by Alina Jacobs
One of the glasses toppled over, and Mace paused. My face flamed as I righted the cups and finished arranging the food. I just wanted to go home and eat some mac 'n' cheese and cookie dough. Maybe I would go to the little general store on Main Street.
As I wheeled the cart to the door, I looked up at Mace's PowerPoint, and before I could stop it, a laugh popped out.
Everyone turned to look at me.
"Sorry," I said.
"Do you have something to add?" Mace asked irritably.
I choked down the laugh. "I mean, it's just… this is a joke, right?"
He glared at me.
"Like, this is the worst PowerPoint I've ever seen. No one makes PowerPoints like that." Mace's brothers were smirking. Adrian looked terrified. But I couldn't stop the critique. "There's so much text. Nothing on the slide is aligned, and is that a knockoff of the Comic Sans font? And what is that picture? Is that supposed to be ground beef?"
"It's a robot inserting a stent," Mace said through his teeth.
"I mean, I've seen a clearer picture of Bigfoot, but okay."
His brothers roared in laughter.
"If we could return to the presentation…" Mace said, his voice an authoritative drone.
I fled the room, mentally berating myself.
Tara ran out after me. "That was rude and unprofessional!" she scolded
I shrank back. Way to go, Josie—getting fired after only a few hours on the job. This must be some sort of world record.
"Do you even want to work here?" Tara asked, hands on her hips.
No, but I need the money, and I owe Marnie for getting me this job, so…
"Sorry," I apologized. "I didn't mean to insult Mace. I have a marketing background, and I have developed hundreds of presentations and marketing packages. If he's trying to sell PharmaTech's services, this is not the way to do it."
Tara's nostrils flared. "I am the director of marketing, and I say this is perfectly acceptable."
"Acceptable is the bare minimum," I scoffed. "You should demand excellence, which is what I provide my marketing clients."
"You aren't here to do marketing. You are here to fetch coffee, book hotels, and answer the phone," Tara hissed. "You are not paid to have an opinion on the way Mr. Svensson runs his business. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
8
Mace
I couldn't believe Josie had the nerve to insult me in front of my employees and the Platinum Provisions representatives. I fumed through the rest of the day's meetings.
"I am so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with Josie. You should fire her immediately," Tara said, coming up to me after I escorted the Platinum Provisions representatives to the lobby.
That was tempting. With Josie gone, life could return to normal.
"Your PowerPoints are amazing. She doesn't know what she's talking about," Tara continued.
I nodded. "She's just a coffee girl. What does she know?"
"You seem really overworked," Tara said, touching me lightly on the arm. "Maybe we should go for a drink? There's a new distillery nearby. I know you enjoyed that one we went to a few months ago." Tara did her fake laugh that always grated on my nerves and was one of the reasons why I had avoided repeating our drink date.
"I can't. I'm busy," I told her and escaped back to my office.
But it was not an oasis of peace. When I walked in, Josie and everything around her was covered in the powdery toner ink used in the laser printer. She whirled around and looked at me, eyes wide.
"I-I-I'm sorry," she stammered.
"Go home," I told her in disgust. Josie slowly collected her belonging as I called the facilities department again.
While the maintenance workers cleaned up the ink, I stood at my window and watched Josie walk to her tiny house. She could not stay here. I would have to fire her. She was the worst assistant in the world.
I shook my head. I couldn't keep wasting time on Josie. I was behind schedule. I sat back down at my desk to go through my notes for the big address to the company that I made every quarter. It was in a few days, and I wanted to have everything prepared.
I barely made it through the first page when a little voice shrieked, "Mace!"
"Hi, Henry. How was your first day?"
"Terrible," my little brother declared.
Donna, one of the daycare workers, came in behind Henry and handed me a slip of paper.
"This is his report card," she said.
I scanned it. "Henry, you got Ds and Fs on everything! This says you don't play nicely with others, that you bit someone, and stole a toy that someone else was playing with." I looked down at him. "You can't do that."
My brother ignored me and stomped around the room, pretending to be a T. rex.
"Listen, Mr. Svensson," Donna began.
"Mace is fine."
She pursed her lips. "I know you own the company and pay for the daycare but—" She clamped her mouth shut.
"You can tell me the truth," I said, setting down the report card.
"Henry needs more individualized attention than I think we can give him," she said carefully.
I sighed. "He had a bad childhood."
"I know about your situation."
"He's younger than any of the other kids who are shipped to us," I explained.
Donna's expression was carefully neutral.
"Can you bear with him for a little longer?" I pleaded. "Give him another chance. Please?" It was not in my schedule to find Henry his own private nanny, and he was too young for school. If the daycare that I owned wanted to kick him out after only one day, I was positive no other daycare in town would take him.
"We'll try, but be aware, Henry is on probation. If there is another incident, we will have to kick him out. It's a liability issue," Donna warned me. "The lawyers will back me up."
"I understand. I'll talk to him about it. Thank you."
"I think—" She sighed before she left my office. "I think he needs to spend more time with you and your brothers. This is a big change for him. He needs some assurance that his world isn't going to fall apart again."
Henry waved goodbye to Donna as she left then ran to plaster himself against my leg. I needed to work on my presentation, but Henry wasn't having it. He complained he was hungry but wouldn't eat any of the seaweed crackers or drink the VitaMeal smoothie.
"I want pizza!" Henry whined.
"Have you ever even eaten pizza?" I asked him. They hadn't served it on the compound when I lived there.
"Yes! On the train!" he said, nodding. "It was tasty!"
Archer waltzed in, Greg following behind, the ever-present look of annoyance at the world in general on his face.
"Henry!" Archer yelled.
"We're heading back to New York City," Greg said as Archer picked up Henry and tossed him up and down. Henry shrieked in glee.
"Can't you stay and babysit him?" I begged.
"We have meetings in the morning," Greg told me.
"Is Hunter going to be there?" I could feel the scowl form on my face. Greg's look confirmed my suspicions. "You all were supposed to help with the kids," I said. This was a usual topic of conversation whenever I was with my brothers.
"Get Garrett to do it." Greg's tone was dismissive. I looked across the hall to Garrett's office. Through the glass walls, I could see him studiously ignoring us.
"You've handled it thus far," Greg said with a sigh. "It isn't as if anything's changed."
"Yes, it has. All the college-aged kids are back at school after spring break. It's just me."
"You're so dramatic."
"Adrian can help," Archer said.
"Adrian is not a babysitter," Greg countered. "He's supposed to be learning about how to run a company. That's why I procured an assistant for you."
"Yes, and she's just a fantastic assistant—very organized and efficient," I said.
"I detect a hint of sarcasm," Archer said, snickering.
"I think I need to
fire her," I told Greg.
"No," Greg said. "You're not going to make Adrian do that menial work."
"She's incompetent, disorganized, and she eats candy," I countered.
"The horror," Greg said. "Marnie highly recommended Josie. I know you hate surprises, but give her a chance."
"I'm the CEO. I make the decisions here. This is my company."
"That I invested in."
Dealing with Greg was so frustrating. "I'm going to fire her anyway."
"Do not," Greg warned. "Garrett and I talked about it. Garrett was adamant that you needed an assistant."
I clamped my mouth closed. If Garrett had decided that I needed an assistant, I didn't really want to blatantly cross him by firing her. He had a habit of screwing you over if you didn't do what he wanted. I had a suspicion that he was one of the reasons the younger boys were being shipped off to us instead of dumped in the desert, which was what usually happened in polygamist cults.
"The only reason you hate her is because she said something mean about your PowerPoint!" Archer hooted. "You need someone to keep your ego in check. This will be good for you. It will give you something to fixate on," Archer joked.
"Go home, Mace," Greg said, disentangling Henry from Archer.
"I just need to finish up my presentation," I said.
"Have Josie do it," Archer called out as he and Greg left.
Henry played on my phone while I typed out some more notes. But I couldn't concentrate over the clang of the specialized cleaning machine the custodian was using to remove the printer toner stain from the floor. The racket made me even more furious with Josie.
A thought came to me, cutting through the noise and frustration: just because I couldn't fire Josie didn't mean I couldn't make her quit. After today, she seemed like she was on her way to quitting. I smiled, the headache lessening. Then maybe we could regain some order.
9
Josie
"This was the worst first day ever," I said to Marnie over the phone. It was on speaker in my lap while I tried to maneuver the truck and tiny house combo through the town to the general store. At least it wasn't raining. "I think Mace is going to fire me." I was on the verge of tears.
"It's fine. Don't worry about it," Marnie said soothingly. "Everyone's first day is rough."
"No, you don't understand." I paused and sneezed. The acrid smell of the toner stung my nose. I hadn't been able to remove all of it. I had tried to blot it with paper towels in the restroom but just succeeded in smearing it around on my shirt.
"I spilled things, broke a phone, and sprayed toner everywhere." I sneezed again.
"Those printers are tricky," Marnie said with a laugh. "On a more serious note, have you heard anything from Anke?"
"Not in a while. The last time I talked to her, she said it was a big misunderstanding, the bank had frozen her account because she was international, and that she would absolutely pay me back. That was several months ago. I keep emailing for updates but haven't heard squat. Have you?"
"No, and she still owes me three thousand dollars," Marnie said.
I sagged over the steering wheel. "I wish that's all she owed me."
"I think you should go to the FBI," Marnie urged. "What she did has to be some sort of federal crime."
"That's not what the credit card company said," I replied, feeling the clench of shame at being scammed by Anke. "They wouldn't accept the police report I filed. They said I stayed at the hotel and I have to pay. Now I'm going to lose my job." Behind me, sirens blared, and in the side mirror, I saw a police cruiser signal to me.
"Crap, I have to go."
It can always get worse. That's what I always forget.
"Miss," the officer greeted me. She was a dark-haired woman with high cheekbones, and her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. "Do you know why I'm pulling you over?"
I couldn't have been speeding. The house wouldn't go that fast. Maybe the lights weren't working?
"No," I answered.
"You can't use a phone while driving," the police woman clarified.
"I wasn't texting!" I protested.
"You aren't allowed to talk on a speaker or a headset while driving. It's dangerous and against the law. I'm writing you a ticket."
I started sobbing. "I can't pay a ticket. I didn't know! I'm not from here!"
"That's not an excuse. Don't use a phone and drive. It costs lives."
The police officer wrote me the ticket while I sniffled. I didn't even look at the sum when she handed it to me. Whatever it was, I couldn't pay it.
I pulled the house back into the parking lot of Ida's General Store. Wiping away the tears, I checked the candy jar in my purse. Empty. I needed a refill.
Ida's General Store was high-end. As soon as I walked in, I felt out of place, with my toner-stained clothes and generally bedraggled appearance.
A well-dressed woman looked at me in fear.
Her daughter pointed at me and said, "You look weird."
"This is going to be you in a decade," I told the kid.
The woman pulled her daughter away. I grabbed a basket and looked for the candy aisle. I found it near the front of the store. It was well stocked, and I felt my mood start to lift as I contemplated my options.
"Ooh, saltwater taffy. Now we're talking!"
An older woman with a shock of white hair and bright-purple lipstick walked up to me.
"Those are a good choice. They're locally made," she said.
"They look delicious." I read her name tag. "Are you Ida, from Ida's General Store?"
"That's me, sweetheart," she said proudly.
"This is a great candy selection," I said.
"You have a great candy selection yourself!" she said, making me laugh. "I'm sure all the guys are after your gobstoppers."
"Hardly," I said. "I think I'm too much of a mess. I scare them off. I'm sure all the men in Harrogate want the health-food, vegan-goddess types. I'm more the carbs, cheese, and cake troll that lives under the bridge."
"Please," Ida snorted. "I've been around. Trust me—wave those things at a guy, and he'll come crawling under that bridge with you. Men like a little something to grab onto." She winked.
I grabbed milk, three kinds of cereal, a few packets of microwave mac 'n' cheese, and a box of bottom-shelf wine. There was also a display with organic chocolate chip cookie dough, but it was expensive. I sighed longingly and put it back. I bet it was delicious.
Ida waved me over to the cash register.
"Pro tip," she said, pointing to my shirt. "Put hair spray on those ink spots, and let it sit forty-eight hours. Wash it off in cold water, and it'll be good as new."
"I'll do that," I said gratefully as she rang up my groceries.
"Also"—she waved a packet of organic chocolate cookie dough in my face and put it in my bag—"this is on the house."
"I can't," I protested, but not all that hard if I was being honest.
"I know a kindred spirit," Ida said, blowing me a kiss.
I was feeling a lot lighter when I walked into my tiny house. Ida seemed cool. Hopefully she was cool with me parking my house in the lot behind her store for a little bit.
After taking down two of the pasta-filled mason jars, washing them, and filling them with the candy I had just bought, I took off my shirt and sprayed it with hair spray.
"Let's see, Ida. You came through with the cookie dough. Hopefully this works. I can't believe I ruined two shirts in one day." The bra I just had to assume was ruined. It wasn't like anyone was going to see it. Mace wasn't planning on ripping my clothes off. I felt a bit tingly between the legs at the thought.
"Ugh, what am I doing?" I shouted to the tiny house. "I can't stand him. He's the worst, and he clearly hates me."
My stomach growled. I looked at the cookie dough then put it down.
"No, you need to be a responsible adult. Eat the instant mac 'n' cheese first." The tiny house was supposed to be furnished, and I poked around for a bowl. I wrenc
hed an upper cabinet open, and the door flew off the hinges and hit me in the face.
"Ouch!" I clutched at my head. "Why is this happening to me?" The tiny house creaked ominously. Rubbing my head, I pulled a bowl out of the cabinet, filled it with water, and looked around for the microwave.
It was then that I discovered the tiny house did not have a microwave.
"Why does my life suck?" I yelled. "I'm eating cookie dough for dinner, and you can't stop me!"
I grabbed the handle of a drawer then stopped myself from wrenching it open. "Not this time, house." I carefully opened the drawer and took out a spoon.
"See? I'm nice to you. You can be nice to me." The front face of the drawer fell off, landing on my foot.
I think my tiny house is trying to kill me.
I ripped open the packet of cookie dough, poured myself some wine, and went to town. Sadly, this was not the worst thing I could be eating. I have been known to eat butter with sugar. Pro tip—put a little vanilla extract in the mixture, and it's like eating buttercream frosting. Yes, I have a problem.
It started raining again sometime after my third glass of wine. I woke up to a wet mushy piece of insulation falling on me.
Oh no.
I looked up; dirty water dripped in my eyes. A piece of the ceiling had fallen off, and the rain leaked through. Cursing my bad decisions that had led me to this point, I found some duct tape and a plastic bag and patched the leak as best as I could.
Josie: I hate this house. It’s raining inside
Willow: I'll come help you tomorrow. This PharmaTech project is the worst. The management is problematic
Josie: Let me guess. Tara
Willow: Uh yeah
Willow: Is there something going on between her and Mace? She's always like saying how wonderful he is.
Josie: Gross. I hope not. Though probably. He has terrible taste. You should see his PowerPoints
Willow: Have seen one. Thought I was going to have a stroke. It's like that with everything on this project, though. You needed to be on this team. You'd whip them into shape