Chapter 2 Kyran
Kyran
I double check the number, having received it from a potential client from last night.
Not that it would make a difference seeing as they’re the one who typed it in, and I don't have anything to compare it to.
Maybe they were a little too tipsy after all; reasons why I tried to advocate for alcohol to not be present at business ventures, but I digress.
The first Thursday of every month, we hold a mixer for all of the local clients and members we work for as well as any referrals they might have. It acts as an attempt to bring in new business while also making our current clients feel celebrated as we check in with their needs.
Maybe it's a good thing the number is wrong because the person who gave it to me didn’t seem at all serious about talking business and I honestly don’t really want to take on another client right now.
But as I exit through the revolving door of my work building and enter the crowded sidewalk, something pulls at me to analyze the message.
3:18pm
I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong number.
As I get to the crosswalk, I decide to just stuff my phone back into my suit pocket. Wrong number. End of story.
Or so I think.
After a few more minutes of walking, I finally make it to the door of my apartment building and the doorman rings me in, allowing me access to the lobby where I head for the elevators that take me up to my condo.
Once inside my home, I kick off my shoes and remove my suit jacket, laying it nicely in the laundry room right off of the kitchen before heading back to my bedroom to jump in the shower.
It's usually the same routine most days.
Wake up. Emails. Work. Meetings. Go home.
Shower. Emails. Bed. The repetitiveness is not something that's talked about much and eventually it catches up, even if I do really like my job.
But what's the point of having a life you like if you don't have anyone to like it with?
Ah, who the hell am I kidding? It's my own fault I don't have a love life of sorts. I pour all of my energy into my work which is probably why I'm so good at it.
I get out of the shower and dress for the night, heading to the kitchen for a beer before sitting down on the couch and flipping the T.V on.
But even now, something still bothers me.
I don’t even know why, but I keep glancing at my phone.
I feel a slight tug to respond to the message.
At least just to apologize for bothering them.
Not that it's my fault I got the wrong number.
Again, I'm not mad or truly upset by the mishap but something in my conscience is urging me to respond. If it truly is the wrong number, I’ll delete the contact out of my phone and put it out of my mind.
3:32pm
Were you not at the financial mixer last night?
I look at my message and immediately regret it. I should just leave it be. It's not even that big of a deal and like I said, I don't need any new clients to take on right now.
Never mind. Must have been a mistake. Sorry to bother you.
I set my phone down and nurse my beer, watching the comedy that displays on the T.V for a bit, before I decide it's time for bed.