the morning sun begins to peek through a wisp of clouds. The parking lot is cast in a light fog. The straw-colored scarf I snatched on my way out the door is wrapped around my neck and smells like toasted vanilla. It’s a small comfort as Colette and I walk through the main entrance, met with the smell of stale carpet and fresh plastic.
A reception desk sits to our right. Wilder Creative Solutions is displayed in large, cursive letters on the wall to our left. For a company that offers web design and development services, the aesthetic of the office is incredibly bland. Then again, Colette told me that the office building was secured shortly before they moved to a primarily remote workforce, so it makes sense that they kept things simple.
Colette is scrolling through her phone. “We’re set up on the third floor, I think. At least that’s what it looks like on the app. There’s an elevator down the hall.” She loops her arm in mine and tugs me past the reception desk.
“I know my sense of direction is something to be envious of, but I won’t get lost in the entryway,” I protest.
“Oh, I’m not leaving it up to chance,” Colette shoots back, holding me closer.
We step inside the elevator and I check the posted inspection certificate because, well, I’ve seen enough of the Final Destination films to not take the risk. I press the 3 button, which illuminates as the doors begin to close with a suspicious creak.
Suddenly, there is a loud thud as four fingers appear between the closing doors. Colette and I both jump, but I’m the only one who fumbles their coffee, spilling it down the front of my dress and all over the carpeted floor.
“Shit—” Colette takes the coffee from my hand, then frantically resecures the lid that went flying.
As I curse under my breath, a bewildered man steps inside. His honey brown hair is tied back in a bun, but a few strands come loose in his haste. Who the hell—
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle either of you; I should have yelled to hold the door. Are you alright?” he pants, fumbling the laptop bag on his shoulder.
My eyes are on the now drenched carpet under my feet, but my gaze quickly travels up his body absentmindedly. His gray suit is perfectly tailored, a thin red tie against his white button-up shirt.
I can’t help but notice how the fabric pulls tight across his chest with each inhale. I lock eyes with him and need to consciously take a breath. The tick in his square jaw sends an uncomfortable shock through my body. His eyes are a shimmering green.
“How much of this macchiato are you wearing?” asks Colette.
I look in her direction and subconsciously wipe at my dress. “You tell me. How much is left?”
“God, I’m sorry. I’m—” he starts.
I snatch my coffee from Colette and cross my arms. As if I’m not self-conscious and anxious enough today. Now, thanks to this annoyingly obscenely hot man, I can also be self-conscious about smelling like old milk and caramel for the rest of the day.
“No worries. Accidents happen,” I say through clenched teeth.
Colette huffs. “I’ll get you a replacement after work. It’s on me.”
Gray Suit’s eyes dart from me to Colette. He opens his mouth to say something but snaps it shut, pulling his lips in a thin line. Without saying another word, he grips the strap of his bag tight and straightens his posture.
I’m embarrassed about being frustrated, and frustrated at my embarrassment.
His brow is furrowed and despite my annoyance, I get the unsettling urge to reach my fingers and smooth the anxious crease in his forehead.
Fuck, he really is hot.
He’s also a bumbling jackass who tries to jump through closing elevator doors, scaring everyone else inside, causing them to spill their $6.25 Starbucks coffee.
The small space feels like it’s closing in on us with the amount of tension building.
Colette slices through. “I’m Colette Ashburn, Web Design and Development Creative Director,” she says, extending a free hand.
Gray Suit sighs with presumed relief and gives her hand a firm shake in return. He smiles and I catch a glimpse of a single dimple.
Get me out of this elevator, now. Before I spontaneously combust.
“Jude Carr, Project Manager of Creative Technologies,” he responds.
Colette looks at me expectantly as Jude offers his hand to me. “And I’m sorry. You are?” he asks.
“Covered in expensive coffee,” I snap.
I’m filled with immediate regret.
Just because I’m seething with annoyance and sudden lust doesn’t mean I need to make him feel like shit about an accident. But I feel the opportunity to apologize slip away as he tenses, tucks his hand in his pocket, and stares at the elevator door.
Colette pinches my side and I bat her hand away. Before things can become more unbearable, the elevator doors open to the third floor. I rush past Colette and Jude as quickly as I can, trying to shield my face from their view.
Am I seriously about to cry over spilled milk—and coffee? Okay, it’s not about the coffee. It’s also not about the milk. I let my anxiety get the best of me. Being so outwardly rude to a complete stranger is out of character for me, but so is the effect Jude had on me.
Watching the fleeting, shifting emotions swimming in those eyes as he fumbled through that absolute mess of awkwardness was confusingly alluring. It’s not even 8:00 a.m. and I’m emotionally spent.
I pass by rows of cubicles, where people are already mingling as they settle in. Each row of four cubicles is numbered, but the individual desks have name tags as well. While getting ready this morning, I checked the company app to confirm my assigned seat.
With my head down, I locate row 6 and the desk with my name tag, relieved to find I’m right beside a large window overlooking the pond toward the back of the building. The water’s surface is almost hidden by an array of colored, fallen leaves.
Well, at least I have a peaceful view to take in throughout the day. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Colette:Um, hello?! I’m about to go into back-to-back meetings, but we are absolutely talking about what the hell just happened!
Lucienne:Later. Please.
Colette:No shit, later! I gotta go. Don’t bite off anyone else’s head today, okay?
Lucienne:I’ll do my best…