5
First Day In Hell
Amanda
(Two months later…)
I stand in front of the shiny building with nerves fluttering in my stomach.
Matthias, LLC.
An investment group that’s been buying up shops all over town and flipping them to be successful. According to the ad in my purse, they need someone to file. I don’t care what the job is as long as it pays better than the shitty diner.
I can’t take one more complaint about my lousy service without spraying someone down with a ketchup bottle. The pay is terrible, tips are hard to come by, and I think the cook spits in everything he makes. The last few months of living expenses have drained my meager savings to nothing. I need more money and, hopefully, some steady hours.
This is the only office job I could find, so I figured that with my banking experience, this should be an easy fit. I look down at my thrift store-bought skirt suit with a cringe and then straighten my shoulders. Survive or don’t—those are my choices right now.
I’m a Jefferson, and we don’t stop fighting.
I walk in and fill out an application. The gray-haired receptionist looks like she’s been harassed all morning, and it’s only eight-thirty. When I’m done, I look at all the blinking lights on her phone as she puts another person on hold.
“Can I help?” I ask with a raised brow. I’ve been there, this part of any office job sucks. Plus, it will leave a good impression on someone who already works here.
“Can you answer a phone?” she says baldly.
I slide behind the desk to start answering calls. It doesn’t matter if I place them all on hold after taking their names and which department they need. It’s help, and she needs it desperately. As we settle into a groove, she writes the codes for how to transfer and to which departments.
I’ve been there for over an hour when a blond rushes in with pink cheeks, sliding to a surprised stop at my chair.
“Ellen,” the woman next to me glares.
“I’m sorry I was caught up with something, Harriette,” she wiggles her eyebrows pointedly.
My stomach pitches because my first thought is who is he married to ?
I stand quickly and give the woman a polite smile. She hardly notices as she takes the seat and begins gossiping about how well-endowed the man from last night was. Harriette is at least in her sixties. How can she want to hear that? I don’t, and I’m in my late twenties.
I’m halfway down the block when my phone rings. I have a moment of joy, thinking it must be Justin ready to tell me it was all a joke and he’s waiting for me at home.
The delusional thought startles me as I pull my phone out. I’ve lost my damn mind.
It’s been months of silence, even though I keep texting him with the same demand. I want a divorce. I’ve even changed his name to Loser on my phone. A joke between my parents and me about how worthless he is despite all his pathetic piles of money.
We’ve broken down into hoping he’ll file for divorce and take the brunt of the fees. If I’m served paperwork, my lawyer will cost a lot less. Between my broke ass and the insanely high interest rate on my parent’s credit card, I’m spinning my wheels in this town. I haven’t bothered trying to secure a lawyer due to the lack of money.
A cautious glance lets me know it’s an unknown number.
I answer it quickly, trying to sound confident. It might be a telemarketer, but I’m not risking missing a possible job opportunity.
The voice on the other end sounds harassed and very familiar.
“You start tomorrow, Amanda,” Harriette says without a pause. “I’m getting paperwork ready for you, and if there’s a God, I’ll have you next to me by eight a.m. tomorrow. If there isn’t, you’ll be filing Sarah’s mistakes instead.”
She hangs up before I can ask a single question.
I clutch the phone to my chest and squeal in happiness with a quick dance to celebrate. I’ll work one last shift tonight at the restaurant, and tomorrow will be a brand new day.
* * *
I spend my weekdays at Matthias, LLC, directly after the satisfying I quit moment at the diner. I’m now mindlessly trying to create order in a dismal filing room under the uninterested eye of Sarah, the head of the filing department. Harriette is furious over it.
I rarely see anyone, which makes the transition pretty smooth. Sarah shuffled me into the cramped room with barely a glance and closed me in without any instructions. There isn’t anyone else working in filing, which makes me wonder if the head of the department is a made-up title for Sarah’s bloated ego to prop itself on.
The room doesn’t have windows or air conditioning. I’ve tried convincing myself that it’s an excellent way to lose weight, but it isn’t working well. There are files everywhere. It looks like nothing has been done here for a while.
I enjoy the mindless monotony of it, despite the dismal conditions. My first paycheck doesn’t make me want to break down in tears and buy a box of ramen. I’ve now moved up to hot dogs and mac and cheese.
Most of the paperwork is a lot of nonsense that I ignore. I look at the name and file it. That’s it. It’s an onslaught of paperwork from different ventures. One is the country club Loser goes to every weekend to schmooze people. Then there’s the fancy place called Le Chique close to downtown. Another is a bar on the other side of town called the Bittersweet Outpost. I’ll have to go there sometime. The word bittersweet sums me up perfectly. And I can say I got out of my damn apartment for something other than work or groceries.
A month in, the company gets bought out, and I start sweating about being fired. It becomes a sigh of relief when we’re told that the owner’s brother purchased the place, and no one is getting shuffled around.
To celebrate, I take a car share to the bar and sit alone, wondering what I’m doing. It’s a popular spot, and I get to watch couples dance or play pool.
I’ve never felt so alone before.
When a waitress drops off my celebration nachos I pick at them without much interest. What happened to me? I used to have a lot of friends and spend more time being active.
A body slides into the booth across from me and I glance up with a scowl. Despite being lonely, I’m not in the mood for company either.
The golden-haired man across from me has the brightest aqua eyes. Contacts have come a long way. He relaxes back and eyes my food with a curious head tilt.
“I’m not looking for company,” I tell him flatly and take a defiant bite of a chip.
“That’s ok, company is looking for you instead,” he tells me with a bright grin. It doesn’t sit right on his face. In fact, it makes him look downright psychotic.
“Hey man, I just want to eat my nachos and go home, ok?”
“Sure,” he agrees but doesn’t leave.
I raise both brows pointedly, and his grin gets scarily wider.
“What are those?” He points a finger at the chips and cheese. His nails are neon pink in the brightest shade. It’s like an undiscovered color of pink that’s almost incandescent.
I look at the plate of food and back at him with a frown. He may speak English, but it’s becoming obvious that he’s not from around here.
“Nachos.”
“Huh, they smell good. Are they good?”
“Yeah,” I lean back with a sigh. The guy is starving and angling for food, not a date. Considering how much ramen I’ve eaten over the last few months, it pulls at my reluctant, rage-filled heartstrings.
“Go ahead,” I wave him on. “Try some.”
He looks at me in surprise, his grin faltering. His hand hesitantly reaches for it, as if I’m going to say, "Just kidding," and snatch it away.
When he takes his first bite, I swear he has an eyes rolled back orgasm. He makes so much noise as he grabs the plate and starts devouring it all that I get second hand embarrassment. No one seems to be paying attention to the obvious foodgasm that’s happening in front of me.
“Tone it down,” I grit out through my teeth.
He ignores me, dragging his tongue across the plate in the most obscene way.
“My thanks,” he drops the plate with wide eyes. He sounds genuinely pleased and surprised. “I have never had such decadence before. It pleases me more than anything I have ever eaten.”
The sudden change in his speech makes me draw back warily.
“I owe for this,” he mutters as he licks any residue off his fingers. I cringe and try to hand him a napkin.
He takes it and looks at me solemnly without using it.
“I have seen your kindness now, Reluctant One. In return, I will advise you. Accept all offers made to you. They will benefit you greatly. Wisdom will be yours, whether you seek it or not.”
Did I just get my fortune told by a nacho-stealing crazy man?
His expression returns to a broad grin abruptly as he tosses the napkin onto the empty plate.
“In other words, say yes to everything before it says yes to you and trust your instincts. I have to go now, but it was great meeting you, Amanda. I hope you enjoy your book.”
Then he slides out of the booth, leaving me hungry and confused.
Where’s the damn check? I need to get out of here and never come back.
When I wave someone down, my phone chirps, reminding me that I’m still on Loser’s phone plan. I plan on fixing that as soon as I can.
It’s a text from Janine. I haven’t heard from her since I called and left her a message about everything going on when I left Loser’s place. What took her so long? And why haven’t I tried to speak to her since then? I’ve been so stuck in my misery that I haven’t taken a second to breathe.
Janine: OMG. Just got back in town from Paris. Let’s meet up.
Being alone and refinding myself is nice and all, but I could use a friendly ear. Plus, Mr. Nacho Man just told me to say yes to everything, so I’ll give it a go and see what happens.