Chapter 5
5
THAT’S CODE FOR MY LADY PARTS
I wake up the next day with a raging headache only made worse by my loud alarm.
“Should’ve stopped at one glass,” I mumble to myself, annoyed that for someone that doesn’t even drink I somehow downed three glasses in one evening.
I smack the screen of my phone silencing the alarm. Using the little energy I’m able to muster, I toss my comforter to the side, step out of bed into my favorite slippers, and make my way into the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee. Dragging my feet across my freshly polished marble floors.
Lauren is going to go berserk if I ruin these floors.
Lauren Pham was the final piece to the b.f.f. trio alongside me and Sam. We met Lauren our junior year at The University of Carolina at Chapel Hill. We ended up in the same Business Management class and created our own study club. And we haven’t left the club since.
Lauren started her own cleaning business a few years ago offering the opportunity for women needing a new start for whatever reason. She gave them a position of their choosing; home cleaning, administration, or advertising to other women in need. Lauren struggled after her divorce; her ex-husband left her with nothing after beating her down mentally for four years, and possibly physically, but she’s never once talked about it. He even convinced the courts that somehow she didn’t deserve or need alimony, but Lauren is nothing if not resilient.
Her family owned a small cleaning company when she was younger, a business she knew the ins and outs of and knew that if she could just get it off the ground, she could help so many others like her. It was a no-brainer for me and Sam to sign up for the cleaning service from the start.
The only downfall was that there was only one cleaner at the time of sign up, it was Lauren. Which is great because there is no one more particular than her, the bad is she had no reservations scolding me when I would “ruin” her precious work. Like leaving scuff marks on the floors when I drag my feet when I’m too tired to take actual steps.
I can practically hear Lauren now. “ Amy, I swear to all that is holy, if you don’t pick up your feet and stop ruining my beautiful floors… ”
Her floors .
Lauren takes so much pride in her business that any surface that she touches becomes hers and it has to be perfect. With that thought, I pick up my feet until I can no longer hear the shuffle of movement beneath me.
I reach the kitchen and the aroma of coffee practically pulls my body the rest of the way. The pot of coffee, set on a schedule to be ready before I wake up, always has such an intoxicating smell in the morning. The perfect start to any day, even following nights like the one I just had.
Urg . I definitely need this cup of coffee following last night .
The thought of Riley kept me up well into the morning. I tossed and turned until finally exhaustion took hold of me and I drifted to sleep. Not long before I was jolted awake by my stupid alarm two hours later.
I glance at the time glowing on the oven. Six fifty.
“Shit!” I squeal.
I have forty minutes to get out of the condo. I quickly down my cup of coffee and rush to the bathroom to begin my morning routine. Glancing in the mirror at my reflection while brushing my teeth, wishing I had time to do a full hair wash without being late. Instead, I opt for a quick body wash and trust that my dry shampoo will be enough to hide my lack of cleanliness today.
I apply a minimal amount of make-up, enough to lengthen my lashes with a charcoal black mascara, contour the curves of my cheekbones with a bronze hue, and subtly enhance the color of my lips a soft pink with my favorite colored chapstick.
Once I’m decently satisfied with the outcome of the rush job, I walk into the closet to choose an outfit. Pushing past the skirts, I decide on a pair of gray loose trousers, a white fitted button down to tuck in, and a pair of black flats. This will need to be good enough for the day.
I can’t entertain the idea of any sort of shoe with a heel after traipsing around the city yesterday in a pair of stilettos. The benefit of alcohol to null the pain from uncomfortable shoes is not in the cards for me today.
Once dressed, I steal another glance at the time. Seven thirty.
Time for me to leave.
I check the weather before walking out to see if a jacket is necessary. High of seventy-eight, not only was a jacket not necessary, I am now regretting the choice of outfit too.
Sleeves and pants?
It’s too late to make any changes so I leave my jacket draped over the arm of the sofa and rush into the elevator to head down into the lobby.
Walking past the concierge I see my favorite doorman. “You’re still here Mr. Ar-, I mean Randy?” I ask. Noticing he never left after the night shift.
I worry for him occasionally, he seems to always be here and I often wonder if this man in his late sixties needs to work or if he just does it to stay busy. I like Randy. He gives me a sense of security knowing he watches over me like a father would, but in return I worry about him and these late hours like he is my second father.
“Just covering Ms. I’ll be outta here by noon today, plus how could an old man like me give up the chance to say good morning to you!” Randy offers me a reassuring smile.
We both laugh. My worry eases slightly only because he seems genuinely happy and if that’s the case, I’ll let it go.
“Have a blessed day, Amelia.”
“See you later Randy.” I wave my goodbye and step out into the city.
It only takes me a little over ten minutes to reach my office building. I look up as I approach the front doors. Atlas Technologies , the bold sign taking over the vertical side of the glass high rise. Atlas Tech., a recently acquired asset within the last two years, a subsidiary company now under the tech conglomerate umbrella, Thatcher Inc..
No one at Atlas Tech. ever questioned my relation to its parent company. Most people at Atlas didn’t even know Thatcher Inc. was the company that acquired them since it wasn’t a complete overhaul when the deal went through. Many things stayed the same, and honestly, most people don’t care to dig that deep if the changes don’t directly impact them. They show up for work, they do their job, and they leave at the end of the day.
I joined the company a little over three years ago, against my father’s wishes of course. He never understood my need to join a company starting from nothing when I had a position promised anywhere I wanted within Thatcher Inc. before I eventually took over as C.E.O.. He didn’t understand why I needed to make it on my own. To prove that I could succeed based on my own merit and grit since most would assume I only got to where I was based on privilege.
I’ll admit, both options had their difficulties. Working at Thatcher Inc., everything I would have, could ultimately be seen as a direct result of nepotism. Working at Atlas Tech., I’m a woman working in a male dominated industry and have to work twice as hard to prove myself.
I decided the latter was what I needed to choose. I would not use my family connections to gain momentum. I would work my ass off and prove that every milestone I hit was because I was good enough on my own.
I will say, I was worried that when my father’s company acquired Atlas that it would be the two problems colliding and my hard work would have been for nothing, but luckily for me, so far no one has put two and two together.
I walk into the building, following the small crowd into the elevator. Once I reach my floor I make my way to my desk. It isn’t a glorified office, but it isn’t a suffocating cubicle either. I’m grateful that Atlas thought it would be more beneficial to work as a group in a bullpen type atmosphere than old school cubicles. I never feel closed in working here.
The downfall to the open concept is that everyone can see everything and they all notice how I’m always the first one in, most of my male co-workers groan about how I make them look bad, like it’s nearly impossible for them to set an alarm in the morning.
Children .
At first it bothered me. I even considered coming in late to appease them and possibly find friendly ground for us to work on. A thought I suppressed quicker than its fruition. I would not become a worse version of myself to gain the approval of unimportant men so that they would like me.
I did that for eight months with Shit for Brains before. I wouldn’t compromise myself anymore, even if it meant turning into a colder, more distant version of Amelia Thatcher.
The first few hours are uneventful, I answer emails from various partners confirming requirements for different projects assigned to me. My calendar is lighter than usual, maybe the universe knows I need a mental break from my lack of sleep last night or because everyone else feels like Friday is a freebie day before the weekend starts.
I take the opportunity to research the company’s newest project, a concept to redesign their entire online presence. It will be the most visible to executives and I want it. If I can convince Charles, my boss, to assign it to me, this can be the project to push for the promotion I’ve been working towards.
The Regional Program Director is retiring in six months and the company is looking to backfill in four. If I can get assigned to the redesign, my chances of being the backfill will increase exponentially. I want to be the first female under thirty to gain this promotion.
I’m pulled from my thoughts at the sound of a text notification on my phone. I glance down to see a message from Sam.
Sam
Lunch in twenty? I’m starved! ??
Looking at the time, it’s already quarter to noon and as if my stomach knows lunch is around the corner, it lets out the largest grumble demanding to be fed.
Amelia
Sure! Church St. Diner ok with you?
Sam
Yep! ????
The diner is only two blocks from my office and three from Sam’s. I gather my things and decide I’ll just work from home for the rest of the day after lunch since the office feels like a deserted plain.
I enjoy the walk; the streets are busier than they had been the night before. A literal night and day difference. I spot Sam a few feet away, it’s hard to miss the bouncing blonde curls and legs that look like they continue on for days regardless of her outfit. I pass by the door to the restaurant to meet her.
Samantha Voss is the opposite of me. She is perky and happy ninety percent of the time, a true extrovert. Whereas, I resemble more of a fake house plant. No need for sunlight or chit chat and could be left alone with the blinds closed inside my home without complaint. Which I might add, would be a definite Hell No in Sam’s book.
She majored in design and after the business management class Lauren, Sam, and I took together, Sam conjured up the brilliant idea to turn her passion of interior designing into her own business. Voss Designs, an interior decorating company that not only turned my condo into a dream oasis but also constantly gets featured in top design magazines in the nation. It goes without saying fake plants to Sam were a No-Go.
While I don’t walk around dressing in all black like Wednesday Addams, I’m not usually considered to be a ray of sunshine like Sam, but it’s always worked for us. She is the yin to my yang. The sister I never had and even though we are complete opposites, I love her more than anything.
“I missed you!” cries Sam, pulling me into a tight hug and pinning my arms to my side.
I try to wiggle out of her cobra like grip, “I just saw you Tuesday,” I respond with a hint of judgment, “and we text every day!” She huffs and releases me.
“Yeah, but you didn’t call me back last night. I needed to know why the date was a bust! I really thought this guy would work out.” She sighs in a desperate attempt to convey how devastated she is at both, the lack of communication and the lack of a life altering romance between me and my date last night.
“I had a late night actually. I was so exhausted when I got home that I just passed out,” I lie.
Sam raises her left brow in disbelief. “I thought your date ended at like ten? Is that what you consider a late night these days or am I missing something?” She crosses her arms, waiting for me to come up with another lie.
I immediately wish I hadn’t stuck my foot in my mouth and came up with another excuse. The last thing I want to do is talk about my encounter with Riley. If I had it my way, I would forget the night ever happened.
I already lost one night of sleep over the events of the previous evening, I don’t want to lose more time over something that wil l never happen. It’s hard to hide anything from Sam though, we’ve been friends since we were seven, there isn’t a tell about me that Sam can’t figure out so I might as well just come clean.
“Let’s grab a table, I’ll explain inside,” I huff in defeat.
We walk arm in arm into the restaurant, greeted by our favorite red headed waitress.
“Hey girls, grab the booth in the corner by the window, I’ll be with ya shortly.” The waitress gestures to the table, smiles, and heads in the opposite direction with a tray piled high with plated food.
“Thanks Valerie!” We both chime in unison.
Sam and I slide into opposite sides of the booth we were directed to and she wastes no time demanding me to “ spill the beans” on what happened last night. I’m at the part where I physically attacked him on my way to the bathroom when Valerie shows up to take our order.
“Good afternoon to my favorite trio minus one,” Valerie greets, noticing Lauren’s absence. “The usual for you girls?”
We nod our heads. “Yes ma’am,” Sam says for the both of us.
Valerie gives us a smile and saunters back to the kitchen to place our order with the cook. Sam turns back to me with a raised eyebrow and a dip of her head to suggest I carry on with the story.
I continue with telling Sam about how Riley had intervened during the blind date. The drinks at the bar. The walk home; conveniently leaving out the part where I thought Riley would kiss me or diving too deep into the moments after I tripped and he caught me. I don’t think it’s particularly necessary for Sam to realize how much the thought of me held against him affected me last night. Or how the thought of it affects me right now.
My story and my thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of our food. Valerie places a plate in front of Sam, a turkey and provolone cheese sandwich with ketchup, mayonnaise, no mustard on white bread with a side of French fries. Then a plate of grilled chicken breast over a bed of Caesar salad with extra croutons and a side of fries in front of me.
“Anything else I can get you ladies?” Valerie asks. When we both shake our heads she says, “alright then, holler if ya need me!” She smiles and strolls off to take another table’s order.
Sam picks up her sandwich and listens as I carry on. “After I tripped and he caught me, he slid my shoe off like some reverse Cinderella to make sure I didn’t hurt my ankle. After that I showed him the Garden.”
“You showed him your garden?” Sam exclaims loud enough to cause heads to turn our way.
“Will you shut up?” shushing my loud friend. “People are going to think that’s code for my lady parts!”
Sam lets out a chuckle. “Ok, wait did you just say lady parts ?” I roll my eyes. “We’re going to have to work on that. And I seriously can’t believe you took him there! It took you two years after finding it to bring me there and I’m your best friend!” Sam throws her hands up in exaggerated frustration.
“I don’t know why I brought him there,” I confess. “We were on our way back to my place from the restaurant and instead of going straight at one intersection, I felt the urge to turn right and show him. Maybe I felt like I owed him something after the knight in shining armor moment he had.” I shrug my shoulders. “Anyway, after that he walked me home, we said our goodbyes, and then I went upstairs,” I finish by taking a bite of my chicken salad. Hoping that will be the end of the conversation.
I take a few bites of my food in an attempt to avoid eye contact with Sam. I let a few quiet moments pass before looking up. Knowing my friend, the kind of reaction she has to last night is the reason why I wish it had never been brought up.
Sam’s jaw is practically melting onto the metal table.
“What?” I ask, like I’m clueless as to why Sam is in a state of shock.
“WHAT?”
“Shh!” I beg.
In a slightly more hushed tone, “let me get this straight.” Sam shakes her head and waves her hands in disbelief as if shaking her head would combobulate her thoughts. “This hot as shit guy randomly saves you from a night you’ve deemed disastrous. He offers to walk you home for your safety after drinks with him. Played knight in shining armor again when he caught you from becoming one with the sidewalk, and you felt the need to share your special place with him,” she winks. “I’m having a really hard time understanding why the hell you let him walk away without even getting a number!” Sam places a hand across her face in frustration.
I stare at Sam. My friend removes her hand waiting for an explanation. Her piercing green eyes bear into me until I respond.
“It would’ve never worked Sam. I don’t have the time, nor do I care to make the time, and he just ended things with his ex. Like, re-cent-ly ,” I emphasize by pinching my fingers with each syllable. “That sounds like the making of a disastrous rebound. Plus, he really annoyed me by calling me Princess all night.” I try to explain to get Sam to drop the topic.
“Well, you practically are a Princess. One that for some reason, likes to p retend she’s a peasant.” She waves her hand dismissively. “If only he knew who your father is, then he’d really know how spot on he was with that little nickname.” Sam stifles a laugh as she takes a bite of her meal.
I roll my eyes at the situation I have found myself in.
Amelia Thatcher, heir to the Thatcher Inc. empire, has decided that creating her own path in life was more worthwhile than jumping on the coattails of Daniel Thatcher. A modern day princess in my own right I guess, but a rebel all the same.
Sam has seen the love between me and my father since we were kids and knows the strained relationship we now have since I joined Atlas Tech. She has tried numerous times to get the two of us back on better terms but it isn’t always well received.
“You know I love you, and you know I have fully supported you in everything you’ve ever wanted to do, so I say this with love,” she places her delicate hand, adorned with her signature Toi Et Moi emerald and opal statement ring, to her heart, “your dad, whom I love like my own, literally acquired the company you work for and in his weird Daniel dad way, he made it a lot less about him and a whole lot more about you. He did it quietly so the life of freedom, ” using her finger as quotation marks, “you love so much provided by your job at Atlas wasn’t negatively impacted by the acquisition. He may have reacted poorly when you told him you were branching out, but you can’t tell me you don’t miss him,” she finishes, hoping her pleas for reconciliation finally hit home.
It doesn’t. I didn’t think I’d rather talk about Riley over any topic that might have come up during lunch but the joke's on me. I’m now using Riley as an excuse to stop talking about my father because while I know Sam’s right, my dad does love m e which I never doubted. What I need is for him to understand why I made the choice to leave and not let the disappointment of his well laid out plans for me going up in smoke get in the way of accepting my choice.
“Anyway,” I draw out trying to emphasize the change of subject. “Even if I didn’t mind being a rebound for Riley ,” distracting my friend with the hot guy from the restaurant like he’s a shiny disco ball, “I have a lot of work and I’m trying to land this huge project that should be getting assigned soon. If I can get that, then the Regional Director position should be in the bag.”
“Oh Amy, your drive is one of the things I love most about you, but you deserve to be happier. You don’t need to be coming home to an empty house every night and have no one to talk about the jerks at the office with.” Sam cuts me off before I’m able to suggest I have her and Lauren. “And I don’t count. You can’t have sex with me… Ok fine you can,” waving her fork in the air like she’s giving in to my non-existent groveling. “But I still think you should give someone a chance.”
Like she has room to talk. I haven’t heard of her being in a relationship since our freshman year of college. Plus, I can’t understand Sam’s need for me to be in a relationship. The idea of giving up the only free time I have to do the things I enjoy to accommodate another person’s wants and needs sounds exhausting.
The sex holds little appeal too since the three partners I’ve been with in my life offered very little pleasure while doing it. It was more of a chore to be intimate than a want when I was with any of them. I don’t feel the need to continue this conversation, so I’m hoping to end it with a curt, “maybe.” Taking the hint, Sam changes the subject to asking me what I’m planning to do this weekend.
We plan an early yoga class for tomorrow before Sam leaves for her parents later in the evening to spend the rest of the weekend with them. A trip I’m no stranger to taking with her since her mom and dad are like a second set of parents to me, but I decide I’ll take the weekend working on my pitch to my manager as to why the Redesign Project should be mine.
We finish our meal shortly after and part ways. I make it back to my condo, change out of my work attire into a comfy pair of sweats, and get a jump start working on my research.