Chapter 21
LOREN
Ratbag
ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE
Sweat leaks from my palms as I walk into the office Wednesday morning.
Meg and I both succumbed to the vat of alcohol we poisoned ourselves with Monday night and called in sick yesterday.
She sent me a text this morning to say she still hasn’t recovered, which means I must walk in alone.
To make matters worse, my milk was expired so I had to choke down fistfuls of dry cereal between sobs and there’s no scrumptious artisanal croissant or fancy coffee to make it all better.
Yesterday, I woke up with a hangover the size of Texas—and I use the term “woke up” in the loosest sense of the word because I didn’t get out of bed the entire day.
That’s right. I lay in my tiny bed in my crappy apartment and watched clips of horror movies—which I hate—on my phone all because every other video suggested was from freaking romcoms.
Whoever writes those things is a damn liar.
There is no broken hero with a traumatic past willing to change and do anything for the woman he loves. There are only assholes named Josh who lie and cheat and break hearts.
Now it’s time to face the music, and I’m sick to my stomach with worry.
That Rebecca didn’t get the message.
That she did and is devastated.
That Josh made me look like a psycho trying to steal her man.
That I’m going to get to my desk and find out I’ve been fired for sleeping with my boss’s boyfriend, which means I won’t have money to pay rent in February, and I’ll get kicked out of my apartment and end up living under the bridge with all those mangey dogs.
What if they turn on me and make me their next meal? They have hunger written all over their scarred faces.
I could always go home. But to be honest, I think I’d rather brave the rabid wolf pack.
My hands keep wanting to ball into fists, but I force them to relax.
It’ll be fine.
It’ll all be fine.
I take the stairs nice and easy, focusing on breathing and putting one foot in front of the other.
Past accounting. Past the design team. Up another set of stairs to the marketing department.
All I have to do is make it to my cubicle.
That’s it. Wednesday’s workload usually isn’t too bad, so if I get to my desk, I’ll be able to get through today.
“Loren?”
Slowly I turn, my heart jackhammering when I find Rebecca standing in her office’s doorway. She doesn’t look feral, but her boyfriend didn’t look like a sleazy ratbag, so I don’t trust my own judgement right now.
I start to wave but my hand refuses to cooperate and I end up doing this floppy-fingered sort of thing. And my smile? It’s as stiff as a freaking brick. “Hey, Rebecca.”
“I’d like to see you in my office if you have a minute.”
Rabid dog meat, here I come. “Sure.”
I try to saunter nonchalantly into her bright, airy office with a wall of windows overlooking the city, but my shoes feel like they’re made of concrete blocks, and I end up trudging.
This is it. The beginning of the end.
The overwhelming floral scent from the mammoth bouquet on the corner of Rebecca’s desk reminds me a bit of my family’s funeral home. A bad omen, no doubt.
Rebecca settles onto her chair and folds her hands atop her desk. “Close the door and have a seat.”
If I close the door, then no one will know I’m in here and they won’t be able to hear me scream if she decides to shiv me.
Not that Rebecca seems the type to hide a shiv under that pristine black pencil skirt and classy white blouse, but I’m spiraling, so that’s where I go.
The only reason I comply is because there’s nowhere to stash a body. Unless the windows open.
Please, tell me the windows don’t open.
With my heart in my throat, I ease the door closed. The latch lets out a shrill click. When I turn back around, she’s still smiling. My wobbly knees knock together as I cross to the stiff office chair across from her.
Rebecca taps her blood-red nails against the corner of her keyboard. A ticking bomb. A death knell. “Are you feeling better after your day off?”
Oh no. She knows I was too hungover to move yesterday. That I got obliterated on a Monday night and called off work because of it.
“Yeah. A little. I stayed in bed all day watching slasher flicks.” TMI, Loren. Dial it back or she’s going to see right through you.
Her perfect brows arch toward her perfect hairline. “You like horror movies?”
Nope. Not at all. “Oh, yeah. The more gore the better. What about you?”
“I’m afraid horror isn’t really my thing. I have a weak stomach.” She reaches down beside her desk and heaves a black leather briefcase up and onto the top. Who carries a briefcase? Is she mafia? Is there a mafia in Nashville?
What’s inside? My muscles tense as she flips open the top. A shiv? From this angle, it looks like a bunch of papers, but there could be some sort of weapon hidden underneath.
“Ah. Here it is.” Rebecca returns the briefcase to the floor, leaving her clutching a stack of pages held together by a hot pink paperclip.
“Sorry. I’m a bit turned around this morning.
” She blows out a breath, ruffling the perfect ginger waves draped over her shoulder.
“We’re looking for someone to oversee the traffic managers and I think you’d be a great fit. ”
Hold on…this is a good meeting? How is that possible? “I haven’t been here very long.”
“And yet in the time you’ve worked here, you’ve never been late on a deadline, your communication record with reps is brilliant, and everyone on the team seems to like you. That’s not necessarily a requirement, but it certainly makes the job easier.”
To say I’m shocked is an understatement. “My contract isn’t up for another four months.”
“That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. We’ve been in touch with the recruiting agency, and they said we can buy out your contract if we want.”
My palms are so clammy, they’re leaving a damp smudge on my dress slacks. Good thing they’re black.
“You’d still be responsible for your daily duties,” Rebecca goes on, flipping through the pages, “but you’d be asked to take the others under your wing and help them hit their goals like you do: Consistently. You would be fairly compensated, of course.”
Compensated might be my new favorite word.
How do I ask about the pay without seeming like a rabid raccoon salivating over a juicy bag of restaurant garbage? “What’s the salary?” It’s gotta be a lot higher since I’ll be doing my job and another one, right?
She skips to the pages at the back and frowns. “You’re only on fifteen an hour?”
“I didn’t have the relevant experience, so they started me at the lower rate.” At least it wasn’t eleven an hour like I was making at the call center.
The pages fall back into place and she steeples her fingers in front of her as she watches me through wide eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a bitch. I’m just surprised. You had a job before this, right?”
The call center probably doesn’t count since it was for less than a week. “I waitressed in college and then worked for my family’s business.”
“That sounds like experience to me. I’d take a thousand waitresses over a bunch of pencil-pushers who haven’t had to deal with the public.
” Her nail goes back to tap, tap, tapping on that keyboard, only this time, the noise doesn’t set me on edge.
“I think we can make this work for you. Most managers start off significantly higher, but I have a feeling they’re going to balk if we shoot straight to that sort of rate. Would you be happy with forty-three?”
That seems a little low considering I’d be in charge of three other people and still have to maintain my own duties. But beggars can’t be choosers. Either way, it’s a ten-thousand dollar raise and that’s nothing to sniff at. “That would be fine.”
She props her elbows on the table and shakes her head. “Are you sure?”
My head starts shaking as well. “No?”
Her face lights up with a smile. “I can go to fifty.”
Holy crap. Fifty-thousand dollars? That’s almost what my mom makes, and she’s been working for decades. “That sounds—”
Rebecca shakes her head again.
My knees bump the desk when I scoot forward in my chair. “A little low, actually?”
Her smile widens. “Fifty-five. But that’s my final offer.”
Holy shit. “That…um…that should be sufficient.”
Rebecca holds a hand across the desk and gives mine a shake. “You drive a hard bargain, Loren Piper. It’ll take a few weeks to get the contract sorted and your pay adjusted to the new rate. In the meantime, head down to HR and they’ll go over the specifics of the job.”
How can Josh cheat on this amazing, beautiful woman? “Thank you so much, Rebecca.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Her cellphone abandoned on the desk lets out a shrill ring. Josh’s face appears on the screen, and my stomach twists with guilt.
Rebecca’s expression darkens when she picks up the handset. “I need to take this call. Can you close the door on your way out?”
I lurch to my feet. “Yeah. Sure. Of course.”
Before the door closes, Rebecca answers in a clipped tone. “What the hell do you want?”