Nash didn’t say anything else as he headed down the hall to the larger room. I crashed on the bed without even unpacking.
Chapter 5
I was deep in the woods again, sitting on top of a large log, looking out at the sunrays slipping between leaves. A set of hands covered my eyes. It was playful like kids do, and I felt a grin spread across my lips as she whispered “Guess who?” in a voice so familiar.
A flash of golden hair and porcelain skin danced around toward me, as her fingertips trailed the length of my arm to my hand. She was pulling me onto my feet, and we started…spinning?
No, dancing. I was dancing. I’d never been much of a dancer. High school dances weren’t cool to hipster kids who thought the only thrills in life came from a light or a bottle. But this was nice. It was…soothing turning around and around.
I’d been here before, or so I thought. This place, these woods, these arms; they were so familiar to me. They felt like home, or what I thought home might feel like these days. I’d forgotten, it had been so long.
I looked down; two bright eyes looked back. They were so familiar, and my eyes trailed to a smile that made my stomach tie in knots.
“Even,” I heard a voice say, softly, soothingly. “Come find me.”
And then she was out of my arms, dancing off into the woods by herself.
I opened my eyes to a nearly pitch-black room. The dream lingered in my mind as the feeling of home slowly faded. I’d had the dream before, but I was dreaming about her more now. And every time I woke from one of those dreams, I found myself with this ridiculous sense of hope that she was out there somewhere, just waiting for me.
A sigh escaped my lips as I rolled over, hoping maybe I could get back to sleep. But when I closed my eyes, the only thing I could see were hers.
“Even,” Nash called, poking his head in my room. “Get up and get changed. Hurry or we’ll be late, and don’t forget to take out those awful piercings.”
I groaned, rolling over in the bed. The sun still wasn’t completely up, why did we need to be? Nash closed the door and slipped out, expecting me to be dashing about like he was, but my head was still stuck in the woods with those eyes.
I’d had dreams like that before. They weren’t always the same, but she was. The same golden hair, the same blue eyes, the same smile. I had to know her from somewhere. I had to.
Nash knocked on my door again for good measure as he headed back to his room from the kitchen. I groaned again. Not only was I not looking forward to the internship period, I was also tired. That wasn’t exactly the longest nap, and I’d not gotten much sleep on the plane, which meant not only was I jet lagged, I was just tired in general. Nash, however, was all hype. What kind of coffee did he drink? And why wasn’t he sharing?
I rolled out of bed and dug through the suitcase Nash had packed. Who let this man think that was okay? Not a single regular bra, only sports bras, and he packed twelve of them. Rather than bothering packing underwear, it looked like he’d had Autumn stop and buy me knew ones by the tags and the fact that I’d never seen them before.
I don’t think he’d even paid attention to what he’d grabbed. A few pairs of jeans I’d never worn before, some basic t-shirts I’d meant to donate because they were too small, and a single jacket. I let out a sigh and slipped on the first thing I found, spitefully grateful that it was wrinkly. The shirt was far too tight and short, but he’d packed it.
Then, equally out of spite, I changed my double nose and eyebrow ring to clear plastic ones. No way was I leaving them empty all day. It wasn’t like people wouldn’t notice the gaping holes in my face.
When I stepped into the hall, Nash paled.
“Good lord, do you not own a single shirt that covers your midsection?” He scoffed, pulling his own jacket off and shoving it in my direction.
“You packed them.” I let out a laugh, pushing his jacket back to him. “I probably could have packed something more presentable myself.”
“Well, I didn’t really have time for that, now did I?”
He followed me down the hallway as he struggled with whether he was going to put his suit jacket back on or try and force me to wear it. He must have decided on the former, because it didn’t slip over my shoulders when I stepped into the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the table.
“Maybe we could have used the three hours I sat in the police station.” I grinned as I took a bite from the apple.
He glared at me as he slipped his jacket back over his shoulders, but there was a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He was terrible at this parenting thing. So terrible, in fact, that he couldn’t even be mad that I’d been arrested for more than a day. His brain was always so occupied with other things. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe that’s why he brought me this summer. Seeing me all the time just might keep me on his mind.
“I was busy,” he said quickly, putting together some papers on the table and slipping them into his briefcase. God, he hadn’t even slept.
“Busy, huh?” I asked with my mouthful of another bite. “You enjoyed leaving me cuffed to that bench, admit it.”
“I’ll admit,” he sighed, “that I thought the longevity of the wait would be a good reminder of what your life could look like if you didn’t do well this summer.”
I nodded, munching on the apple to the core.
“Let’s get going. Autumn is going to have to find you something else to wear.”
That was the closest to a genuine conversation we’d had in months. Usually it was one sided. Him yelling, me pretending to listen, which made him yell more. We never talked. Not like this. Shit, things were weird since the plane.
I let out a sigh and headed to my room for my backpack before following him out to the car. I was never far from my sketchbook, and some internship in France wasn’t about to change that.
The urge to grab my guitar hit me as I turned toward the door, but I knew better. Nash would have a hayday with that one.
Autumn was ecstatic about shopping. She lived for heading out on a big spree, and shopping in France? That was her literal dream, even if she wasn’t shopping for herself. Or maybe spending someone else’s money was part of the hype. I wasn’t sure.
The only shopping that got me off like that was shopping for art supplies.
I, personally, could be more than happy only buying things online for the rest of my life. Large crowds, packed lines, and fitting rooms are all on the list of things I’d rather avoid.
Nash had the driver drop the three of us of at a large shopping center. After which Nash headed off to make a phone call, while Autumn and I did the actual shopping.
It was still pretty dark outside, and there was no one else here apart from the single person who held the door for us. Which made me wonder if Nash had called in some sort of favor. What time did these places open, anyway?
“Even, come on!” Autumn called, and I had to jog to catch up with her.
She led me to racks and racks of button-downs, jackets, dress pants, and so many blouses it made me dizzy. None of it was my style, but I guess that was the point. My style didn’t exactly belong in a business setting.
Autumn began loading up my arms with sweaters, blouses, and skirts. She grabbed a couple dresses and sent me off to the changing room.
A couple times she made me change shirts. Something about the blouse being the wrong fabric with the pants. It made no sense to me, but after I’d tried on a handful of things, she seemed mostly content.
She grabbed the things she thought went well, and led me to a rack of jackets.
I looked around at the clothes around me. So many rules about clothing. Who decided all this, anyway? Were there actual fashion police? Or were people just making these rules up as they went along?
I let out a sigh. This was so overwhelming.
“You know he’s only doing this because he wants what’s best for you, right?” Autumn asked.
“I’m sure he is.” I sighed
again.
“He really loves you; you know.”
“Does he?”
She frowned. “Of course, why—”
“Well, he doesn’t ever say it, so.” I breathed. “Can we just—can we just finish shopping and go? No offence, Autumn, I mean…shopping’s not really my thing.”
“Not when it’s anything but rocker tees, huh?”
I let out a playful scoff. Why Autumn put up with my uncle, I’d never know.
I slid my feet into the awful heels that Autumn had insisted would be my every-day wear and eyed myself in the mirror. I looked like a McCoy. Gross.
For years, I’d insisted I was just Even. None of that ‘Miss McCoy’ nonsense. If growing up did anything for me, I hoped it allowed me to simply be me. Because even to my friends back home, I wasn’t just Even. I was still Even McCoy, yes that McCoy.
I’d have given anything to drop the last name and be somebody else. Maybe that’s why I was single. Any time I told a girl my name, that was the end of it. And it’s not like the name Even really did me any favors, anyway.
“Even, we really have to get going!” Nash called through the changing room door.
“I’m almost done!” I called back, tossing my chest length hair up into a ponytail.
It was ratty and gross, but that’s what happens when you rush. I looked like a mess. A full-on mess. My makeup wasn’t done, and he hadn’t packed any remover, so water had done a less than adequate job of removing what was left from yesterday. I looked less like his niece and more like some homeless girl he’d picked up on the street and shoved into nice clothes. I didn’t know if I even cared.
I cared.
And yet, I just marched out of the fitting room and met him in the doorway. He gave me a puzzled expression, probably at my lack of raccoon eyes, as he called them. I shrugged and followed him and Autumn wordlessly through the pouring rain toward the car.
We pulled up in front of a familiar building. The Lyon branch of McCoy Enterprises was identical to the one in Seattle, including all the rain. I’d heard it was also identical to the one in Chicago and New York, but I couldn’t be sure. This one was shorter, though. It couldn’t have been more than 30 stories.
It was a charcoal grey with hundreds of windows and big, bold, brass letters that read “McCoy Enterprises.”
Nash got out, and I followed, still not used to everything being on the opposite side of the road. Outside the car, there was a bustle of business people coming and going, sheltered from the storm only by umbrellas just like in Seattle. But unlike in Seattle, I understood a total of five words per person. Shit, I wished I’d paid more attention in French class. They were all speaking so quickly.
I wouldn’t last one day in this place.
“Even, come on, we’ll be late,” Nash called.
I followed him inside, tugging at the sleeve to my baby blue button-down. It wasn’t long enough. You could see my scars on my wrist. I hated it almost as much as the blazer I’d put over it, but at least the blazer and pants were black. If only I hadn’t been given heels as everyday wear.
I’d be buying flats the first chance I got. My toes already hurt, and you could see the scars on my feet in them too.
Inside was the same sort of bustle I was used to walking into the business in Seattle. The entry was laid out the same, with security in the same posts and elevators in the same place. The only real difference was the lack of English. I was toast. Burnt toast.
"Monsieur McCoy,” A tall blonde woman called to us, and Nash went to her with a smile.
They began speaking like old friends, murmuring to one another like they didn’t know I had no clue what they were saying. There was a laugh, then they were looking to me.
“What?” I asked, looking from Nash to the woman.
“Didn’t you—” Nash took a deep breath, walking over to me, and calling, “Pardòn” over his shoulder. “Were you not listening to what we said at all?”
I breathed, eyeing him like he was an absolute lunatic. “Listening? I heard Mister, good morning, and work.”
“You don’t…” He let out a deep sigh. “Didn’t you just take French?”
“One year of high school French, Nash.” I breathed, eyeing the people around us whose attention had fallen on us. “And I barely passed.”
He groaned. A hitch in his magical summer plans, I was guessing. But it didn’t make me happy like it should have, because having to spend a summer working with people I couldn’t understand and couldn’t understand me was most definitely the worst punishment he ever could have dished out.
I rode with Nash to the top floor. It was awful, but not nearly as bad as the headquarters in Seattle. I still wasn’t brave enough to think I could take the stairs everyday, but the idea of the leg muscle I’d have at the end of the summer was appealing.
Nash led me past the lobby, where the receptionist ogled at him on his way through. We walked past several sets of meeting rooms, and cubical set-up, until Nash stopped at the entry to an open office. Once there, I realized not speaking French was the least of my problems.
I knew immediately walking into the room who was in charge. A tall, slender woman, who’s business suit was pressed, her lips pursed, and her voice shrill. She had an unusually tight bun on the top of her head, and it only made her long neck seem longer. When her eyes fell on me, I was pretty sure she was cutting through me with them. I had ruined her morning just by showing up.
“Even, this is Madam Caron,” Nash smiled. “She will be in charge of your internship.”
“Ravi de vous rencontrer, Mademoiselle McCoy.” She said with a rather exaggerated flare.
Shit. Shit. Say something. Anything. Oh God, she was intimidating. I wasn’t even completely sure what she’d said. Nice to meet me, I thought. Oh eff, what was I supposed to say?
Nash stepped in, breaking the woman’s eye contact with me. He began rattling off in French. I could only pick up every few words. He was saying something about school, I knew that. Something was little…oh, my French-speaking ability was little.
She looked back to me, and her eyes narrowed. I was dead meat. Why, Nash? Why were you doing this to me? I knew I was a little ungrateful shit sometimes, but this was a fate worse than death.
“I see, should not be a problem,” the woman spoke. Clearly speaking English wasn’t an issue, and she was testing me. I failed. Back to Seattle for me. Jail it is, please. “We will find her, eh…something.”
That sounded awful to me, but Nash seemed pleased. He turned, gave me a squeeze on the shoulder, and headed toward the other side of the floor, leaving me standing in front of this tall, intimidating woman.
I eyed him for only a moment as he shook hands with another well-dressed man and ducked into a conference room.
“Follow me, mon chéri.” Madame Caron said quickly, sarcastically.
I did without a word.
She led me past a number of desks where people were answering phones. Oh, please don’t let me have a phone. Toward the back, the furthest from the door, the windows, and the bathroom, was the tiniest desk I’d seen in a workplace. On it was a large stack of documents.
“You are lucky our last American intern had to quit,” she said flatly. “These documents are in English. You are to check they are…how you say, grammatical correct.”
That wasn’t how we said, but I definitely wouldn’t correct her on it. I nodded.
“I trust your English is better than your French, no?” She raised an eyebrow at me, which only made her more intimidating.
“No,” I nodded. “I mean, yes. My English is better than my French.”
“Parfaite.” She smiled, and oh, did she enjoy this. “I will leave you to it.”
I took my seat, but she didn’t move.
“Let me be clear, mademoiselle,” she said softly, but it was still cutting through me like a knife, “I am not happy to have you here. There are many who deserve to be here much more than you. And I will happily send you on y
our way should the opportunity present itself.”
I swallowed, nodding. “I wouldn’t expect any less, Madame.”
Her lip twitched slightly, like she might have smiled. Instead she turned, heading back toward where Nash had found her.
I let out a sigh, scanning the desk around me. It had a computer. Nash was smart with the whole phone thing, trying to keep me from having contact with my friends, but I guess he didn’t consider I’d be an intern with a desk, and a computer that had Internet access.
And like any obnoxious kid my age, the first thing I did when I had the chance was go back to old habits.
The computer wasn’t locked. It didn’t take a special passcode. Social media wasn’t locked out, and I didn’t need a WIFI password to get online. It took me less than two minutes to pull up my page and send a message to my best friend Molly.
Hiding the fact that I was doing it while pretending to edit these stupid documents with my boss pacing back and forth was a little more difficult. I waited nearly thirty minutes with the page pulled up for her to read my message and respond. She didn’t.
My lunch break was worse than high school. There was a break room somewhere in this building, I was sure of it, but I wasn’t brave enough to go find it. Especially when I noticed that a large portion of the people in the office had ordered in. I didn’t have any money, so I couldn’t do that. Instead, I stayed at my desk and pretended to keep working.
The words on the page had started to bleed together a while ago, and I was pretty sure there was nothing wrong with half these documents anyway. I’d only found a total of six errors in all fifteen documents I’d looked over so far. I was only hoping that I wasn’t wrong. Heaven help me if Madame Caron found out I couldn’t even read English right.
I was just about to go cry in the bathroom when Nash walked out of the conference room. The entire room seemed to hush. Everyone knew him, which was both good and bad for me. That meant that everyone expected a lot from me, and I was pretty much useless.
Waking Rory Page 3