Chapter 7
LOREN
Dad
Please call your mom
Is it about tornadoes?
I’d rather not say
After a terrible thunderstorm that kept me up half the night, there’s finally a nip to the air as I make my way through my office’s very full parking lot.
Which begs the question: Why is it so full?
I check my watch for the third time in as many minutes.
It’s not even eight o’clock yet. Most people rock up at nine or even nine-thirty.
The joys of working for a “progressive” company with flexible hours.
The instant coffee I made before leaving my place sloshes in my takeaway cup as I jog up the three stairs to the main entrance.
The glass door swings wide, and Meg is there, holding it open so I don’t have to. “You’re late.”
I check the gigantic clock hanging over the desks at reception. Same as my watch. “No, I’m not.”
“Gah! You didn’t get the email, did you?”
Freaking IT. They promised my email was fixed. Guess I’ll have to put in another ticket this morning. “No. What did it say?”
Meg loops her arm through mine, towing me into the industrial warehouse turned modern office, all exposed brick, black metal, and glass. She leans in close so no one in the graphic design department can hear her say, “Dick got fired.”
His name isn’t really Dick. We call him that because it describes his glowing personality better than “Reginald” ever could.
“No way. Why?”
“Don’t know. No one tells me anything. What I do know is that they brought in someone from an outside firm to take his place until they can hire a new marketing supervisor.”
Great. I spent the last three weeks buttering up our terrible boss only to have him get the sack.
That may sound selfish and borderline bitchy but allow me to explain.
I would be concerned for a man who is now without a job, except his wife is some higher-up in the banking world, so I figure they won’t have any trouble putting food on their table tonight.
Me, on the other hand? If this new hire doesn’t think the company should be shelling out for temp workers, then I’m in big trouble. Rent might be paid for this month, but it’ll be due again in four weeks, and I have no husband or wife to fall back on.
Our heels meet the polished concrete stairs at the same time.
“Do we know anything about our new boss?” I ask.
Meg shakes her head, her sun-kissed blonde streaks rippling in perfect waves over her slim shoulders. Believe it or not, she wakes up like this. I’ve witnessed the phenomenon on more than one occasion after a few too many glasses of boxed wine.
I’d kill for her dewy complexion. Even the little freckle above her lip is sexy.
I, on the other hand, wasted an hour trying to straighten my wild curls only to step out into the damp morning air and have them defy gravity all over again.
Growing up, I used to get highlights to try and lift the drab brown color. The moment my mom decided I should be paying for my own hair treatments, those highlights stopped.
Meg’s manicured nails bite into my arm when she gives me an excited squeeze. “All I know is that we’re meeting in the conference room at eight to find out.”
Well, that’s great, isn’t it? There isn’t even time to throw my stuff in my cubicle. All these weeks of arriving early won’t count for shit if I can’t show up to meet the new manager on time.
“I hope he’s hot,” she whispers.
So do I.
Not that I’m interested.
Josh and I grow closer every time we’re together. Still, it wouldn’t be so bad to have a little eye-candy at work. No harm in looking.
Meg and I slip through another set of gleaming glass doors and file in behind a couple of media buyers from her team.
The excited buzz dies the moment a perfectly polished Jessica Rabbit strolls into the conference room in a pinstripe pencil skirt that shows off curves that need no photoshopping.
Meg and I aren’t the only ones gawking. Pretty sure that random thump was the IT guy’s jaw hitting the floor.
“Good morning, everyone. My name is Rebecca James. As I’m sure you’ve all heard, LC Advertising has done some restructuring and brought me on board to streamline processes in the marketing department.” Rebecca scans the faces surrounding the long table as she explains her new role.
I’m listening. Sort of. What she’s saying doesn’t really apply to a lowly traffic manager.
Don’t know what a traffic manager does? Neither did I.
When I first found out an advertising company was hiring, I pictured Mad Men-style shenanigans and glamor. Instead, all I do is send commercial spots to stations and make sure they run them correctly.
It’s even less exciting than it sounds.
Once we’re dismissed, Meg and I head over to my cubicle so I can finally give my shoulder a break from my purse that weighs as much as a small elephant.
Meg leans over the adjoining wall to retrieve a brown paper bag from her desk and an overpriced coffee that makes the instant crap I have taste like tar in comparison. “Holy shit,” she says, handing me the cup. “That woman is a freaking goddess.”
Inhaling the vanilla-scented steam brings me life. “Tell me about it. I was thinking of asking about her workout routine.” What sort of exercises give her such a teeny, tiny waist? I’d kill for a waist like that.
Snorting, Meg pulls a croissant from the bag. “Why? You can’t afford a gym membership.” She pulls the thing in half and offers the largest piece to me.
How would I survive without her? God love friends who live next to artisanal bakeries.
“Yeah, but Rebecca doesn’t know that.” Maybe I can recreate her workout with my five-pound weights and resistance bands.
If I get a minute, I’m going to ask her anyway. Could be a great way to connect with the new boss.
I really, really want to stay here at the end of my contract.
Meg is here, there’s free downtown parking, and once a quarter they have a book club where they pay you to read books.
It’s only a hundred bucks and the books are all non-fiction, but a year of books equals a month of rent, so I am here for it.
Did I mention beer Fridays? Who doesn’t love free beer?
“Rebecca doesn’t know what?” a honeyed voice asks from the other side of the cubicle wall.
Meg and I exchange grimaces before turning to find the woman in question standing right behind us. How she managed to sneak across this concrete floor while wearing those stilettos, I’ll never know.
“That I’m poor and can’t afford a gym membership,” I blurt. Because that’s what I do when I get stressed or nervous. Blurt, blurt, blurt away.
Rebecca’s manicured eyebrows inch up her forehead as she taps her shiny red nails against her hip.
Great. Now she thinks I’m weird.
I mean, I am weird, but she doesn’t need to know that.
I need to play it cool. Be calm and chill and composed like her. Explain the blurting. “I was going to ask about your workout routine.”
Her lips purse as she considers me while I do my best not to shift beneath her prolonged stare. Are there crumbs on my face? I bet there are. That would be my freaking luck.
I swipe my mouth, just in case.
“I do a ton of squats and lunges.” Her teeth flash in a blinding smile. “You don’t need a gym for those.”
No, you do not. I return her smile. Pretty sure I have a girl-crush on our new boss. “Thanks.”
She looks between us, then down at the croissant being strangled in my fist. “What’re your names?”
“Loren Piper,” I say with a weird half-wave sort of gesture.
Meg lifts her own coffee in a toast. “Meg Benson.”
“You’re both in the marketing department?”
Our heads bob in unison.
“Good to know. I guess I’d better let you get back to work. It was nice to meet you both. Have a great day.”
“You too,” I say with another wave. At least this one is normal.
“I kinda love her,” Meg whispers, watching Rebecca walk to the end of the hallway where Dick’s former corner office overlooks downtown.
Actually, “walk” isn’t a fair description. That woman saunters.
I want to saunter like Rebecca.
“Me too.” I take a bite of squished croissant, hope building in my heart. “Do you think she’d want to hang out with us after work sometime?”
Moving to a new place has been tough. Not only is there financial strain, but also I had to make new friends.
As an adult, that’s crazy difficult. It’s not like you can walk up to another girl on the playground, tell her you like her necklace, and then become besties.
Women can be jealous, vicious creatures.
You don’t know which ones are fake until it’s too late.
Case in point: my three-day stint at a call center.
I sat next to a nice woman, introduced myself, thought we were jiving. Next thing I know, she’s talking shit about me in the bathroom to a bunch of other petty mean girls.
Thankfully, Meg is nothing like those witches.
We have bonded over a shared love of cheap wine and our mutual disdain for Dick.
Our former boss, I mean. Not actual dicks. We’re both pretty into those.
Sighing, Meg sinks down on the corner of my desk. “God, I hope so. I bet she has a massive closet. Do our feet look like they’re the same size?” She wiggles her foot encased in chunky black patent leather. “Those heels she had on would look great with my slinky black dress.”
“I don’t know.” I stuff another bite of croissant into my mouth as I pretend to consider her feet. “You kinda have man feet.”
“Excuse me, bitch.” She throws what remains of her breakfast in my face, which I catch and plan to save for lunch. “I’ll have you know, my feet are small for my height.”
We both laugh until Carson, the man on the other side of the cubicle we have lovingly named “the librarian,” hisses for us to be quiet.
“Sorry, Carson,” we say in unison. With a roll of her eyes, Meg retreats to her own cubicle and I open a new helpdesk ticket so IT can get my email fixed for real this time.