by J. P. Comeau
I needed a good night’s sleep for my full day of turning in applications tomorrow.
Getting fired from a job was always a terrible fucking day. And as much as I wanted to think otherwise, this wasn’t the first time I’d been let go. I took my work seriously, whatever I was doing, and I didn’t take kindly to people not taking things as seriously. I hated it when people joked around on their job. I hated it when their actions put others at risk. I needed a serious workplace for serious adults who wanted to do serious work.
“You can find something. Just take deep breaths,” I whispered to myself.
This wasn’t the first time I’d struggle on behalf of myself and my daughter, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. Still, though, it felt like these struggles always came sooner rather than later. Maybe I needed to be a little less abrasive while doing my job. Perhaps I should try to be nicer to people, even though they pissed me off in droves. Hell, I had struggled most of my life, and I always seemed to find a way to come out on top.
Why change that simply because someone hadn’t seen my worth just yet?
And dammit, this was the nicest place Aurora and I had ever lived in. I had to fight for it. I couldn’t let that go. Aurora was finally blossoming in school and making friends, something I never thought I’d see from my daughter, who didn’t start using words until she was almost three. She had come through shit in leaps and bounds over the past year, and I wasn’t yanking her out of that simply because I was a fuck-up.
No. Even if I had to starve, Aurora would eat. Even if I had to take out loans and destroy my credit, this roof would stay over my daughter’s head. And even if I had to go back to school—only to be stuck in debt for the rest of my life—I’d do it if it meant keeping Aurora in the one place she liked.
So, with a full day of application-submitting ahead of me, I finally closed my eyes and allowed myself to sleep while thinking of the hot man from the bar and how he could’ve rocked my world had I not been a piece of chicken-shit.
1
Tray
Present Day
“Nope. No. Uh-uh. Hell, no. Eh, maybe, I’ll read it later. No. Nope. Definitely not.”
As I flipped through the mound of resumes that had come my way in the past month, I tossed out over half of them. Well, maybe close to three-quarters of them. Now that Joanne’s husband had retired, she wanted to quit so she could travel with him, even though it left me in a bind.
Guess it’s nice when you actually have someone to do shit with.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I kept flipping through pointless resumes. No, I didn’t have time to take on someone that had no secretarial experience. No, I didn’t have time to deal with the bobble-headed nature of freshly graduated-wannabe-adults. And no, I certainly didn’t have the sanity to deal with interns looking for internships for their last year of graduation.
I needed someone with experience.
I needed someone with oomph.
And I needed someone who could get shit done.
In some respects, I hated losing Joanne. That petite little gray-haired woman reminded me of my grandmother, and I missed that hard-ass woman. My Nannie would sit outside with a lit cigarette dangling from her lip. At the same time, with a BB gun in her hand, she bitched out kids about crossing over into her lawn and terrorizing the habitat of squirrels and cats she had cultivated over the years.
That woman was as eccentric as they came, but she owned it. She lived her life fast and to the fullest until the day she died. And even though she smoked like a freight train, drank like a fish, and shoved fried foods into her mouth for every single meal, she somehow lived to be the ripe old age of ninety-two with a mouth to match.
“God, I miss that woman,” I murmured to myself.
She understood the value of hard work. She understood the importance of getting stuff done. She and my grandfather—God rest his soul—owned and operated a dairy farm of over two hundred and fifty cows. Just the two of them with their six spoiled-brat children who, according to her, constantly complained about the hard work—all of them, that was, except my mother.
Who drilled into me the fine art of dedication and reaping what one sowed.
Nevertheless, I knew that losing Joanne—this beacon of familiarity that kept me going throughout my days—was something happening sooner rather than later. And I should have been prepared. I should have started taking resumes with no end date in sight so that I had a curated list of people to call up when she was ready to step down.
Insert lecture from Nannie here.
The thought made me chuckle as I came across a particular resume that caught my eye.
“Now, here’s something,” I murmured.
I leaned up in my seat and placed the resume against my desk. I needed someone who could keep up with me and travel with me for work when it was required, and right there at the top of this resume was “can and will travel.” I also needed someone who could juggle my small businesses' needs, and right below “can and will travel” were the words “great multi-tasker.” And with every beautiful skillset this resume boasted of, there was a number with the name of a reference for me to call.
So, I decided to try out one of them.
“Hello?” a gruff man on the other side of the phone asked.
I leaned back. “Yes, hello. This is Trey Cataline from TC Public Relations.”
“Uh, okay. Whaddaya need? Kinda busy here.”
Charming. “I’m calling on behalf of a woman by the name of…” I peeked over the resume and found the name I was looking for. “Leslie Popovich.”
The man chuckled. “Oh, man. You lookin’ to hire her for a job or something?”
I nodded. “It says here that she’s a great multi-tasker, and I need someone who’s going to juggle things well. Your number was listed in reference to this particular character trait?”
He barked with laughter. “Then, you’ve called the right number. That woman is rough-as-hell around the edges, but she can get a laundry list of shit done in less time than it takes for me to take my morning shit.”
I clicked my tongue. “Great.”
“Oh, yeah. I was sad to see that one go. Pretty easy on the eyes, if I do say so myself. But, she really was one of the best employees I hired, other than the talking back.”
“She talks back?”
“Don’t they all?”
He laughed like he had told the most hilarious joke of all time, but I wasn’t buying it. “What kind of back-talking?”
His laughter died down. “Ah, you know. Calling me out on shit and keeping me in line. Stuff that probably needed to happen anyway.”
Now that sounded like someone I needed to interview. “Perfect, thank you for your time.”
“A word of caution, though?”
I paused. “Yes?”
“Be careful with her. She’s got a great head on her shoulders, but that daughter of hers always comes first. She ain’t got no issues calling out even when she knows she’s needed on that day to do what she has to do as a mom. Now, family men like me appreciate that. But, businessmen like you might not.”
I wasn’t sure whether to cuss him out or punch a hole through his face. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“She’d be a great addition, though. Can you tell her Buck said ‘hi’? I’ve been meaning to—”
“Thank you for your time,” I said quickly.
I hung up the phone and shoved myself away from my desk. I needed a bit of fresh air. I snatched Leslie’s resume off my desk and had half a mind to throw it in the damn trash can simply for that asshole’s comment.
And her name.
Why did this woman have to have that name?
I shoved all thoughts aside of the woman at the bar as I marched out of my office. I walked down toward my conference room and slipped inside before I went and opened one of the glass windows. And after drawing in a few deep breaths of fresh air, I started reading over more of this Leslie woman’s resume.<
br />
I found a lot of things that made me curious, too.
Like, how many jobs she had held over the past decade. I mean, there were multiple places of employment. Some of them, she hadn’t even lasted a year, and I wondered what the reason for it was. She could obviously lead, though, or at the very least give off that kind of impression. I could tell that simply by the titles she had been hired to fulfill.
Manager.
Head Advisor.
Lead Point.
At one point, she was even considered for a district management position in one of the companies she had hired on with, and less than a year into the job to boot! I was so entranced with the quality, and yet randomness, of her resume that I hadn’t even stopped to give the cover letter a read.
And when I flipped that page back over, I wasn’t disappointed in the treasure trove of information there was on the front page.
To Whom It May Concern,
Typically, cover letters are used to introduce oneself. However, I feel that my resume gives enough of an introduction. I’d like to point out why I’ve had so many jobs as of late in the hopes that it won’t count against me.
Fair enough, I’m curious myself.
Even with the rise of HR intervention in some businesses, there are men in positions of power that have very archaic notions when it comes to the role of women in their department. And I, for one, wasn’t going to stand for any of it.
Nice, nice. Progressive. I can support that.
So, in an effort to combat the ineffectiveness of how those men viewed my roles, any time one of them made a pass at me, I reported then to HR. Apparently, this wasn’t the “adult” way to deal with things, and I was either demoted—which led to me quitting—or fired outright.
“Fucking pigs,” I hissed.
That is why I’ve held so many positions. I refuse to quit reporting men who can’t keep their married—or single—hands to themselves, and I refuse to work in an environment where I don’t feel safe.
“Good for you,” I whispered.
I hope you enjoy the rest of my resume's contents with that point in mind, and I hope to hear back from someone soon.
L. Popovich
I liked her. I liked her so much that I raced back out of the conference room and stormed into my office. I slammed the door behind me before I practically bounded over to my chair, dropping as forcibly into it as I could.
And after pulling my desk phone toward me, I started placing some phone calls.
“Hello, this is Trey Cataline, and I’m calling on behalf of a resume that has your number attached to it.”
“Hello, Trey Cataline speaking, I was wondering if I could pick your brain about a former employee, Miss Leslie Popovich?”
“Hello, yes. My name is Trey Cataline, and I was hoping—ah, hello. A fan. Yes, I—I just—yes if I could—oh, you’re too kind. I appreciate it. Yes, uh-huh. Your boss, yeah. I just—thanks. Thank you. Yes, I’ll hold.”
After going down the list of all her references just to confirm what was in her resume, and after satisfying my curious urges, I pivoted toward my laptop. I plucked her email from her resume and shot off a message, asking her if she was free in a couple of days to come in for a preliminary interview.
Then, after sending the email, my eyes dropped to the corner clock on my laptop as it ticked over to six in the evening.
“Jesus,” I said with a sigh.
I’d been sitting at my desk in some form or another since five this morning, after a restless and sleepless night of bullshit. I raked my hands down my face and leaned back against my buttery-leather office chair as the silent sounds of my headquarters creaking around me kept me company. I closed my eyes and drew in deep breaths. I chewed on my lower lip as I gripped the arms of my chair. And after hoisting myself to my feet, I settled on the idea of getting a pre-celebratory drink in honor of my first interview to replace Joanne.
After all, what the hell else was I going to do after thirteen hours of work?
2
Leslie
Me: Are you sure I can’t pay you anything for this?
I shot the text off to Suri as I reached for the margarita I was nursing. Yet again, I had found myself at a bar when I should have been at home, making dinner for Aurora and myself. But, Suri had charged through my front door, demanded that I take the evening to myself again, and scooped my daughter into her arms before proclaiming tonight a “pizza and cartoon” night.
I had half-a-mind to stay there and enjoy it with them. But, after six months of putting in resumes and walking out of interviews with no callbacks, I needed a stiff drink.
Even though, my brain chanted a very harsh truth that was swirling around in the back of my thoughts.
You could be saving this booze money for more important things.
You and Aurora will be out in less than six months, and you’re drinking?
You could have at least brought your laptop to keep placing resumes.
Are you nuts? You need to be packing. Looking for a different place to live. Not drinking your time away, you idiot!
While I was glad I had someone in my life who cared about me the way Suri cared about myself and Aurora, my mind plagued me with thoughts that I couldn’t shake. My daughter and I were less than six months away from not having anything, and none of my applications had gotten any bites. If people from the businesses I had applied to bothered to call me to come in for an interview, the interviews were less than ten minutes long before I was dismissed.
Even I knew that a ten-minute-long interview was never a good thing.
I threw back the rest of my margarita and signaled to the bartender for another one. I had just enough money allotted for three of them and a cab ride home, so that’s what I wanted to limit myself to. However, as the bartender handed me my second drink, I heard my phone’s email sound dinging from the bottom of my purse.
And when I checked the notification, only one thought crossed my mind.
Tonight requires a celebratory drink.
I checked my email only to find that someone had messaged me personally, asking me to come in to speak with them about a job. And that had to be good, right? It was good when they contacted someone personally instead of through the resume website, right?
“Yes,” I hissed.
The title of the email read “Possible Interview for Friday,” and I was ready to message back and proclaim that I was free to do whatever was necessary to get this job. I mean, anything, too. Not that I condoned office trysts or shit like that, but I was at a point where I could have sucked my way into a job if someone had offered it to me.
“Fancy seeing you here again.”
The second I heard his voice, I froze. I’d know that timbre anywhere, even only after one night. I had used that voice for months as I rubbed one out every night. I conjured that cheeky little grin and those long, strong features to help throw myself over the edge whenever I felt a little too feisty for my own good.
And as I slowly swiveled around, I was met with those same amber-shaded brown eyes from months and months ago.
“Mind if I have a seat?” he asked as he sat beside me.
I watched his movements as a shiver rushed down my spine. “Evening.”
He raised his hand and nodded. “Evening.”
My gaze dropped down his form. “Rough day?”
The bartender came over to us with a drink in his hand for the man. “Can I get you anything else?”
He pointed to me. “Another one of whatever she’s having for the lady. I think it’s time I treat her this time around.”
I waved my hand in the air. “I’m good. I can’t afford another drink right now.”
Then, I felt his eyes whip in my direction. “I didn’t say anything about you paying, now, did I?”
I narrowed my eyes as I studied him while the bartender got to work. I didn’t like how arrogant he seemed, but there was something behind his cheeky little smile that struck me directly in my gut.
I wasn’t sure what it was, and I sure as hell didn’t have the sanity to take the time to figure it out. But, the way his body heat reached out to me caused my toes to curl against my heels.
“Hard day at work?” he asked.
Being a mom is always hard work. “Seems like that’s the going rate for living nowadays.”
He chuckled. “Truer words were never spoken. Cheers.”
I picked up my fresh margarita and clinked my glass against his. “Cheers.”
He threw his drink back as I sipped on mine and the bartender quickly brought him another. He eyed my empty glasses on the bar that hadn’t been picked up yet and quickly threw his second one back, then gestured for a third. Which was, as he probably wanted to make it, the numbered drink I was currently on.
“There,” he said as he held up his whiskey, “all caught up.”
I nodded. “Cheers.”
He clinked his glass against mine. “Cheers.”
I cleared my throat. “Rough day on your end, too?”
He snickered as he gazed into his drink. “I don’t know, you tell me. Do thirteen hours in a stuffy-ass office seem like a rough day?”
I blinked. “Seems like a rough life, to me.”
He chuckled. “And they say money can’t buy happiness. Who can’t be happy in a leather-bound room with high-tech bobbles and gadgets?”
“Is there booze? That’ll always make things better.”
He clinked his glass against mine again. “Got a mini-fridge full of it behind one of my bookcases in my office.”
I sipped my margarita. “A regular, modern-day James Bond. I can get behind that.”
“Just less blood and shooting and more paperwork and papercuts.”
“Hey, it’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”