“Jimmy and Dean not keeping you entertained?” I pull away from the curb.
“Jimmy and Dean are obnoxious and bored without you.”
“That’s because you don’t do and say half the stupid shit I do.”
“I miss our ridiculousness,” Charlene says.
“Me, too.” Charlene is the one person I miss seeing every day at work.
The closer we get to Stroker and Cobb, the more anxious I become. Working from home has been nice—nicer than I expected. I’m highly conflicted over going in today, and not just because of the guilt.
Alex is actually doing surprisingly well physically. Mentally and emotionally, it’s a different story. He’s been obsessively watching the games he’s missing, replaying every goal, most of which are being scored by Randy. The team won the past two games, which should be good, but it worries me, because it probably worries Alex. Being away from him worries me.
“Are you okay?” Charlene asks.
“I’m fine.” I avoid looking directly at her. I have makeup on today, including mascara, which I’m not sure is waterproof, and the buildup of emotions threatens to overwhelm me. Maybe I need to get a part-time job at Hot Topic so I can immerse myself in the emo that’s become my life.
“Violet? How are you, really? I know this hasn’t been easy on you. You can talk to me. ”
“Can we do the serious stuff later? After the Darcy presentation is done and I don’t feel like I’m going to hurl?”
“Okay. Sure. How are you feeling about that? Other than barfy?”
“Good, I guess. I mean, I’m as prepared as I’m going to get. Can you open the glove compartment?”
She hits the button and a bag of Swedish Fish falls into her lap.
“Thank God!” I nab the bag and tear it open with my teeth.
“You’re going to eat those now?”
“I need something to calm my stomach.”
“So you’re going with sugar and caffeine?” she asks as I pull into the Starbucks drive-thru.
“And gelatin. Don’t forget the gelatin.” I tip my head back and dump a few fish into my mouth, savoring the artificial fruit flavor. Of course, this is the exact moment the car in front of me moves forward and I’m due at the speaker. “Whaddya want?” I ask through a mouthful of candy.
Charlene orders a latte and some healthy egg-white crap while I chew furiously. I swallow in time to secure my own caffeine fix, adding one of those fudge squares and a cake pop.
“Wow. You’re really aiming for gut rot today,” Charlene says. “We’re going out for lunch, the two of us, and we’re going to talk about how you’re managing. We haven’t had any girl time in almost two weeks.”
“It’s been busy what with Alex being broken.”
Charlene purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything as I stuff another handful of fish into my mouth.
I’m slick about hiding candy from Alex. Otherwise he eats it and feels guilty. The man burns five thousand calories a day, but during the season he has the most boring diet in the world. He’s ultra-healthy. Healthier than Sunny even, and that’s saying something since she doesn’t eat anything animal-related. I’d be so sad if I had to give up cow and pig.
My secondary candy stash is in my “office” in the house. Alex had one of the six bedrooms converted after I moved in. I don’t do much in the way of work in there—until the last week anyway. Before that it was where I keep all the stuff I don’t know what to do with, and my sewing supplies so I can make costumes for Alex’s Super MC.
Once we have our coffees, Charlene’s normal breakfast, and my sugar fest, we get back on the road.
“Other than Jimmy and Dean being pains in the ass, has work been okay?” I ask.
“It’s been the usual.”
“What about Darren? You see much of him?” I feel like such a bad friend, although I think I’ve probably had a solid reason to not be as engaged with the rest of my life recently.
Charlene slips her fingers under the scarf thing she’s taken to wearing and finds the pearls underneath. “We saw each other right before the away games, and I’ll see him tonight. He’s missing Alex. The whole team is.”
“Yeah. It bugs Alex that he can’t be with them.”
The team’s been on the West Coast most of the week. They came back late last night. Alex and Darren text each other and talk on the phone when they can, but they haven’t seen each other since he got out of the hospital since the team has been away.
“Brunch tomorrow should be good for their bromance.”
“Yup. Daisy has the most elaborate menu set up. She’s been to the grocery store every day this week. It’s crazy.”
“I don’t know how she has time with all the hair styling she has to do,” Charlene jokes.
“Seriously. It’s so big. So hard. And not in a well-endowed-dick kind of way. I thought maybe when she and my mom went to the spa she might’ve come back with a new hairstyle, but no such luck.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah. She goes through an insane amount of hairspray. I’ve found three aerosol cans in the garbage. I think either she should buy stock or we should stage an intervention.”
“That’s an awesome idea.”
“Buying hairspray stock?” I scoop up another handful of fish.
“No, the intervention. You should get rid of her hairspray.”
“She’ll go buy more.”
“Not if you do it in the middle of the night. Then you can save the day by offering to style her hair for her.”
I pause with a handful of fish halfway to my mouth. “Oh my God. That’s brilliant. I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before.”
“You don’t want her to have that hair for your wedding pictures—you know, for whenever you decide to set a date.” Her eyes are wide, like she’s afraid she’s said the wrong thing.
“Yeah. We definitely need to get that helmet under control before then.” I don’t say anything else about weddings and dates. That’s a conversation for later.
But I do know I want to tie the knot this summer. And I also know the longer I wait to say anything, the less chance there is that we’ll be able to secure an excessively large venue.
I pull into the underground lot and park in an empty spot between some expensive sporty car and a Land Rover. Files and coffee in hand, we make our way to the elevator. I’m still nervous. And angsty.
I shut down thoughts of potential wedding plans and stop wondering how Alex is doing so I can focus on what’s important, which is the presentation. Of course, that makes me think about how getting this account could make things really different at work, and I’m already experiencing a lot of change as it is.
I’m realizing that ultimately, my job—the one I’m good at but is causing me conflict and stress—is really the last normal thing I have, the last part of my life that’s the same as it was before Alex. I think the reason I’ve been holding on to the nine-to-five grind—resisting even the flexibility of working from home—is because it’s normal, and nothing else about my life is anymore.
Sometimes I wonder how my life got so complicated, and then I remember I’m engaged to a professional hockey player who’s currently broken. As the elevator rises, I realize every single person in this office knows how broken he is. It’s been all over the news—as has the massive suspension slapped on Cockburn.
Charlene puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“What?” I’m eating my fingernails so I drop my hand. “Oh, yeah. Just bracing myself for all the fake sympathy.”
“It’s not fake, Vi. People are really concerned about you.”
“No, they’re not. They’re worried about whether Alex is going to play the end of the season and how much this is going to hurt Chicago’s shot at the playoffs.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but the elevator dings.
I’m not braced enough as the doors open and we step into the office. It’s like bein
g smacked in the face with an empathy dick. All these people come out of their cubicles— half of them I don’t even know by name—to hug me and tell me how I’m such a trooper and blah fucking blah.
It takes seventeen minutes to get to my cubicle. I’m frazzled and on the verge of tears by the time I make it. I need to get it together. Jimmy pops his head in before Charlene can even leave. He’s holding a box of cinnamon buns. My favorite kind. My stomach is all sorts of upset over the crap I’ve already put in it.
“Hey, girl, how you doin’?” He grimaces, indicating I may look like yesterday’s garbage. “Ohh, rough start?” He opens the bun box. “Want one?”
“No thanks.” My smile feels constipated.
My professional and personal relationship with Jimmy hasn’t been the same since Alex and I got engaged. I don’t know if it’s because he secretly hoped the rumors about Alex being gay from years ago were true, or because I’ve been fortunate enough to get some sweet opportunities, like managing Buck’s money and now the Darcy account, if I don’t screw it up. It’s a lot of personal attention from Stroker, which he’s usually stingy with. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a combination of the two. Jimmy’s always had a crush on Alex.
“It’s so great that you’re here! Are you just coming in to get some stuff? I thought Stroker was letting you work from home for a while.” He checks behind him before he makes his customary jerk-off gesture.
“Thanks. He was; he is—”
“Who’s dealing with the Darcy account? Are you still presenting? I checked out the PowerPoint. I hope you don’t mind.”
Charlene puts a hand up in front of his face. “Calm your balls, Jimmy.”
He drops a hand to his crotch. “What? I haven’t seen Vi in, like, a week. I’m being a good friend.”
“You didn’t even ask her about Alex.”
“How is Alex? I’ve been watching all the news and stuff, but some of that is probably skewed, right? He’s not really out for the rest of the season.” His voice rises instead of lowers at the last question.
I should’ve known I would get this, but it still throws me. Alex hasn’t done any interviews yet. He wants to wait until his face isn’t quite so banged up.
I don’t get to answer because Mr. Stroker’s bald head appears at the top of my cubicle wall. “Violet, can I see you in my office?”
“Of course, Mr. Stroker.” Charlene and Jimmy get out of the way so I can follow him to his huge, comfy office at the far end of the hall.
He gestures to one of the plush chairs, where I sit. Instead of sitting behind his desk, he takes the one across from me and steeples his hands. “I’m not going to ask you how you are, because I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.”
“I appreciate that.” I’m not thinking it requires more of a response.
“Are you sure you want to present to the Darcys today?”
“I’m sure.”
“You know it’s just a formality at this point. They’re very much set on having you manage the accounts.”
“Well, that’s good to know, but I think it’s best for me to present. It’s an experience I don’t have yet.”
“You have lots of experience presenting, Violet. You do it every week at our meetings.”
“This is different.” I tap the arm of the chair with my nails. They need to be redone in the worst way. I had to touch up all the chips last night before I went to bed so I didn’t have cheap-hooker hands today.
Mr. Stroker regards me for what seems like forever, but is most likely only about ten seconds. Still, it’s a long time since I’m trying not to fidget, or get emotional. And my stomach is not happy.
He slaps his hand on the arm of the chair, startling me. “Okay then, meet me in the conference room in five minutes, and we’ll have a quick brief before they show up. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.” This is what I need. Business as usual. A reminder of why I want to be here, doing this job I don’t actually need.
I head back to my cubicle with purpose, a smile plastered over my cheeks. Gathering up my notes, I check my face in the little mirror beside my computer. I look tired but otherwise okay, and go directly to the conference room to set up.
I’ve got my PowerPoint ready by the time Mr. Stroker arrives. It’s already twenty to ten. The Darcys will be here soon. Stroker and I have been over the whole proposal already—not face-to-face, but through email—so I’m feeling okay about it.
This isn’t a social visit, so I’m less nervous than I would be at, say, a work function, or my own engagement party. Which the Darcys attended and witnessed my hives outbreak. It hasn’t deterred them so far, so I guess it couldn’t have been as bad as I’m remembering it.
I click through the slides and give Mr. Stroker a brief overview. I have three left to go when we get the call letting us know they’re here.
“It’s game time,” Mr. Stroker says.
I meet the Darcys in the waiting room. Bunny folds me into a tight hug. Her boobs are hard and unyielding. I’m now certain they’re not real. Or her bra is made of steel. I can feel her nose against my neck. When she pulls back, she gives me one of those sympathy smiles. It’s not really a smile, but it’s not really a frown. It’s more like a frile, or a smown. She’s definitely had some surgery on her face, as her eyebrows don’t move at all when her expression changes. It’s a little unnerving.
“How are you? How’s Alex?”
“He’s okay. The doctors have him resting, and you know how that is.” God, I sound like a wife. A hockey wife.
Bunny gives me a knowing smile and winks, but her eye only closes halfway. “These boys are so hard to keep down, aren’t they?”
“They sure are.”
I left him tenting the sheets this morning in his sleep. But I don’t think that’s what she means, or maybe it is.
I expect Mitch to shake my hand, but he comes in for a solid hug. “He’ll be fine; don’t you worry.”
I’ve heard that line enough times to make me want to dick-punch someone. Or multiple someones. I know it’s meant to be encouraging, but honestly, this isn’t a bounce-right-back kind of injury, so the fine part seems like it’s going to take a long-ass time to get to.
I redirect the conversation away from Alex, because talking about him makes me feel guilty for not being home.
The proposal is seamless until I get to the second-to-last slide. When I click to it, the screen fills with a picture of me and Alex from the night we met. We’re mouth-fucking—like, hardcore. The letters D-T-F spin onto the screen below my tongue sliding into his mouth. Mitch clears his throat. Bunny giggles.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. That isn’t part of my proposal. I mean, obviously watching me and Alex mouth-fuck has nothing to do with managing your financial portfolio. I don’t—” I choke on the words as I move to the next slide, hoping to get rid of the horribly inappropriate image. But another slide of Alex and me making out pops up. I hit the back button, revisiting the previous mouth-fuck before I finally get to one that isn’t embarrassing.
“I apologize,” Mr. Stroker says.
I can feel the tears. They’re so close to spilling over. I don’t want to look at him, because I can hear how angry he is. I’ve blown it. I don’t know how those pictures ended up in my proposal, but I’ve lost the account for sure now, and possibly my job. This is the worst week ever.
“Violet has some colleagues who like to play practical jokes. Unfortunately, their timing on this one is poor.” He hits the button on the phone beside him. Edna, his personal secretary, answers in a chipper voice. “What can I do for you, Mr. Stroker?”
“Have Jimmy and Dean from accounting come to conference room B, please.”
“Of course.”
“What’re you doing?” I whisper—not like it matters, the Darcys can still hear me.
“They need to apologize.”
“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not. But it’s not like everyone hasn’t already seen those pictures
. They were everywhere for a while. And Alex and I have been caught doing worse.” I wish I could stop my mouth from opening and spewing out words.
“Like in the locker room.” Bunny winks at me. “Mitch told me all about that!”
Jesus. Could this get any more embarrassing?
Stroker’s eyebrows rise, wrinkling his forehead. I try not to react, but I can feel the heat in my face.
“We don’t need to see anything else, Violet,” Mitch says. “Bunny has done her research on you, and we know you’ll do an excellent job handling us.”
My mind is stuck somewhere in the gutter thanks to the mouth-fuck pictures because when Mitch says “handling us” I think he means his junk, not his financial portfolio. Thankfully, a knock on the door prevents me from saying something even more embarrassing.
Jimmy pops his head in the room. Dean’s right behind him, shoving him forward so he can get in, too. “Hey, Mr. St—” Jimmy stops when he sees the Darcys, and his perfectly shaped eyebrows shoot up toward his artfully styled hair.
“Oooohhhh…” Dean lifts his hand to his mouth.
I’m fairly certain we’re matching in our horror.
“I assume you know why you’re here.” Mr. Stroker has put on his angry face. It’s super convincing, maybe because he really is upset.
“I think so,” Jimmy says slowly.
In case there was any question, Mr. Stroker cues up the PowerPoint and goes to the incriminating slides. I close my eyes to block out the view of my tongue in Alex’s mouth.
“I’m so sorry. I put the mouth-fucking slides in a while ago and forgot to take them out.” Jimmy cringes when Dean elbows him in the side. “I mean the kissing slides. Violet calls it mouth-fucking, which we think is funny—”
“Shut up,” Dean hisses.
“It’s okay,” I mutter. “Can you just—”
“It’s not okay, Violet. This is unprofessional behavior. What if the Darcys weren’t so understanding?” Mr. Stroker gestures to the massive image on the screen. My tongue is the size of my actual head.
I sink down in my chair, wishing Stroker would take the hint and change the slide. I steal a peek at the Darcys. Mitch’s eyes are darting between my tongue in Alex’s mouth, Jimmy and Dean, and then back to Bunny.
Forever PUCKED (Pucked #4) Page 14