by Hawkins, JD
I wake up in a hotel room, sprawled across the bed. The sheets are cool against my cheek. A bright vase of flowers decorates the table in the entryway, several pastel paintings hanging to create a calm ambiance. My pants are on, though I have no memory of whether I put them on myself, and an empty bottle of champagne sits on the desk. I wonder if I drank the bottle alone or with the mystery woman, who is now gone. The bluish light filtering in through the curtains suggests it’s around dawn. My wallet and phone are on the nightstand.
I get up and stand over the bathroom sink, using the hotel toiletries to wash my face and brush my teeth. Then I dig a few Advil out of my briefcase and gulp them down with a cupful of tap water. The hangover could be worse. The woman, the black dress, the conference room—all of it feels like a faraway dream. I realize I completely forgot to check in with Darren and tell him I wasn’t coming. I grab my phone and see two texts from him.
Darren: So you gonna make it in time or no? Let me know either way in case Allie needs to pick something up from the store.
And then, Rockets bombed! Turned the game off after the 7th inning. Hope the conference stuff didn’t kill your whole night, bro. Text me later so I know you made it out alive.
I roll back into bed. I’ll text him back in a few hours so I don’t wake him up. He’s been my best friend since middle school so he knows that sometimes I go AWOL, but I still feel guilty. I’ll have to make it up to him and Allie and Josh somehow.
I wish I didn’t have to be at work in the morning, but as the CEO of a startup, I can’t afford to slack off. Especially since I uprooted my entire life in Los Angeles to move to Austin for this very job. This company is my opportunity to move up from the minor leagues into the major leagues of the business world, to do something on my own instead of just living in the shadow of my father’s success, the money I inherited from him tainted by how poorly he treated me and my sister and my mom. I guess if I’m honest with myself, though, the reason I left LA is more complicated than that. I think about Holly and the messy office romance and how everything turned sour so quickly. I needed a fresh start.
I turn off the lights and arrange the pillows around me. A bird chirps outside the window. As I start to drift off once more, I wonder what the woman’s name was, knowing that I’ll never find out.
1
Zoe
The digital clock on the microwave changes to 7:40 a.m. as I scramble around the kitchen, trying to zip up the back of my pencil skirt, eat a slice of toast, and finish uploading last night’s makeup tutorial video to YouTube all at the same time. And of course there’s a speck of something on my right contact lens, but I can’t wear my glasses because I misplaced them a few days ago and they still haven’t turned up. My first day’s shaping up great already.
Garfield meows loudly at my feet, sounding a bit like a lawnmower, even though I’ve already fed him his breakfast. I give him a pat on the head. He’s a chubby orange tabby cat with a tattered ear who found me as an owner about three years ago. I suppose he found us, me and Jonathan, but I’d been the one who was truly taken with the scrappy, half-starved little guy. Jonathan had always been more of a dog person, though it didn’t take long before I caught him taking naps on the couch on Sunday afternoons, Garfield curled in his arms.
“Mondays, am I right?” I say to the cat. He blinks back, as if he doesn’t understand why I would be doing anything else besides giving him treats and petting him. After I hurriedly put the orange juice back in the fridge, I grab the photo of Garfield that's stuck to the door with a cowboy boot magnet and tuck it into my bag. I could use a little extra support today, even if it’s in the form of a doofy picture of my favorite feline.
I still can’t believe that less than a week ago, Jonathan was living in this apartment, sleeping next to me in bed at night, saying that he loved me, that he was saving up money to buy me a ring. That was a load of crap. While I was in the midst of building a social media presence based on my supposed perceptiveness, my ability to read other people and empathize with them, Jonathan was busy having an affair with his barely-out-of-college secretary, a southern girl from Georgia whose name is—you guessed it—also Georgia. I can just see them now, Jonathan and Georgia, gallivanting across Italy, taking Instagram selfies in front of Venetian canals and Tuscan vineyards while I attempt to not be late for the first day of my new job.
The irony, or at least one irony, of course, is that one of Jonathan’s favorite topics to discuss was how ethical he was, working as an immigration lawyer instead of taking a cushy position at a corporate firm. Then he would move on to questioning my life choices, saying didn’t I want to do something better, something more significant with my life than posting makeup tutorials on YouTube? Apparently in Jonathan’s book there’s some sort of ethics loophole when it comes to sleeping with your assistant despite having a girlfriend of four years, and then taking said assistant to Italy. The first couple years of our relationship, Jonathan and I traveled too. Trips to Thailand and France, to Ecuador and the Florida keys. But over the last year or so, as both of our schedules got busier and our romance was fading away, the most exciting place we’d gone was to visit Jonathan’s cousin in New Jersey.
I leave the apartment just before 8 and pray to whatever may be out there that I can somehow make it downtown in the next thirty minutes. I’ll have to wait until I get a break later to check that my latest video uploaded to YouTube without any glitches. It’s already 85 degrees out and humid as a steam room as I walk out to my car, an old Toyota Camry from the 90s that I’m fairly sure will die any day now. But if this new job goes well, I can finally start saving money for a new car—though paying for Jonathan’s half of the rent now is definitely going to put a sizable dent in my monthly salary. No matter what happens, I can’t mess this up.
My phone buzzes and I glance down. A group text from my best friends.
Savannah: have a great first day of work, zoe! knock ‘em dead! xoxoxo
Veronica: You’re the best! Also maybe don’t knock anyone to their death like Savannah was saying? At least not until your second day. ;)
Kiley: Zoe’ll slay them with her brilliance anyway—she can’t help it.
I would text a response to them but I’m already running late. I feel grateful to have such good friends. I’ve known Veronica and Kiley since I was little—we all lived on the same block, went to the same schools, and were the artsy kids.
Flash forward to now: Veronica, still rocking her trademark pink pixie cut, uses her hyperactive optimism and theatre production background to coordinate events for SXSW and any other concerts or festivals that make a stop in Austin, while Kiley transformed from a sarcastic, vaguely goth teenager to Downtown’s most renowned art gallery owner (never seen in anything but her uniform of black turtlenecks and menswear-inspired trousers) and is an absolute guru when it comes to anything related to interior design.
Savannah was a later addition, my closest friend at Emerson, and is now a highly-in-demand production designer for film and television. Thankfully she decided to move out here to Austin, where she instantly bonded with Veronica and Kiley, despite being the lone tomboy of the group. Savannah travels for months at a time for work, sometimes taking on projects that film outside the U.S., so I’m always glad when the three of us can get together for a girls’ night.
As I slide into the oven-like car, I instantly regret choosing an all-black outfit for my first day. I had been hoping to minimize the sweat stains but now I’m just a magnet for the heat. Sometimes I wish I lived somewhere cooler, like the Pacific Northwest, somewhere lush and green, but the broad, rambling blue sky of Texas is where I grew up and where I belong. It’s home, even if my parents don’t live here anymore. They retired and moved to New Mexico six months ago, buying a sprawling horse ranch outside of Santa Fe that I can’t wait to visit again.
I weave through the morning commuters, fairly sure I can make it in time if I drive aggressively. A shiver runs down my spine. I think about what happ
ened at the hotel last week, the day Jonathan broke up with me, the man and the bar and the conference room. It had felt so good to just let go like that, to demand exactly what I wanted without any shame or repercussions—and then get it. I’ve always been the type of person who preferred stability over spontaneity, planning over impulsivity. Even if a romance has started out casual, even back in high school, somewhere deep down I’d be hoping that it would blossom into a steady relationship. I feel proud of myself for having set boundaries with the mystery man, for not exchanging names or numbers.
I mean sure, there’s a part of me that wishes I could see him again, and an even larger part of me that wishes I could feel his lips, his tongue, his cock again. But it’s better this way. Now it’s impossible for him to disappoint me and he can just be a happy, sexy memory that will slowly fade away.
I pull into the parking garage of a fancy glass-paneled building, the type that wouldn’t have even existed in Austin twenty years ago. The elevator zips me up to the third floor and I step out into the world of LoveLife, where I’ll be serving as the temporary Director of Marketing while the current head is out on maternity leave.
When they interviewed me for the position I got a full tour of the place, and found out firsthand that LoveLife is exactly like the health and wellness company that you’d expect—kitchen stocked with acai bowls, mangosteen smoothies, and kombucha on tap; modern floor plan with attractive millennial-types clustered in groups, wearing plaid flannels and tortoise shell glasses; photographs of men and women doing yoga in exotic places plastered on the walls.
As I head down the semi-familiar hallway, I spot a placard labeled “Director of Marketing” on one of the few closed doors, and tap lightly against the wood just as the time turns to 8:30 a.m. on my phone.
“Come in!”
I enter the office and I’m immediately struck by its size, its spaciousness, the morning sunlight pouring in through the window that overlooks Downtown. The woman behind the desk winces slightly as she stands, the late stages of pregnancy showing under a flowy bohemian floral dress that perfectly fits the company’s vibe. Her dark hair is pulled back into a smart bun and her clear, direct gaze give her a serious demeanor. Her skin is silky and flawless, and my professional eye detects the slightest hint of bb cream and a cheek tint, applied so subtly that it looks as though her complexion glows that way naturally.
“Amanda Reyes. You can just call me Amanda,” she says, running her eyes over me in an assessing way as she holds out her hand. I shake it.
“I’m Zoe Skye,” I reply. “I’m really excited to be here.”
She smiles and then we both sit, ready to get down to business. This is my first time meeting her. I was interviewed by the HR Director and the Associate Director of Marketing, so I hope I meet Amanda’s expectations.
“Zoe, welcome, we’re so glad to have you aboard. My apologies—baby brain—but can you refresh me with a brief summary of your background? Jessamyn filled me in after your new hire paperwork went through, but I’d love to get up to speed.”
I relax a little, feeling myself instantly more at ease thanks to Amanda’s combination of directness and genuine warmth. “Yes, of course. I’m originally from Austin, I got my BS in Marketing Communications at Emerson, then moved back here and worked with several beauty and lifestyle companies before venturing out to create my own makeup tutorial channel on YouTube, Makeup for the People.”
Amanda’s face lights up. “Right, yes! That’s how we found you, through your vlog. Big fan of the episodes I’ve seen. I love your commitment to inclusivity and those three-step day-to-night tutorials. I’m actually wearing the Artemis lip and cheek tint you recommended right now.”
“That is the highest compliment anyone could pay me,” I grin. “The show has been really successful for sure, and a lot of fun, but I’ve definitely missed taking part in a collaborative working environment. That’s part of the reason I’m so excited to be here—and if I can use my passion to help promote products I’m excited about, even better.”
“Well, I hope you love it here.” Amanda goes on, “As you know, while you’re filling in for me over the next few months, LoveLife will be launching a bunch of new apps that are the brainchild of our CEO. In particular, we have a makeup- and skincare-matching app that’s going to be your main focus. You will be solely in charge of developing a marketing strategy for this app, though of course you’ll have a team to back you up. LoveLife is already thriving in the areas of nutritional supplements, packaged health foods, and personalized wellness plans created by our lifestyle experts, but makeup and beauty is uncharted territory for us. This app is our best chance at success in this category, since it’ll match users directly with our new line of products.”
“And that’s where I come in. I can't wait to get started.”
We chat for a little longer, getting more comfortable with each other, and I elaborate on my background while Amanda fills me in on company history and how her pregnancy has been progressing. And then the conversation takes a sudden turn as Amanda glances from side to side and then leans in, speaking in a more hushed tone.
“Look, this is an amazing job, and I know you’ll be great—and who knows what the position could turn into once I’m back from maternity leave—but while you’re here, you need to watch out for the Big Boss. Try to minimize the time you spend working with him one-on-one.”
I feel my brow furrow in confusion. “The Big Boss?”
“Our CEO. Liam Bartock. He may occasionally use words like ‘chakras’ and ‘namaste’ and provide employees with free acupuncture and gourmet vegan lunches on Fridays, but he’s just like any other CEO—an arrogant, egotistical businessman at heart. Brilliant, perhaps, and generous to the core—but at the end of the day, he expects to get everything that he wants, exactly the way he wants it, and he’ll shred you to pieces if you get in his way. So step lightly.”
My stomach drops. “Shred you to pieces? What—”
Her gaze shifts to the clock on her desk and suddenly she leans back and fixes a bright smile on her face. “Gosh, it’s after 9! We have a company meeting to get to!”
Amanda takes it easy as she stands, but once she’s on her feet it’s like she has mini-jets in her heels, leading me down the hallway so fast that I almost trip over a potted fiddle leaf fig. I catch up just in time to see a couple folks bunched at the end of the hallway, the last few stragglers ducking into the room.
As Amanda and I slip through the door, I take in the rows of seats rising like they would in a movie theater, and I don’t even look down at the stage, so surprised am I by the number of people who work for this company. I had imagined it as a small operation, a “true” startup, but there have to be at least a hundred people in that room, packed in like sardines. I feel a shock of anxiety, realizing that I am working for a much bigger enterprise than I had thought. However, that tinge of nerves is nothing compared to what I feel when I tune into the voice that’s booming from the stage, in the midst of a rousing speech.
“It is for these reasons that I am delighted to announce LoveLife’s growing investment in new technologies and apps to help our clients better achieve their lifestyle and wellness goals. As many of you know, my background is in tech and I was brought on as the new CEO last year to share this expertise with the company. The modern era is digital, and I am here to bring LoveLife not only into the modern era but into the future.”
I stand in the back corner of what I’ve realized is not simply a conference room but an auditorium, illuminated by the glow of the Exit sign. My breath catches in my throat, heart pounding like a fist against my rib cage. The man on the stage, the CEO of LoveLife, the Big Boss—Liam Bartock—glances up through the applause for his speech. Somehow, in spite of all the people in that auditorium, our eyes meet, and I take in the same slate gray eyes, the same stubbled jawline, the same swoop of dark hair.
It’s him.
The man from the hotel.
I flash back to
the hotel conference room, a warmth growing inside of me, a longing. The memories vivid enough to send tingling waves shooting through my pussy.
I shake my head, trying to get it together. I suddenly realize I have no idea how long I’ve been standing here in a daze, just zoning out, remembering exactly what it felt like having my new boss thrusting into me from behind, his hot tongue lapping at me, his low groans as I rode him on the hotel bed. Right now, I remind myself, I’m a professional in a professional working environment. I am here to be taken seriously. And that means I need to pay attention to this meeting and get my head back in the game.
I look back down at Liam and our eyes catch. He stops mid-sentence and clears his throat, once, twice, a tic that only I can read as a product of his surprise at seeing me. Regaining control, he finishes explaining something about the new app. Then he rolls up the sleeves of his sleek navy blazer and flashes a grin at his employees that somehow manages to seem entirely authentic even though I know he must be covering for his temporary unease.
“We have time for a few questions. Anyone need clarity or more details?”
There’s a stirring in the audience, a low rumble of whispers. Finally a young woman raises her hand. Liam points her out and introduces her to the rest of the room. “This is Willow Rocha, one of our hardworking Marketing Associates. Go ahead, Willow.”
The woman nods and stands, tugging nervously at the buttons on her sweater. “Um, so. With all these conversations about extending our campaign efforts into new demographic territories, my question is—I guess I’m just wondering if you have any thoughts on how that might translate to the new design and branding of our digital apps? Marketing isn’t always a ‘one size fits all’ proposal and I want to make sure our department is on top of things.”
Liam nods as she speaks and then turns toward me and Amanda. “That sounds like a great question for our Director of Marketing. Amanda, care to respond?”