And I can’t let my fantasies squash my productivity. I’m this close to finishing these reports and the clock is ticking.
Clasping my fingers out in front of me, I stretch out my back and rock my head back and forth. Deep breaths, Felicity. And go!
Flicker.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Flicker, flash.
No. I will ignore it. I will pretend it’s not taunting me. I will push my glare-reducing glasses back up my nose and finish this report, demon possessed lightbulb be damned.
I quickly blow out a calming breath as I wiggle my fingers and place them back on the keyboard, depressing the space bar.
Flicker, flicker, flicker.
“UGH! Are you serious right now?” Slamming my hands down on my desk, I look up and glare at the offending tiles above as if God is watching and having a laugh at my expense — and sanity. “You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you? Waiting until I type to interrupt, huh?”
He doesn’t answer so I huff and lean back in my chair, trying to control my rage while recognizing I may need a quick vaca in one of those places overworked celebrities call “spas”. Preferably one that provides Xanax and a pillowtop mattress. The strobe like effects above my head shouldn’t produce this amount of anger, but there is only so much one woman can take. And I’ve been taking this for weeks now.
Plus, it’s New Year’s Eve and I know I’m in for the long haul.
Snatching my office phone off the cradle, I press the keys harder than necessary to dial Skeeter’s number. At this point I know it by heart, and doesn’t that just piss me off even more. Who in their right mind knows the seven digits to maintenance off the top of their heads? This crazy. That’s who.
As it rings, I remind myself to kill Skeeter with kindness, even if at this point I want to just kill him in general. But no. I am a strong, stable woman. I will remain calm and professional in my bunny slippers.
Okay maybe I’ll just remain calm.
I stretch out my body and stare absentmindedly at the ceiling, forcing my breathing to remain under control.
Flicker.
I flip my ceiling the bird. “Take that motherfuc…” Beep!
“… Skeeter! Felicity again, hiiiii. Listen, I know today is the last day of the year and I’m sure you’re busy with end of the year stuff like I am—.”
I roll my eyes at myself and my insane ability to blow smoke up someone’s ass during the most dramatic of situations. Although, clearly it isn’t having the desired effect so I may need to revisit how much cheer I force into my voice at a later time.
“It’s been weeks now that my light has been going out and it’s making it very hard to concentrate. We’re talking hostile working environment here, Skeets.”
Skeets? That’s a whole new level of smoke.
“So yeah. Please. I’m begging you. I will give you anything you want. My first born or, or… my favorite mug. Okay maybe not the mug but you get my drift. Hell, you can leave the lightbulb on my desk and I’ll do it myself. Yeah. Okay. Thank you, bye.”
I hang up, not convinced he’ll actually show up any time soon, but even if I wanted to back track and get the office manager in on this, she’s not here today. Not many people are.
I’ve worked here for years and not once have the head honchos been here on New Year’s Eve. Most of the tails honchos don’t show up either. A few of the lower level agents do, mostly because they don’t have office issued laptops to work from home like senior members do. I guess it’s just them and me today.
I begin slipping off my bunnies and putting on my strappy stilettos when my phone dings. I know who that has to be. My New Year’s Steve.
I snort a laugh to myself. That’s still funny.
Steve: Have you left the office yet?
Me: You know it’s still morning, right?
Steve: You know it’s a holiday right?
Me: All the more reason I need to finish these reports. I’m ready to take a few days off and start the new year right. Speaking of, have you decided where we’re going to meet yet?
Steve: Yes. But it’s still a surprise.
Me: We’re meeting in less than 12 hours! I need time to prepare!
Steve: There’s nothing to prepare for. Dress for a night out and wait for me to tell you where to go. I promise it’ll be fun.
Me: Fun like, “the lotion is in the basket, Hello Clarice,” or...?
Steve: Lol. No Clarice. I am not a serial killer. And we’ll be meeting in a public place. No worries there.
Me: Not worried. Just cautious. You are a stranger after all.
Steve: Not for much longer, assuming you get those reports done. I have a lunch date with a buddy so I’ll let you get back to it. See you tonight.
Me: Can’t wait to watch your balls drop with you!
Me: Your balls!
Me: The ball! Not your balls! I’m sure you have more than one. The big ball.
Me: Omg I quit. I’m going back into my hidey hole now.
Steve: Hidey hole? I’m dying.
Me: No, I am. Don’t even look at me, I’m hideous.
Steve: LOLOLOLOL. Me and my big ball will see you tonight.
Fucking autocorrect.
Actually, that’s not true. Fucking flickering light made my brain spaz out and now I’m coming across like a horny minx. I suppose there are worse ways to act on a New Year’s Eve date.
Shaking off my embarrassment because I have no time for it, I buckle the strap on my shoe. I wouldn’t normally care about my footwear but I need to find my boss, Victoria. I want her to make sure she got my latest data and she doesn’t see any glaring discrepancies.
Triple check and all that jazz.
I grab my mug because I might as well make a pit stop for refreshments since I’m out. Plus, I don’t want to get up from that desk again unless absolutely necessary.
I’ve got eight hours until I need to be out of here or I won’t have time for the necessary pre-date gaming. A good self-grooming takes time and while this is a first date, a girl has to be prepared.
“Hey Vic,” I call out as I peek my head into her office. “Did you get my…”
I stop mid-sentence.
The lights in her office are dim and her computer is off.
She’s not here, dammit!
Honestly, I’m not that surprised. If I had a nickel for every time she was a no-show on days like today, I’d have enough money to have quit long ago. It’s not a company holiday but when the big wigs aren’t here, half the bosses don’t show up either.
I suppose it means she has a lot of trust in my ability to get the job done.
It also means an extra paid vacation day for me when I remind her she owes me for showing up when she didn’t. Usually that elicits a glare right before she signs off on my request.
Good enough for me.
My only regret is changing shoes just in case. Poor neglected bunnies. I’ll get back to them soon. But first, break room.
I could use the one on this floor, but instead I use the elevator to go up a level. For whatever reason, the agents get the fancy coffee maker and cabinets full of snacks, and right now, I’m in the mood for an upgrade. Us lowly people in accounting get zippo.
I have no idea who buys all the granola bars and fruit snacks, but there aren’t any notes saying to keep my mitts off, so I assume they’re company issued. If not… well, I can always apologize later.
The ride is short and I beeline for Meg’s desk. That’s the second reason I like this floor better.
Sneaking up behind her, I get as close as I can before using my full volume to greet her with a “Hey!”
She jumps and squeals, barely missing my face with the back of her head.
“Hey watch it! You could have broken my nose and I don’t need to show up with one as an ice breaker conversation for my date. I need to at least try to look like my LoveSwept profile picture tonight.”
“It serves you right for sneaking up on m
e like that.” Meg clutches her ugly sweater covered heart. Did she just press a button on her top that makes it sing Aude Lang Syne?
Who am I kidding?
This is Meg — of course she did. Not that I have room to judge. I miss my bunnies already. Still, I can’t let this moment pass me by.
“Uh… why is your sweater singing?”
Her eyes light up, clearly distracted from her faux heart attack. “Isn’t it cute? Adam found it and knew I’d love it. Said it screamed my name.”
“Haven’t you been dating for like thirty seconds? Is that an appropriate amount of time for White Elephant gift giving?”
“This is not a gag gift. It’s the perfect gift.” She smooths down her top and picks off some imaginary lint. “And gifts are fine. When you know you’ve found a good one, you just know. Speaking of, shouldn’t you be finishing some reports so you can make it to your hot date?”
I lean against her the cubicle wall and sigh. “I’m so close to being done but that damn lightbulb keeps taking my picture. It’s driving me up the wall.”
“Why don’t you have your office manager take care of it?”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? Shouldn’t maintenance respond no matter who is calling?”
“Pretty sure the office manager is the one who does or does not approve his vacation days. There’s more incentive going that route.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “Fiiiine. When I get back, I’ll go through the freaking middle man.”
“You are awfully theatrical today.”
“That’s no different from any other day of the week, today I just have an audience. You.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Meg says with a giggle and scoots her chair forward like she’s ready to get back to work.
That’s my cue.
“I’m going to snag some refreshments and get back to it. Don’t stay too late today.”
“Not planning on it. Once Adam is done with whatever major league crisis he has going on, we’ll be heading out until next year.”
I lean down and give her a quick hug. “Be safe tonight.”
“We will. And let me know how it goes with Mr. Personality.”
I stand up straight and clutch my imaginary pearls. “Excuse you. His name is New Year’s Steve.”
Meg smacks her palm on her face and shakes her head. “Of course it is. Good bye Felicity.” She singsongs me away with a wave of her hand and I make a mental note to ask her later about the snowflakes painted on her fingernails.
They’re cute. I might need some for my tootsies.
The clickety clack of keyboards greet me as I wind my way through the bank of cubicles. A little further down, there are several offices. Male voices drift out of one of them. I can only assume that’s Adam dealing with his crisis.
Seriously, what kind of crisis could a player be having on New Year’s Eve? It’s got to be a PR issue. As much as I hate that whatever this is could potentially infringe on Meg’s evening, it’s probably reality show worthy. I should keep an eye on the celebrity gossip news today.
Actually no. No, I should not follow any form of gossip today at all. Otherwise the only date I’m going to have will be in this office sitting at my desk sipping on chocolate milk instead of champagne. And I already know Skeeter would stand me up.
Reinvigorated with motivation, I book it to finish up my task. Holidays wait for no woman, and I’ll be damned if I miss this one.
4
Harrison
I slow my steps in front of my apartment building, hands on my knees and puffs of air I can see clouding in front of my face. I don’t normally jog outside at the end of December, but I needed a change of scenery today. I was hoping for a distraction from my nerves about tonight.
It didn’t work.
Now I’m just tired, my toes are frozen, and I keep sniffing because my nose is running from the cold. I should have stuck to the treadmill.
“Did you have a nice run, sir?”
I lift my head to see Fritz, possibly the world’s nicest doorman standing next to me. I take one last deep breath before standing up.
“It was cold, that’s for sure.”
“I can imagine.” He pulls the heavy glass door open for me like we’ve done thousands of times before. “Sounds like it was a great way to end the old year and ring in the new.”
“I definitely feel amped up for tonight.” I remark as I step into the large entryway to stretch. “What are you doing to celebrate tonight, Fritz?” I like talking to the old guy. He’s not the only doorman but he’s definitely my favorite.
“Oh, same as every year I suppose. I’ll have a quiet dinner and watch the ball drop. Probably the east coast version. I work tomorrow so I don’t want to lose any rest.”
“So no hot date?”
He chuckles. “Ah my beautiful Imelda’s picture will sit right next to me the whole time. That’s all the date I need.”
Fritz lost his wife to the tragedy of old age a few years ago. And yet he’s still one romantic son-of-a-gun.
Clapping his shoulder, I can’t help hoping I’m something like him someday. “You’re a good man, Fritz.”
“You as well sir.” He gives me a nod as I head toward the elevator bank and the three thousand square feet I call home.
The open concept space I live in boasts all the upgrades one could hope for in the best school district around. That’s not why I chose it, though. I bought this particular apartment because of the floor to ceiling windows. If I lean my forehead against the glass in just the right way and look down, it feels like I’m flying.
It sounds ridiculous but it’s nice to feel like I’m soaring above all the problems below sometimes.
Felicity would love it up here.
The view — how it looks at night.
Good god, I’ve been watching too much Hallmark Channel.
I check the watch on my wrist and note that I only have twenty-minutes to get my ass back up town for my lunch with Adam if I’m going to be on time for my haircut, and while I’m there, I can ask my stylist to shave me.
Kill two birds with one stone…
Hastily, I slide on some fresh deodorant and stumble into the same jeans I had on last night after work, a ball cap covering my sweaty, disheveled mop before heading back to the office.
Not that there’s not much for me to do there right now.
That is absolutely untrue. There is always something for me to do, but considering it’s New Year’s Eve, I’m going to let a bunch of shit slide, and most of the executive issues will be on hiatus until the new year begins (which is technically Monday, but who’s paying attention).
The biggest issue is waiting for those financial records to be reconciled. Good thing we have a whole team committed to getting it done today. I’m sure they’re all hard at work. I should check on that floor while I’m there. They could probably use a private, catered lunch next week.
I text out a quick note to the office manager so I don’t forget.
Me: Hey Beth, for next week — Let’s get lunch set up in the conference room for the accounting team. I want to thank them for their hard work this quarter.
Beth: Will do! Any special requests?
Me: Italian maybe?
Who doesn’t love that?
Me: Pasta, salad, garlic bread…? Pizza maybe?
Beth: That sounds great, Mr. McGinnis. But maybe a bit much for only five people?
Good point. I keep forgetting the accounting team is small.
Me: Hold on, give me a minute.
I put on a beat up pair of sneakers that are too worn to wear running, but just worn in and comfortable enough that I don’t have to bend down to tie them.
I push through the fire door on my floor and the stairs to the ground level to continue my workout, shooting Felicity a message as I go. She works in a small office. She probably has an opinion on this kind of thing.
Me: Quick question. If you were going to bonus a small group of peop
le for going above and beyond, would you do a catered lunch, or… something else.
Felicity: That depends. Is this group women or men, or a mix of both?
Me: Women.
Felicity: Hmm. If it was men, I’d say lunch would be awesome. If it’s women and you’re trying to show them how much you appreciate them, what about gift cards to someplace nice. Like a spa or something? Who DOESN’T love a back rub?
Felicity: Don’t get me wrong, lunch is REALLY thoughtful and probably unnecessary.
Me: No, you’re right. It’s only five people and I was just about to order a shit ton of food and figured I’d check with you first.
I’m standing on the platform between floors ten and eleven, pausing my descent so I can text back and forth without sounding like an autocorrect inept idiot.
Felicity: Glad I could help!
I close out the LoveSwept app and shoot off another message to Beth.
Me: On second thought, what about a few gift cards? What’s that spa down on Kilbourn???
Beth: Water and Earth?
Me: That’s the one!
Beth: Great choice, boss! I’ll get on it.
Boss.
It’s still weird seeing that in writing, or hearing it for that matter. After my grandfather died and my dad retired, the only one left in the family who could run things was me.
Some things about taking over I will never get used to.
I’m at the office in short time — it’s not far from my place, but there’s no time to walk. And I’m not about to take a cab, so I jog, even though I’m in jeans; do I even care if I get sweaty, since I haven’t showered yet?
I’m panting when I make it to the front of McGinnis Headquarters, stopping to walk off the adrenaline coursing through my veins, pulling my thin winter jacket and tee shirt beneath it away from my body and from under my perspiring armpits.
It’s fucking cold out, too.
No doubt I’m going to be a freezing my balls off once my body temperature drops back to normal.
When I look up, Adam is waiting in the lobby, eyes glued to his phone, casually leaning against the desk by the turnstiles looking far more dapper than I am.
New Year’s Steve Page 3