by Kayt Miller
I hold up my laptop bag. “I don’t need a computer.”
“That’s what I told them.”
The guy hasn’t looked up from his computer once. Not once. What could he possibly be doing that would not allow him to engage in eye contact?
I step around my desk closer to his to get a glimpse at what he’s working on, but he’s on to me. By the time I get within viewing distance, he’s on the company website.
No matter. I need to get out of here and find somewhere to work that isn’t at a miniature desk or in the same room as Clive Burgess. Turning on my heel, I step out of the office, though in search of what, I’m not sure. The word I’ve got rolling around in my head is sanctuary.
Taking a right, I step past Ben’s office. I can hear him talking since his door is wide open. Discreetly, I see he’s leaning over his desk, phone to his ear.
“Yeah. That’s right,” he says into his cell phone. “It’s got to be this week.”
I’m quite curious about those two sentences, and I don’t know why.
Shaking my head, I continue walking until I see a small break area. There’s no one around, which isn’t surprising since the workday just started. I take a whiff of freshly brewed coffee, then look around the room. In addition to a fancy-looking coffee machine, there’s a full-sized refrigerator and three round tables with chairs in the space. I decide this spot is as good as any other, so I make my way to the back corner of the room and set up my “office.”
It’s not an ideal location. After only an hour in this spot, I’d say a good chunk of the marketing department has been in and out of the room. I’ve noticed that the minute they see me, they either turn and leave again or they work quickly to get whatever it is they came for. When Lindsay, social media guru, sees me, she approaches my table. “Why are you working in here?”
I look up at her and wonder how much I should say. The professional side of me knows I should just shrug off the shit with Clive and the office space. I mean, Graham didn’t promise me a private office. I requested one, but I’m not about to rock the boat.
The unprofessional side of me, however, wants to pitch a bitch fit about the office situation. I know I can’t say anything about Clive—that’d place me in an awkward position since he’s been named my liaison—so I go with something that works for both sides. “I don’t feel I should share an office with anyone, so I came in here.”
She looks back at the open doorway, then leans forward. In a hushed tone, Lindsay says, “We can’t figure out what the deal is with Clive and that office.”
“Oh?” Me neither.
“But”—she leans back—“there’s a conference room over in there.” She points to the opposite side of the building. “We rarely use it. You could set up in there. The chairs are much more comfortable, and you could really spread out.”
I smile because that’s exactly what I need. “You sure?”
Lindsay smiles back. “I’m sure.” She moves a little closer. “And people are afraid to use the break room with you sitting in here. They think you’re keeping track of breaks.”
I nod. “I wondered.” Gathering up my things, I lift my bag and begin to put things away. “I’ll move to that conference room.”
“What’s wrong with your office?” a man’s voice rumbles.
Lindsay turns, and I look up to see Ben. “She needs her own space to work,” she explains.
Ben shakes his head. “Why the hell does Clive get the big office?”
“No idea,” Lindsay replies quickly. “It is what it is.”
Ben’s brows furrow, giving him a confused yet angry expression. “It’s bull is what it is.”
Lindsay ignores his words and steps toward the doorway. “Well, see you. Gotta get to work.”
“Yeah,” Ben mumbles as he makes his way to the coffee maker. He stops suddenly. Turning his head toward me, he frowns. “Is this okay? I can leave if you feel uncomfortable.”
“No. I’m heading over to the conference room to set up there.”
“Fine.” Ben pulls a ceramic mug from the cupboard and pours himself some coffee.
I watch as he adds an excessive amount of sugar into the cup. It surprises me. The guy is obviously fit. I mean… look at him. I glance from his shoulders down to his ass and pause there. My goodness. He’s got a nice butt. That ass wasn’t created with sugar. More like weights and squats. Lots and lots of squats.
“What?” he says as he turns to leave.
“Huh?” I blink at him.
“Did I do something?”
“No.” This is awkward. “Just finishing a thought.”
“Oh.” He pauses. “Okay.” Just as he exits the room, he leans back, and in a low whisper, he adds, “I repeat, it’s bull that Clive took over that office.” And then he’s gone.
Obviously there’s some bad blood between the two men. Now I just need to find out why.
Chapter Eight
Ben
I wasn’t mincing words. It’s horse shit that Clive’s got himself set up in that office like a fucking king. And what is he doing in there? If Alison Kirby doesn’t need him around, what’s the point? He’s the fucking liaison. But I need to keep my head down. I probably said too much back there, but why hide my feelings? It won’t matter since I’m positive that a good chunk of Clive’s green dossier is about me. No amount of gaslighting is going to change that since he spent the majority of his day before all this with me. Then there’s the fact that she’s got a predisposed opinion of me as a pervert….
Shit.
I probably need to start looking for a new job. Not a bad idea to look now, before I get canned. It’d be much better for me in the long run if I secure something else beforehand.
Back in my office, I shut the door so I can concentrate on my job.
A job I probably won’t have for much longer.
Leaning back in my chair, I place my hands behind my head and close my eyes. I do this a lot whenever I can’t focus, and focus is one thing I don’t seem to have a lot of right now, especially after seeing her this morning. My God, she’s beautiful. I stopped dead in my tracks the second I noticed her hiding in the corner of our break room. She’s wearing a blue sweater over a pale yellow top that makes the blue in her eyes practically glow. I couldn’t see what she was wearing on that luscious bottom half, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was another skirt. Honestly, it wouldn’t matter what she was wearing. She’s stunning no matter what. Hell, I bet she’d rock a brown paper sack. She’s that pretty.
Opening my eyes, I rest my hands on my desk. “That’s not focusing, Ben,” I mutter to myself. Thinking about her isn’t helping anything. I’ve got a job to do, and I need to do it.
Picking up my phone, I call our art director. “Hey, Silvia, it’s Ben Schilling.”
“What’s up, Ben?”
“Can we meet up today to talk about the new insurance line?” Graham purchased a small struggling insurance company, and now it’s our job to create a marketing, design, and social media campaign to boost its identity.
“What time?”
Silvia doesn’t spend a lot of energy on wordiness, which makes her extremely efficient.
“After lunch. One thirty?”
“Sure. Come to my office.”
“Perfect. I’ll give Lindsay a call too. See you then.”
With that done, I begin work on my ideas for the new campaign. We’ve done something like this before, but Graham is going to want to see something fresh, not the old plan revised. And since my head is on the chopping block, I need my A game. It’s too bad the only thing I’ve got on my mind is blue eyes.
It was just a matter of time. Our meeting started thirty minutes ago, and it was going along like any other meeting until there was a pause. A pregnant pause. The elephant was in the room. That’s when Silvia blurted, “What the hell’s going on with Clive? I saw the green folder.”
“Chartreuse,” I reply.
“Huh?” Lindsay asks.
> “The folders. They’re chartreuse.”
“He’s right. They are chartreuse.” Silvia, our art director, should know. “What’s he up to?”
I shrug. “All I know is he was promoted one day, and we had someone consulting the next.”
“I never liked that guy.” See? Silvia doesn’t beat around the bush.
“Oh, now,” Lindsay says softly, “he’s okay.”
I’m staying out of this conversation. Whatever I say, one of them will disagree with me, and I don’t need either of them on my bad side. On the contrary, I need everyone on my good side.
“All I can say is I have no idea what’s going on. I’m as surprised as you are.” Maybe more so since he was my assistant.
“What the hell is in that folder?” Silvia again.
“No idea.”
“Whatever it is, it’s not good.”
I nod slowly because she’s right. It’s most definitely not good.
“Oh, Sky.” I sigh as I run my fingers through her silky hair. “I’m not sure what to think about work.”
She nuzzles into my neck and gives me a lick. It’s her way of comforting me, and it works every single time.
“Come on, let’s go for a walk.”
She begins to wiggle excitedly in my arms, and I laugh. As soon as I say the word “walk,” she goes nuts. I grab her leash and my wallet, and we’re out the door. “I’ll pick up something for dinner while we’re out.” Okay. I know it’s probably strange for people to see a grown-ass man talking to his tiny dog, but I don’t care. She listens, and sometimes she responds. I know she’s paying attention. I can see it in her eyes.
Outside my building, I take a right like I always do when we go for walks. There’s a large park a block to the west of my building. We have a route that normally takes us about thirty minutes from start to finish. That is unless I stop for a slice of pizza or a coffee. It’s pizza tonight, but I’ll pick that up on the way back.
In the park, she does her business quickly and spends the rest of the trek doing what dogs do: sniffing. It’s a beautiful night. The temperature has dropped significantly since the afternoon, reminding me that fall is just around the corner. I love fall. Always have. When I was younger, it was due to the start of the school year where you get to meet new people and watch the leaves change. Then, best of all, there’s football season.
“I miss….” I look down at my Sky and see she’s got her head underneath a shrub. God only knows what she’s found under there, so I tug on her to get her back to the path. Once we’re on our way again, my mind goes back to my thoughts on fall, and I suddenly feel sad. Like in my chest. There’s an empty feeling, almost dread. My dad loved football season. The Chicago Bears were his team. Damn…. “Shake that off,” I mumble to myself. Where the hell did that come from? I look down at Sky and smile. “Maybe I should call Mom, huh?”
I haven’t spoken to my mother in a few weeks. And it’s not like she hasn’t tried. She leaves me a couple of voice messages every week. I love my mom. I really do. It’s just that ever since Dad died last year, talking to her makes it all come back. That’s not her fault, of course, but it’s just weird only talking to her. They were a package deal, my parents. Together for just over thirty years, high school sweethearts, the perfect couple. Everyone said so. Dad was the quarterback, Mom the cheerleader.
“At least she’s got my sister nearby,” I say down to Sky. “I know they’re close.” But it’s not the same. I’m sure she misses me.
Bending down, I stroke the top of Sky’s head. “As soon as we get back, I’m going to call her.” Right after I get my slice of delicious New York-style pizza.
There’s a long line at Mike’s Pizza. Not a surprise, since it’s great pizza at a cheap price. The place is tiny inside, so most people do the walk-up window, which is what we’re doing.
Picking up Sky, I pet her head as I look up to read the menu. “I’m going old-school, Sky. Pepperoni tonight.”
She licks my hand and I smile. When I look back down, something catches my eye. Something curvy with dark hair. I lean back to get a better look.
It’s her. Alison. Walking this way.
“What’s she doing in this neighborhood, Sky?”
My pup follows my line of sight and makes a cute little noise. I don’t speak dog, but if I had to guess, I’d say she likes the look of her too.
She’s still wearing the blue sweater from earlier, which means she hasn’t been home yet. It may also mean she lives around here.
“Do you think she lives in LIC, Sky?”
Not wanting her to see me, I turn my back to her and pretend I’m reading the menu again. I know she feels uncomfortable around me, which bothers me a great deal. The need for her to realize I’m one of the good guys is almost overpowering.
“I need to change that, Sky.” I speak softly, so only she can hear me. “I can’t have her thinking the worst of me.”
Chapter Nine
Alison
Today sucked. I accomplished nothing. Working in the conference room proved to be challenging because I needed access to a printer slash copy machine. A secure printer slash copy machine. While the chair was more comfortable and the table was large so I could spread out, the fact that the entire wall that faces the offices was glass made me feel like a fish in a bowl.
Every once in a while, I felt eyes on me, but when I looked up, there was nothing. Weird. Also, the five people I initially asked to meet with me were “busy,” and when I tried for three others, same thing. So I did what I needed to do. I emailed Graham again.
To: Graham Morgan
From: Alison Kirby
Graham,
I believe I’m meeting with some resistance. I attempted to set up five meetings with support staff and no one was available. Thoughts?
Thanks,
Alison Kirby
I received his reply while on the subway.
To: Alison Kirby
From: Graham Morgan
I’ll take care of it.
G.M.
I was less than impressed with his response. It’s not like I expect him to expound on his thoughts, but something more than five words would be nice.
Yeah. Today sucked.
As soon as I step foot into my place, I start to remove clothing. Shoes first, then the clothes. Getting my bra off is a priority. Once that’s done, I slip on my favorite pair of yoga pants and an old UConn sweatshirt.
“Finally.” I sigh like I’d been wearing a straitjacket all day. Honestly, bras are sort of like that. Tight and constricting.
Walking into my tiny kitchen, I find the nearly empty bottle of wine in the fridge and pour myself the remainder. I take a sip but need more than one before I can figure out what to make for dinner. In my cupboards, I find a can of soup and a few saltine crackers. “This will have to do tonight.” And it’s fine. It’s what we ate growing up when things were tight. I can do the same now.
Lighting up my two-burner stove, I set a small pan on top and empty the soup contents inside all while drinking my wine. There’s probably only a sip or two left, and that saddens me because I could really use more so I can relax, maybe get some sleep.
When my food is ready, I carry the bowl and crackers into my sitting area. I can’t decide if I’m in the mood for television, but the silence is bothering me tonight. “Might as well see what’s on.” Picking up the remote to my twenty-one-inch TV, I press On. It takes a minute for it to come to life, but when it does, I tune in to the local station and the first thing I see is some sort of special report. I’d like to tell you that I’m surprised, but I’m not. In a city the size of New York, there’s always something going on that necessitates a special report.
This time it’s live. I blink a few times when I recognize a familiar building in the background. “Is that my street?” I stand up and walk to my window. It’s facing the alley, but if I open the window and lean out to my left, I can see the street. So, I do all that. I can’t make out much,
but I do see the lights from police vehicles bouncing off the building across the street.
Returning to my spot on the love seat, I pick up the remote and turn up the volume just as a Channel 2 reporter appears on the screen. “We’re live here in LIC where a near-catastrophic accident occurred. But thanks to some quick thinking by a mystery man, that accident was avoided.”
“Catastrophic accident?” I lean forward, thinking it’ll get me more news faster or something if I’m closer to the television. “Mystery man?”
I watch as the reporter continues. “It happened here on 30th Street right in front of Mike’s Pizza.”
“Ooh, I love Mike’s Pizza.” I eat it way too much, though. Having a place like that less than a block from my apartment is dangerous for someone like me who has to watch every morsel that goes into my mouth. But, boy, would I love a slice right now….
I focus back on the television rather than on food. I need to know what happened right outside my apartment building.
“Allegedly, a bus carrying a group of elderly sightseers started to weave dangerously back and forth on 30th Street, causing property damage to cars parked on the street. Several eyewitnesses reported that there didn’t seem to be anyone in the driver seat.” The reporter turns to her left. The camera pans out and a man steps onto the screen. He has gray hair and a beard. I’d say he’s probably my dad’s age, around sixty. “Sir, you witnessed this accident, is that right?”
“I sure did.” He nods. “That damn bus nearly hopped the curb several times. That is until that superhero fella ran toward the bus.”
“Superhero?” The reporter chuckles.
“Damn right,” the older man says gruffly. “He ran right up to the door, yanked it open, and jumped into the seat. He got that big bus stopped right away.”
“Do you know the superhero?” She says the word in kind of a snotty way. I’m thinking whoever risked their own life to save people should be called a superhero, even if she doesn’t agree.