Between The Spreadsheets

by Nicky Fox

  BETWEEN THE SPREADSHEETS

  NICKY FOX

  Copyright © 2018 by NICKY FOX

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by: Virginia Tesi Carey

  Proofread by: Marla Selkow Esposito

  Formatting by: Affordable Formatting

  Cover Designer: Kassi Snider with KassiJean Formatting & Design

  Cover Photo by: Lindee Robinson

  Cover Models: Johnny Morrish & Daria Rottenberk

  Dedication:

  For my real co-worker, Cindy. Go for it Girl!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Playlist

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by NICKY FOX

  1

  “Just because I like pink frilly things, doesn’t mean I’m void of depth or feeling. You can shove that misogynist judgment up your ass,” I whisper-yell and walk away from the most infuriating man I’ve ever met. Usually people like him don’t bother me. When I say “like him,” what I mean is those guys with the dark clothes who read Stephen King and think they know everything about the world. Who have such deep thoughts that my preppy, simple mind can’t comprehend. It’s like the only way to be smart and deep is to wear black, hang out in a coffee shop, and be depressed and act uninterested all the time. I take joy in the simple things. Does that make me simple? I like pretty things. Does that make me superficial? I’m also female. Does that make me emotional and needy? I’m not trying to write some bitter diatribe on the inequality of women. Normally I’m able to brush guys like him off, but this man drives me absolutely insane.

  “You can take out whatever’s up your ass today,” Dylan calls out at my retreating backside. I’m forced to work with a shaggy hair, grunge, hipster beard, ass wit, who is condescending at every opportune moment. Not that what he wears or looks like has any effect on how I see him as a person, but it’s exactly the problem he has with me. Yes, I wear polos and pencil skirts with high heels. I curl my hair and want to look neat and tidy. It’s a style I’m comfortable in and I feel looks best on me. I also happen to find beards super attractive. If Dylan wasn’t so much of a schmuck I might see myself liking him. He’s attractive, like hot actually. Bright brown eyes pierce through the dark brown hair that hangs in his face. His lips, God. His lips seriously turn me on. I mean they are encased in a grungy hipster beard. Not that I would ever even consider kissing him or doing anything with him. Dylan is vile. Although, he’s passionate in what he believes in. It just so happens what he believes about me is all wrong.

  There’s more than meets the eye in the pink clothes I wear. I’m a sensitive person and I care about other people. In my line of work, you do need to care about your coworker’s well-being. I’m passionate about animals and I love movies and children. I bet Dylan despises children. No, I will not be quick to judge like him.

  When he spills words of equality and prejudice and then in the same breath he projects his inaccurate assumptions of me because of the way I dress or decorate my office, then what does that say about him? He’s the same thing he’s trying to rally against. Dylan hasn’t even tried to get to know me as a person. He has no idea who I am or where I come from. I mumble to myself, “Don’t turn around, don’t turn around,” but the pull I have to fight with him always wins out. “Dylan, remind me who you are named after again?” I chuckle to myself as I leave him in the breakroom.

  It might sound like a lame comeback, but it pushes his buttons. Every time I mention that little nugget his hands ball up into fists and his mouth goes into a thin line. It’s awesome. See, he is forever fighting the fact that his parents named him after the most cliché, moody, poet/singer ever . . . Bob Dylan. To him, it’s like being a hipster named Finn or River. Dylan doesn’t like being a walking cliché. I like to dig it in whenever he’s really pissing me off, like today. It started off as a normal conversation like it usually does. We talk about work and the weather and suddenly it’s Clash of the Titans. Most people steer clear of us when we’re both in the same room. Our coworkers don’t like being pulled into the hate vortex.

  Today was no exception, and like me, he knows what buttons to push. The morning went something like this: I entered the breakroom, I acknowledged his presence with a nod, avoid, avoid, avoid and then he sneers at me. His nose scrunched up with his lip as he had a look of disdain on his face. Being the grown-up I am, I ignored it and went about making my morning tea. Then, he opened his mouth. “God, you even make your tea snooty.” He’s always the instigator.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I reply, ceasing the dunking of my tea bag.

  “Black tea? Really who drinks it without cream, sugar, or honey?” I know he’s just doing this to get a rise out of me. I make my tea the same way every day. He’s seen me make it every day. It’s not like this is a new occurrence.

  “Yeah, I like it black like your soul.” I smile over the rim of my cup, but my victory is short-lived when I notice he’s taken that as a compliment by the smile he’s giving me. Fucker. If I had balls I would so want to teabag him right now. I adjust my diamond stud earrings, it’s a nervous habit of mine.

  He moves in close, like he has a secret to tell me. I lower my cup from the front of my face. He looks so smug. “At least I have a soul, princess.” That’s when I snapped. I metaphorically teabagged him with my words, mentally gave him the finger and got the hell out of dodge, because I was so close to pouring my hot tea all over his hipster bearded ass. I know it’s petty and childish, but it’s our thing. I secretly think he gets off on it. He always finds a way to antagonize me.

  I walk by Cindy’s desk. Hers is closest to the breakroom so she is privy to our adolescent banter daily. She gives me a knowing smile. I smile back and give her a roll of the eyes. She knows what I have to deal with day in and out. We work at a corporate accounting firm. It’s not exciting, but it’s stable and I love my job. I’m in HR. Unfortunately, Dylan was already working here before I got this gig. Even though he is a pain in my ass, he’s really good at his job and he seems to love it. The hipster comes off as gruff and hard edged, but I’ve seen him with other people. He can be charismatic when he wants to be, friendly even.

  The first time I met him, I thought he was lost. He came into my office to ask a question about his time off. He took one look at me and it went downhill very quickly. You’d think in my position he would schmooze me a bit, try and get on my good side. But no, it’s not his style. His broad shoulders filling my doorway, I thought he was a maintenance guy. He looked like a guy that worked with his hands, his very large hands. I call him a hipster, but he doesn’t really have the physique that I picture when I think of a hipster. He’s not lean. He’s brawny and muscular under that tight white dress shirt he wears. Dylan doesn’t look like the type of guy that would sip a beer. I could picture a pint in his hands, the froth from the beer clinging to his whiskers. He has tattoos too. I’ve seen them when he rol
ls up his dress shirts. So hot.

  I’m getting off topic here, but he’s a massive, intimidating guy. He’s probably used to people bending to his will. Unfortunately for him, I’m not like that. I’m stubborn, organized, and efficient. I don’t like bullshit, which is something we have in common. If he could sit in my office for more than five minutes and talk about something other than what I’m wearing or my intellect being lower than thou, then we might actually be able to get along. He had the audacity to come in my office and say that I put his time in incorrectly. He spoke slowly so I understood him, and I spoke like a Neanderthal so he would understand me. And so, our wonderful work relationship was born.

  I collapse in my chair, wondering to myself how a guy like that works in an accounting firm. I do know that he’s a whiz with numbers. I think he was a child prodigy. Dylan gets away with a lot here because of it. Honestly, I’m surprised he hasn’t gone out and created his own firm. On the other hand, he doesn’t like dealing with the finer details, which I specialize in.

  I glance around my beautifully organized desk. My office doesn’t have a window, and so I try and cheer it up a bit with color and beautiful things. When I say color, I mean mostly pink. I’m obsessed with the color. I know, I’m such a girl. It’s a cheery color. The most beautiful flowers to me are pink. I love flowers and I have some fake flowers on my desk. If I had the money I would have fresh flowers every day.

  I’m not a type A personality all the way through but everything has to have a nice cute little place. I look at my large collection of sharpened pencils; that’s like a bouquet there in itself. My cute little notebooks, Post-its, and calendar. These things make me happy. They make me feel relaxed and I’m able to do my job efficiently when everything looks bright and I have easy access to it. I added floral pillows to the blah gray chairs that came with my office and have calming pictures hung. After I finally unloaded all my office supplies, Dylan came by and had to comment that it looked like Barney threw up Pepto-Bismol. All the women and some of the guys say it looks really nice, so I just ignore his jabs and keep doing what I do. He can pass judgment all he likes, I’m not changing.

  I’ve worked here for two years now and I love it. The job I moved here for didn’t pan out. It just wasn’t a good fit and after a year, I left and joined this firm. The people are great, well most of them, and I can see myself working here for my entire career. I love doing this kind of work and helping people. I also get to plan some of the holiday parties. That’s my favorite, decorating for the holidays. Cindy and I are close for coworkers. We don’t hang out a lot, she’s quite a bit older than I am, but we talk on the phone after work sometimes. We like discussing the daily fights I have with Dylan.

  “Andy, there’s an emergency meeting being called. All staff need to go to the boardroom immediately.” Before I can ask Cindy what’s going on, she’s moving on to the next office to inform them of the meeting. Shaking my head, I grab a pad and pencil to take notes. I don’t think I’ve ever been involved in a meeting where the company as a whole was there. This should be interesting. It must have been impromptu as normally they send an email a couple days before.

  2

  “We’ve gathered all of you in here to inform you that the company has been bought out effective immediately. We were trying to get our numbers up in the last quarter, to no avail. I’m sorry this is so sudden, and we can’t offer you more than two weeks’ pay. We understand the strain this puts on you and we tried to talk the new company into keeping some of the staff, but I think they’re going to be cleaning house. They wanted our big-name clients and now that they have them well, we are of no use it seems. Myself and John will take any questions you have at this time.”

  My life is suddenly in a tailspin. I’ve just lost my job. My mouth is still hanging open when I catch Dylan’s eye. He looks solemn, but not upset. He must have some savings built up. I have none. I just managed to get all my bills sorted out, after racking them up through college. That was three years ago. I’m near tears. What the hell am I going to do? The meeting continues with some coworkers riling up and others sad and quiet. It seems like we are in the meeting for hours, when it’s only been one. We are finally dismissed to gather our things.

  Cindy’s crying and I try to console her as we make our way to our desks. She has two kids and is a single mother. I really hope she has some savings. She lives in the suburbs and her home is paid for; that’s at least something she doesn’t have to worry about. We’ll keep in touch and she’ll keep me updated on her circumstances.

  I moved here after graduating from the University of Alabama. That’s where I grew up. I wanted to go to Chicago and stand on my own two feet without the help of my father. Since my mom passed away when I was young, my dad focused most of his energy on work. I send him a postcard on holidays but we don’t really have a relationship. I still miss my friends from college. Since moving here three years ago, I haven’t really made any friends apart from Cindy. I live in a bustling city and yet, I’m alone.

  I rent a small studio in Lake View, an easy commute by the L to, well now my previous job. It’s small but the rent is affordable. I’ve decorated it and made it my own. I have to get another job quickly, otherwise I’ll have to go crawling back to Alabama a failure. I won’t let that happen. I’m determined to come out on top in this city.

  Ever since I saw the movie While You Were Sleeping, I’ve wanted to make the trip to Chicago. Sandra Bullock’s character is a single girl in the city. Her parents are absent in her life as well. She falls in love at first sight with a man she meets at her job. How romantic. Of course, she does end up falling for the brother. I’m such a romantic at heart.

  Luckily, I was able to live home during college and not have to pay for a dorm. I had a job at the local pizzeria and saved enough money to make the trip out to Chicago. It was luck finding a job as a secretary before I left. I worked there for about a year before I found this position. I wanted to become a career woman and then fall in love with a mysterious stranger. It’s still a nice thought, but I’ve become a bit more jaded since I first had that dream. Right now, I’d be happy with just being able to afford my small studio.

  Slowly packing my things into boxes, I think about what my next step will be. I need to update my résumé, scour the want ads, look online, and possibly hire a headhunter. This sucks. A figure looms in my doorway and it’s the last person I want to see right now. Dylan is leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets. I brush my hair away from my face and continue packing.

  “Before you say anything, Dylan, I’m really not in the mood for any of our witty banter right now. All I have to say to you is good luck and have a nice life.” See, I can be civil with him.

  “Witty banter? Andy, that’s funny.” Never mind.

  “Fuck you, you hipster brawny man. I was actually trying to be nice to you for a moment. Now, all I have to say to you is get the hell out of my office. I hope your life sucks.” I’ll be honest. I’m not used to cutting people down. So yeah, my comebacks might be a little childish, but they get the point across. I normally don’t cuss at work either, but he seems to bring out the sailor in me.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you say fuck. I like it. Now, I have a few things to say to you. I have a job—”

  I cut him off, “Of course, you do.” The bastard is coming here to rub it in my face. What a jerk!

  “Let me finish, Andy. For Christ’s sake. I have a job for you.”

  I pause and look away from my boxes for a minute. His light brown eyes are focused on me. He has a job for me? What?

  “Don’t patronize me, Dylan. I’m really not in the mood. I’m sure whatever perverted position you have available for me can be taken up with the B.B.B. Now, please stop wasting my time.” I shove my ivory desk calendar in a box and it crinkles. Ugh, I’m ready to pull my hair out! I might cry.

  “ANDY!” I’m jolted by his raised voice. He quickly looks around and shuts my door. Dylan
bends over and sets his hands on my desk. We stare at each other, eye to eye. “I’m being serious here. I think it’s time I opened my own firm and I want you to help me start it up. You know all the legalities and the filing crap. I need someone like that.”

  I drop to my chair as he towers over me. He’s offering me a job? I rephrase that in my head. He wants to continue to work with me, for him? This is insane.

  “I can see the wheels turning in your head. Before you say anything you regret, it comes with medical and maybe an occasional lunch.” He smiles at me. At least, I think it’s a smile. He could be constipated. I can tell he’s nervous though. I give him the side-eye. There’s got to be a catch.

  “Are you freaking crazy?” I reply. This guy is seriously out of his gourd.

  “Now, Andy. I’m offering you a legit job here. Do you really want to call your new boss crazy?”

  “New boss? I could never work for you. We’d kill each other. K.I.L.L.” I use a slashing motion across my neck to emphasize my point.

  The bearded monster moves to sit down and notices my floral pillow. He picks up the pillow and chucks it across the room. It lands in one of my boxes. I sneer back at him.

  “Boss, work for, under, whatever, it’s just semantics. I’m one hundred percent serious here, Andy.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say my name this much. It kinda makes me hot . . . but in an angry way. “Look, you have my cell on file. I already have some things lined up. I just need someone to handle the office details. I’m not good with . . .” He motions around my office and rests on some file folders. “The pay will be very good, more than what you’re making here.”