Six Evelyn
The next week, I set my alarm earlier, wanting enough time to eat something and make myself look nice. Surprisingly, the routine helped. Doing things unrelated to work in the morning made the job feel less like my entire day.
The day before, Vanessa had met with our team in one of the nicer halls upstairs, carrying in a coffee and some ridiculously expensive-looking breakfast sandwich.
I’d made some comment about her trying too hard to set an example, earning the smallest twitch of amusement from her before she moved on like it never happened.
Friday, I arrived even earlier than usual and settled into my office, relieved the week was nearly over. The room itself had a nice enough ambiance, though I spent enough time collaborating in larger conference rooms and open workspaces that it didn’t fully feel like a desk job.
But no, I hadn’t abandoned my professor dreams. Not even close. I still thought about them hourly.
There was a dull knock on my door, that I immediately identified as not Vanessa’s.
"Uh, Evelyn, are you in there?" called out Adam’s unsure voice.
"Yeah, what’s up?" I replied, standing and walking toward the door.
"I'm supposed to give this to you, from my boss. She didn't tell me anything.” He handed me a paper bag adorned with the ornate logo of a local pastry shop.
A wave of happiness rushed through me, though I tried to keep my expression neutral.
Once Adam left, I tore open the bag to find six different pastries: a blueberry muffin, apple crisp, chocolate croissant, fruit tart, cream-filled Danish, and a scone. The smell of a fresh bakery drifted through the air as I peered down at the sundry assortment in awe.
Wow. She wasn’t taking any risks. Was this the type of thing all people did when they made over a million dollars a year, without a second thought? Or did this mean she actually took the time to think about me?
I wanted to thank her in person. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to see her. Knowing she usually had morning meetings, I made a mental note to swing by her office later, already looking forward to it.
I knocked, suddenly unsure. What if I was interrupting her?
"What do you need?" she sounded pissed.
Without a second thought, I dashed back to my office before she could open the door and see who knocked. I was so dramatic, but at least I knew it.
Now, with that pitifully failed attempt out of the way, it was officially the weekend, and I was ready to meet up with Blair and Meghan and tell them all about my first week.
Sending them a text, I gathered my belongings to leave when there was a familiar knock on my door.
I was only a few feet away, about to exit myself, so I just opened it.
Ms. Walton was standing there with something uncharacteristically close to a smile.
She wore a white knitted turtleneck sweater with a pencil skirt.
It made her look younger, but still dangerously feminine.
Or maybe it was the long braid cascading down her back, one loose wave falling to her jaw, contrasting sharply with her eyes.
"Did you ding-dong ditch me?" she laughed, biting the soft flesh of her lip.
I blushed, giving a sheepish nod. "You sounded pissed. I didn't wanna bother you and figured thanking you for the pastries could wait,” I said, trying not to giggle.
She rolled her eyes. "I didn't realize it was you. Sorry for the tone. I'm used to people bothering me incessantly with useless questions, so by Friday afternoon I'm done with others wasting my precious time.”
My heart skipped a beat. Vanessa Walton, the busy and prestigious CMO, viewed me, unlike ‘others,’ as worth her time.
My smile widened, betraying me completely.
"Oh come on, Evelyn, don’t act so surprised.”
"Not being seen as a bother or waste of time by you is flattering," I shrugged, my sarcasm evident.
She laughed again. I could get used to her soft laugh. It was almost addicting.
"Wow, when you put it like that it really shines light on how judgmental I am. No wonder you were so afraid of me.”
"Who said I still wasn't? But seriously… I really appreciate the pastries.”
"Which one was your favorite? If you like it, I'll bring it to you more often.”
I answered quickly, the choice obvious. "Definitely the chocolate croissant—"
We were cut off by a man approaching Ms. Walton. It was unsurprising given we were still in the hallway.
"Excuse me, Ms. Walton, but I was wondering—"
"If you didn’t notice, I was in the middle of talking to Dr. Sorelle. Please wait until we are done."
I swallowed as her eyes shifted back to me—more professional now, but still holding a softness I hadn’t yet seen her give anyone else.
"Have a wonderful weekend, Evelyn. I’ll see you Saturday," she said, completely ignoring the man’s presence.
"You too. Thanks again."
She nodded, then began her conversation with him as I walked away, feeling her tone and body language shift even from afar.
My theory was confirmed. She did, in fact, treat me differently—and it made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
"Oh come on, give us more details. How's your boss? Coworkers? Amount of work?" Blair pleaded as we sat on Meghan's couch, empty wine glasses in hand. It was getting late and the buzz was fading.
"It's all good. Boss is nice enough, basic guy," I shrugged, not wanting to hog the conversation with details, hoping to spend my Friday night escaping Vector Line, not thinking about work until Saturday.
"Aw, that must suck. You were probably hoping for a fuckable fine woman," Blair pouted with faux sympathy.
"Blair, please," Meghan groaned. "We get it, she likes powerful women. Move on.”
"I was just being supportive of the disappointment she’s likely feeling," Blair shot back.
"You're so annoying," Meghan scoffed.
"I'm not disappointed," I corrected, though I wasn’t planning to give them the reason unless I had to.
"I call bullshit," Blair announced.
"Who said my boss's boss can't be hot?" I questioned, taking the bait.
"Wait, wouldn't that be the CMO?" Meghan caught on, now interested.
"Yeah," I admitted, blushing — the idea even more absurd when spoken aloud.
"Haha, keep dreaming, girl," Blair laughed.
"Do you guys even interact?" Meghan asked cynically.
"Yeah, we do, actually. She bought me pastries,” I said, glad to share the highlight of my week — opting to skip over the part where she triggered a breakdown on my first day and I embarrassed myself multiple times.
"Ha! And you call me delusional, for thinking the guys at bars who stare at me want me?" Meghan asked, turning to Blair.
“They’re staring because you’re swaying like a broken ceiling fan,” Blair retorted
“At least I’m getting attention. You look like the regret after.”
"You're a much lighter weight than me!” Blair was getting pissed.
"Fine, fine, but we can both agree Evelyn is the lightest,” Meghan sighed, trying to diffuse the situation.
"Why am I being brought into this?" I frowned, needing to protect my dignity. “And not by much. I don’t even feel anything right now, and I’ve had nearly a full glass of wine.” I held up my empty glass with a cocky grin.
"Girl, that’s because you consider 'feeling something' being about to pass out," Blair quipped.
"I’m sorry, I can’t—” Meghan choked out, failing to hold back a laugh. “It’s white wine. It’s 6%."
"Remember that time—” Blair spoke slowly, waiting for me to stop her.
I clasped my hand over her mouth, muttering all sorts of threats and turning red at the humiliating memory they had promised to drop.
"To be fair, B, that was after a good two or three drinks," Meghan retorted, offering some sympathy, knowing how many times I’d apologized.
"Yeah, drinks. Not shots.” Blair grinned, seeing nothing but humor in that night.
"Drinks that were almost pure alcohol!” I protested, still flushed.
"The first one was–"
"Yes, I remember — champagne — but the other was stronger. Now please move on, I’ve apologized so many times." I was almost begging.
"I know, but it doesn't make it any less funny. I only see it as just about the most hilarious thing ever. You know I'm only joking with you.”
I pouted, pretending to be hurt so she’d apologize. Instead, she reached over and gave my arm a soft, almost affectionate rub—like that somehow proved her point. I quickly pulled away, shooting her a disgusted look. She rolled her eyes, and Meghan burst out laughing.
Blair's love language was physical touch, but I only liked it in a sexual sense, feeling like people always used it instead of actually listening, talking, or using acts of service to show care.
It felt like a hug when upset was an attempt to shut me up most of the time.
But maybe that was just my childhood experience.
My love language was acts of service — in essence, someone going out of their way to get me six different pastries not knowing which I’d like.
As much as I craved Vanessa's physical touch, it was nice that when I was upset or lightheaded she hadn’t tried to touch me to calm me down.
She actually helped. Few people did that, and I noticed when they did.
"What time is it?" Meghan muttered aloud after a few moments, checking her watch.
Even though it was Friday night, we all had things to do this weekend. I needed to be well-rested for tomorrow night, and I didn’t want them staying too long.
“Oh—it’s later than I thought,” I said, casually dropping the hint.
“Oh, right—you have the gala tomorrow,” Meghan replied, immediately picking up on it. “I hope it’s fun.”
As they were leaving, I gave them both brief hugs, thanking Meghan for the lasagna while she and Blair shared a much longer embrace.
"Yeah, if you'd settle down you'd be great wifey material,” Blair teased Meghan as they walked out.
It was a whole year ago that I’d tried to get with Blair, knowing she was straight with a boyfriend. I’d been insanely drunk, and they still hadn’t let me live it down. It wasn’t too humiliating. They knew the whole “straight girl” thing had never appealed to me sober.
Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for authority figures—who were just as off-limits.