Bad Boy's Cinderella: A Sports Romance
Page 10
My eyes drifted to my retro art sticky notes block, and I tore off the top sheet of paper because of the frighteningly prophetic message printed beside a vintage woman in one corner that read: Today is in dire need of Ctrl Alt Del. With the sticky note scrunched up in my fist I’d revealed the next message: I dreamed my entire desk was clean.
A clean desk for me normally was a dream, but right now the idea was part of my nightmare.
Clean desk.
No job.
My best friend and roommate, Kylie, had bought me the novelty sticky notes block when I got this job, and whenever it ran out, she bought me a new one. That and a zombie desk accessory—a flattened creeper I got to impale through the chest with my pen whenever I’d finished signing important papers. There was also a photo frame that originally held my favorite picture of Jeff and me. That photo had been replaced with a picture of a demonic kitten. I dropped it into the trash bin, grabbed my spare lipstick and a packet of mints from the top desk drawer, and noticed there wasn’t much more of me here.
I came here to work, and didn’t believe in turning the small allocated space into an extension of the way I lived at home.
With my few things packed I stood and cleared my throat. One by one, the rest of the team looked up, focusing on places on the wall behind me. It seemed as if nobody wanted to engage in case redundancy was some contagious disease they might catch.
“Have a nice life, everyone,” I said in an eerily light voice. This was surreal.
Mutterings drifted across the room. Things like, sorry, see you later, good luck—all painfully awkward. It was plain to see that now I’d been given the flick. They couldn’t wait for me to go. The team felt uncomfortable in their retained jobs.
But I wouldn’t slink away. I went around and shook the hands of each of my colleagues, and the mood shifted a little to something genuine. Words lightened by sheepish smiles.
I couldn’t let this get me down. I hadn’t done anything wrong beyond taking on a position doomed to extinction.
The job of Publicist was on its collision course with the death star before I’d even started. That’s what my colleague Tom told me right after he said he’d miss me. Then he asked if he could call if he got stuck on any of my work that he’d inherited in the reshuffle.
I said of course, and hoped he’d never call. Ideally, I’d walk into a new job by next week. Reality, though, felt shaky.
Monique met me at the elevator.
“I’m really sorry, April. What a sucky thing to happen, especially with your allergies and stuff.”
Maybe I was best out of there after all. I thanked her and said I’d be okay, more for my benefit than hers. Her relief was clear on her face.
“Of course you will.” She patted my arm and turned away as the elevator pinged.
One interior wall of the elevator car was mirrored. As a design idea it was unnerving because when you crammed it full of people, the reflection made it feel overloaded and perilous.
At this time of the morning I had the elevator to myself. The sight in the mirror was frightful. I’d done a lousy job of trying to clean myself up from bawling over Jeff. Although I’d dabbed at my eyes in the bathroom, at some stage, probably on my way to Driscoll’s office, I’d rubbed them, turning myself into a raccoon with a red nose.
When I got to the street I started to walk. Not a dawdle—there was purpose in my stride. I might not have anywhere to go, or anything meaningful to do, but I’d damn well look as though I did.
I came to the coffee shop where I usually bought my mid-morning latte, but marched right on by. I’d need a new coffee shop now. Well, soon. Once I got a new job. Half an hour ago my budget had moved from controlled to strict, turning into the sort of budget that didn’t involve fancy coffees with foreign names and lots of ingredients.
I carried on walking until I came to the small park where I liked to come to eat lunch on a warm day. I noticed my favorite bench was free, just as my anxiety reached peak levels. I hurried over and sat, trying to breathe, trying to beat down the flood of panic. I was okay. I had to believe that. I had enough money to make rent due in ten days. So long as I didn’t eat.
Kylie ran a catering business. Perhaps she could bring home a trash bag from one of her functions and I could pick through it for viable food.
I would still need money. Maybe I could sell something. I made an inventory of the stuff I owned as I watched a mother push her infant on a swing. The mother looked at me a couple of times, and I don’t know what it was about my demeanor, but after a couple of minutes, she gathered up her child, strapped her into the stroller and walked quickly out of the park through the gate opposite to the one where I sat.
I was sure I hadn’t looked like a kidnapper in the elevator mirror. That transition must have taken place on the street. I rummaged in my bag for the peppermints, shoving three into my mouth to see if I could actually feel something.
The intense menthol burned and cooled as the mints dissolved. My panic had gone, leaving me feeling washed out, hungover. I checked the time on my phone, relieved to see I could safely go home without disturbing Kylie. She’d worked a function last night and hadn’t gotten in until sometime after three, and I wanted to be sure she’d had plenty of sleep before I soured her day with my drama.
Maybe I could keep it to myself. Be one of those people who pretended to go to work each day, but instead sat on a park bench drinking vodka from a bottle in a paper bag.
I snorted. Self-pity made you a whiner, not a winner.
With that short motivational speech I shoved my mints into my bag and headed for the apartment. Despite the crappy day, the weather was nice enough and I decided to walk at my newly discovered pace-with-a-purpose. If nothing good was going to happen today, I could at least burn off a calorie.
Fuck Jeff and his new bride.
Fuck restructuring.
Oh, fuck my life.
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BAD BOY NOVELLAS
Bad Boy’s Cinderella
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