4
Sasha
I am so fucking bored right now. I’m on my lunch break at work, which is usually my one chance to escape the office and clear my head from all the shit Larry has put me through.
Today though, I’ve been asked, and when I say asked I mean told, to stay at my desk.
Larry has emails he needs me to look through before the end of the day and he wants me to do them right now. Apparently they can’t wait.
I can eat at my desk as long as I do it subtly so that no clients can see. I wouldn't want to appear unprofessional now would I? We can’t have a woman stuffing her face the first thing clients see when they walk through the doors. God forbid.
I’ve already finished my chicken and salad sandwich, and I’m still waiting for those emails to come through. My lunch break is over in ten minutes and the bastard still hasn’t sent them! There was no need for me to miss out on a real coffee after all.
It turns out I could have gone to the coffee shop across the street and had the real stuff, but today I had to settle on the one downstairs where the coffee looks and tastes like dirty water. It’s basically hot water with a sprinkle of coffee mixed in.
I’ve been doom scrolling on Instagram for fifteen minutes now, occasionally refreshing my emails to see if anything pops up. Nothing. Back to my phone, refresh, nothing. Repeat.
At this point I’m not even looking at what’s on my phone anymore. My thumb just keeps scrolling through the posts, but my mind checked out ages ago.
I should really be doing some sort of work right now but I still have seven minutes of my break, which means that’ll be seven minutes of unpaid work, and I’m too stubborn for that so I will sit here and do nothing until the clock hits 1:30pm.
Setting my phone down on the desk, I refresh my emails for the one hundredth time and still, there’s nothing. This man irritates the hell out of me. He does it just to get under my skin and somehow, it works every single time.
My knee bounces restlessly beneath while my fingers drum against the top of my desk. I glare at the clock, praying that it would go a little faster. It doesn't. I think it actually goes slower. But, you know what they say, a watched pot never boils.
I groan out loud, slumping in my desk chair and pulling my phone out again. Maybe Liv can make the seconds tick by a little quicker.
“Hey, girl.” Olivia says as she answers on the third ring. Alarm bells immediately ring in my head. She does this thing where, whenever she’s upset, angry or overtired, her accent involuntarily slips back into British. And from just those two words, I know something is wrong.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” She lets out a heavy sigh, followed by the unmistakable sound of her flopping onto the bed.
“Liv, come on. Something is wrong with you.”
Before even finding out she was pregnant, Olivia had really bad prenatal depression.
It started after her and Josh had split up and it lasted for months.
I was terrified for her. She wouldn’t talk, she wasn’t eating, and she would either sleep all day, every day, or not at all.
I was terrified to leave her on her own, so I practically moved into her apartment.
Finding out she was sixteen weeks pregnant gave her something to fight for, and she worked so damn hard to pull herself out of that dark place. But I knew those feelings were always there, deep down. You can’t just shake them overnight. It takes time.
Josh and I agreed, along with doctor’s orders, that we'd keep a close eye on her after Bella was born so that she didn’t fall into that depression again. Now anytime she sounds even the tiniest bit upset, I’m on high alert. I like to call it protective. Olivia likes to call it annoying.
“I promise, Sash. I’m just exhausted.” She follows that statement with a loud yawn, eliciting one from me in return. “Isabella was up for most of the night crying and since Josh had an away game yesterday, I was on my own.”
“You should have called me.”
“At 4am? I don’t think so.”
“Yes, at 4am. I don’t care what time it is, if you need help, call me.”
“Thank you, Sash.” Silence settles between us and soon, Olivia’s breathing evens out. Is she sleeping? Should I just hang up? I don’t want to say anything and disturb her. “Fuck, I need to get up.”
I practically jump out of my skin at her sudden outburst. “You scared me, you bitch. I thought you were sleeping.” I rest my palm against my erratically beating heart, trying to get it to slow to a normal pace.
“I think I was sleeping.” I can hear cupboards slamming and dishes clacking on the other end of the phone.
That woman can never just sit down. “Bella is sleeping now so I need to get stuff done. Josh has only been gone for a day and already I’ve turned this place into a pigsty.
” I laugh, picturing the state of her apartment.
Olivia is not known to be a tidy girl. She always says, ‘Don’t worry.
The place isn’t dirty, it’s just messy.’
“Anyway,” she starts as more ruffling sounds come through the phone, “any more thoughts about dating?”
It’s been two weeks since my not-date with Conor.
The not-date I still haven’t told Liv about.
I know, I know, I’m a terrible friend. But I just know she’ll make it so much more than it is and I don’t want to deal with that right now.
I mean, we haven’t even called each other so why do I need to make it a thing when it clearly isn’t one?
“Nope.” I reply, popping the ‘p’. “But,” I pause for dramatic effect, “I’m gonna leave my job. I fucking hate it here.”
“Well it’s taken you long enough.” Olivia mutters into my ear. “What are you gonna do instead?”
“I want to write.” I say it with so much confidence. Confidence I don’t actually have but maybe if I use that attitude enough, it’ll pay off.
“Finally!” She whisper-shouts in response, trying not to wake her sleeping baby. “You’re so good at it, Sash. You’d be an amazing author.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Not maybe. Definitely. What would you write about?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always leaned more into romance books so I was thinking something along those lines.”
“Oh my God, yes! Oh, write a cowboy romance. Please, please, please.” She draws out the last please, causing me to laugh.
She always complains that you don’t get real cowboys in the UK.
Considering she moved over here when she was still a kid, I didn’t think it would matter that much but clearly, I’m wrong. The woman is obsessed.
“Well, I was actually thinking of writing about you and Josh. I could do a forbidden romance kinda thing.”
“That could be cute,” She agrees, “but what if it’s boring? I mean, Josh and I have had a pretty smooth relationship apart from that small hiccup in the middle.”
I almost choke on air. “You’re joking, right?” I ask, surprise in my tone. “Olivia Evans, there was nothing smooth about your relationship until Bella came along.”
“How so?”
“Okay, well, you had an epic meet cute. You literally fell on your ass just because you were more busy watching him than you were on where your feet were going.” She huffs a laugh as I continue. “Then, you snuck around for months. Secret office sex, secret bathroom sex, secret-”
“I get it, Sash. We had lots of secret sex.” I can hear her smiling through the phone, I’m sure thinking about all that hot secret sex. Okay, now I’m thinking about it too! Damn it, I need to get laid.
“But then, the evil villain, Ryan, gets it the way and all hell breaks loose! By that point, plot twist, you’re already pregnant with your secret love child.”
Olivia is howling through the phone. “Secret love child? God, Sash! That’s brilliant.”
Ignoring her, I continue. “And from then, it’s a happily ever after. I think it would make a great book.”
“You know what, babe? I think so too.”
“Samantha!” A loud voice booms in my direction causing me to flinch.
“Shit, Liv. I gotta go.” I hang up the phone as Larry storms over to my desk. His skin is flushed red, his nostrils flaring.
“I told you to do those emails.” He seethes, spit flying from his mouth. Thank fuck he’s not close enough to get it on me because that would be so gross. “I sent them ages ago and instead of doing your job, you're over here talking into your phone.”
“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you had sent them.” I immediately turn back to my computer, opening and refreshing my emails in a fluster.
“What am I paying you for?” He growls as he walks back into his office and slamming the door shut.
I would like to point out that I don’t start getting paid again for another minute, but I would never say that to him.
His email address pops up on my screen, along with all the documents I need to look through.
I check the time that the email was sent: 1:28pm.
I glance at the time on my computer screen just as it changes to 1:30.
Did he seriously send the email, wait for one minute, and then come out here all guns blazing? Of course he did.
Like I said before, he’s a prick.