“She’s worked for me two months, and she’s been incompetent for both of them.”
“Or maybe she’s just too old. Is that it?”
“I don’t care how old she is. I just care that she can’t do her job.”
Craft snorts on the other line. It doesn’t matter how good-looking he is—this guy is an asshole. “My mother is a great secretary. She didn’t deserve to be fired, and she certainly didn’t deserve to be fired in front of a room full of people.”
“I apologize about the room for people,” I say with as much sympathy as I can muster. “But I don’t apologize for firing her. She had no business being in that job.”
“And three days before Christmas!” he goes on. “You fired her three days before Christmas. What kind of heartless person does something like that?”
“This is not a mom and pop corner store.” I grit my teeth. “This is a multimillion dollar advertising company. If she can’t do her job, she shouldn’t be working here. I don’t care if it’s Christmas or New Year’s or Kwanzaa or whatever.”
He’s quiet for a minute on the other line. “You know, even Marley Jacobs would never have done something like this.”
“Well, I guess I’m a bigger bitch than Marley Jacobs.”
“Congratulations,” he says. “You managed to make a really wonderful woman cry. Three days before Christmas. I hope you’re pleased with yourself. I hope it was worth it.”
“It absolutely was.”
I hear Craft slam down the phone. He’s decided to hang up on me.
I look down at my hands and notice they’re shaking. I don’t know why. Plenty of people have screamed at me in the past, far worse than this guy did. This guy was a lamb compared to some of the dressing downs I’ve gotten in the past. Usually it rolls off my back. Why is it getting to me now?
Maybe I really will take up smoking.
Chapter 8
Even though I’m exhausted, I stay at the office until just past eight o’clock working.
I’ve got the presentation ready for tomorrow, but I want it to be absolutely perfect. I can’t leave anything to chance. I want to make sure I’ve memorized it backwards and forwards. I need to be able to recite it in my sleep.
But there gets to be a point when I can’t look at the damn thing another second. There was a time when I might’ve stayed until ten o’clock at night, but I just can’t right now. It’s been a hard day. I want to go home.
When I get out of my office, I hear music in the hallway. It’s a Bruno Mars song. I can’t name that tune, because I’m seriously out of touch with music lately. Who has time to listen to music these days? But I recognize his melodic voice.
The music is coming from the conference room. Apparently, they’re having that party after all. They must’ve started after quitting time. And obviously, nobody felt the need to invite me. Which is fine. I wouldn’t want to go anyway.
All I want is to go home.
I start toward the elevators, but in my haste, I snag my coat on that stupid, ostentatious Christmas tree. That thing is both an eyesore and a hazard. I take a step back and realize my coat sleeve is stuck on the wing of a little angel ornament. I look closer and discover the angel has created a sizable rip in the fabric of the coat.
Great. This stupid cheap ornament has ripped a hole in my Chloe coat that cost over a thousand bucks.
I pull the ornament off the tree, and before I can stop myself, I hurl it at the ground. It shatters on impact, but the music dampens the sound. I stare at the shards of glass on the ground and I feel just a little bit better.
I rip a second ornament off the tree. This one is a snowman sparkling with glitter. I throw it at the ground. It shatters just like the other one.
Bah humbug!
I throw three more ornaments from the tree onto the ground. A reindeer. A snowflake. A ball with a picture of musical notes on it. The reindeer and the snowflake shatter, but the ball bounces. I reach for another ornament, but then the music volume increases suddenly.
Uh oh. Somebody’s coming out of the conference room.
I quickly duck down behind one of the cubicles. Everybody hates me already, and I don’t want to think about what will happen if they find out I’ve been smashing ornaments like a cartoon villain. I peek around the side of the cubicle to see who’s emerging out of the conference room.
It’s Richard. And Courtney.
The two of them are making out like the ship is going down. He’s pawing at her and sucking her face, and she’s loving every second of it. Ugh, disgusting. Was I that pathetic around Richard? No, I wasn’t. I knew better than Courtney.
“Oh, Richard!” she murmurs.
If I had agreed to go out to dinner with him tonight, would he be with me right now instead of making out with Courtney? Or would he have blown me off for a girl ten years younger?
I peek around the cubicle again, and now Courtney’s pulling Richard’s jacket off. Oh my God, they’re going to have sex right here. Right in front of me. I can’t be here to watch this. I’ll need therapy forever.
But if I start moving toward the entrance, they’re going to hear me. My shoes are not quiet. Or fast.
There’s only one way to get out of here. And that’s crawling.
When I’m down on my hands and knees on the floor of the office, I get the sense that if the board saw me this way, I would not get that CEO job. Of course, it’s not like Richard looks so great right now either. But the lady slinking around the floor is definitely more pathetic. My palms are coated in a layer of dust by the time I get back on my feet in the hallway.
Marley never would’ve crawled across the office on her hands and knees. She would have stood up tall and confronted them. Then again, she would’ve been smart enough not to get involved with Richard Hall in the first place.
Forget going home. I need a drink.
There’s a bar named Bull’s Head that’s a block away from the office building that houses Janetta advertising. I’ve been avoiding it lately because so many people from the office go there afterhours and I don’t feel like running into them, but I know they won’t be there today. I’ll have Bull’s Head all to myself tonight.
It’s freezing out and my Chloe coat was nowhere near warm enough even before I ripped a giant hole in it. I’m wearing a flimsy skirt, and my pantyhose provide zero protection against the wind. I had planned to hop in an Uber as soon as I left the building. Instead, I hug my body for warmth as I brave the semi-deserted block on the way to the bar.
Maybe I’ll get mugged. That will make this the perfect day.
By the time I reach the bar, both ears and the tip of my nose feel absolutely frozen. My hair is messy from the wind and has come partially free from the French twist. Instead of attempting to redo it, I pull the clip out entirely and shake it loose. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anybody. I just want to sit in the corner with a drink and not speak to anybody.
I shrug off my coat and hang it on the back of my chair with my purse. I shiver, because the bar isn’t nearly warm enough, but I know the alcohol will warm me up. I catch the eye of a waitress, who looks less than thrilled to be coming over to my table. She looks like the sort of waitress whose tips depend mainly on the size of her tits, and she knows I couldn’t care less about her substantial cleavage.
“What would you like?” she asks in a flat voice.
I start to order a glass of red wine, but then I change my mind. A glass of red won’t be enough to numb the pain from this day. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”
One thing I have to say for the waitress is she’s quick. A couple of minutes later, she returns with a glass of clear liquid with a lime wedge stuffed inside. I throw back about half the glass like I used to when I was in my twenties. And all of a sudden, it doesn’t feel so cold in here anymore.
Alcohol—the temporary answer to all life’s problems.
I don’t know how Marley did it. If she were here right now, that’s what I would ask her. Wh
at do you do when you get lonely? What do you do when you feel like you’re the only one who cares?
What do you do when you’re worried you might never have sex again?
Since Marley isn’t here to answer, I do the only thing I can: I drink the rest of the gin and tonic. One more of these and I won’t be worried about anything anymore.
I start to flag down the waitress to order a second, but when she comes up to my table, she’s already got a drink on her tray. She places it down in front of me.
“How did you know I wanted another?” I say, impressed. Maybe this woman could replace Roberta.
“I didn’t.” She jerks her head to the right. “This is from the guy over there. In the gray shirt.”
A man bought me a drink? Wow, that hasn’t happened in ages. A long time ago, I made it a rule to never go home with a man I met at a bar, and I don’t intend to break that rule tonight, no matter how many shots of gin I’ve had. I’ll have to tell this man thanks, but no thanks. I look over where the waitress is pointing and…
Oh my gosh.
I might have to break my rule.
This guy is hot. He might even be hotter than Richard. He’s a little geekier than Richard though, and he’s definitely not as well dressed, but I like his casual button-down gray shirt with the T-shirt peeking out underneath. And his black-rimmed glasses are almost cool. He’s hot, but at the same time, he looks nice and down to earth. He doesn’t seem like a sort of guy who would be hitting on women at a city bar. But then I catch his eye, and he raises his fingers in greeting.
I raise my fingers back.
I expect him to come over, but he doesn’t. He raises his eyebrows suggestively though. Apparently, it’s my move now.
Should I go over there? Is this a mistake?
Oh, what the hell. Just because I’m up for a big promotion, that doesn’t mean I have to be celibate. Even Wonder Woman had Steve Trevor. (And sometimes Superman. Or Batman. Or even Aquaman, but I never saw the appeal there.)
I quickly swipe on a layer of Mistletoe Berry that’s in my purse (I got about a thousand free tubes of the stuff from Casey Cosmetics). I take one more swig of gin and tonic for courage, then bring the rest of the glass with me to the hot guy’s table. His blue eyes light up behind his glasses when he sees I’m about to sit with him, like he just won the lottery. It’s flattering. It’s like he doesn’t even know how hot he is.
“Thanks for the drink,” I say.
“You looked like you could use it.” There’s something vaguely familiar about his voice, but I can’t put my finger on it. There’s also something familiar about his face, but on the other hand, I’m certain I would remember meeting a guy like this.
“Yeah.” I take a deep breath. “That’s for sure.”
He smiles at me, revealing a hint of a dimple on his left cheek. He also has very nice, straight teeth. I’m a sucker for a set of nice teeth. “I’m Tim, by the way.”
“Hi.” I take his outstretched hand and shake it. His fingers and palm are surprisingly rough and calloused, given he doesn’t look like he’s any kind of manual laborer. But I don’t want to make assumptions. For all I know, he’s a construction worker. “I’m…”
I hesitate. I had been about to tell him my name is Elizabeth, but something stopped me. I don’t want to be Elizabeth anymore today. I need a break from Elizabeth Scribner. And I feel like this is a guy who can give me a break. Just for tonight.
“I’m Ebbie,” I finally say.
“Ebbie,” he repeats with a grin. “That’s cute.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Is it short for something?”
Again, I bite my tongue. I lean forward to get closer, so he can hear me over Guns N Roses playing on the radio. When I get within six inches of him, I realize he smells nice too. It must be his aftershave.
“Listen, Tim,” I say. “Here’s the thing. My life is… It’s crazy. I’m in no position to get involved with anyone. I don’t want to share life stories tonight. I don’t want a second date. But if you want to hang out tonight… just tonight… well, I’d really like that.”
Tim’s smile falters. I have to respect him for that. The guy isn’t looking for a one night stand. But I’m willing to bet he’ll take one if it’s offered.
“Okay,” he finally says. “Let’s hang out.”
Chapter 9
“When it comes to procreation, men are essential—but for pleasure, not necessary.” —Wonder Woman
Tim flags down the waitress and orders us some food. Before he put in the order for the loaded nacho appetizer and the mushroom Swiss burger, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. My stomach lets out a resounding growl that I pray he doesn’t hear.
“What would you like?” Tim asks me.
I’d like exactly what he ordered. A big juicy burger, medium rare, dripping with cheese. Then again, when your mentor and idol drops dead of a heart attack at forty-nine, it makes you reevaluate your eating habits.
“I’ll have the spinach salad,” I say.
“You’re so good.” Tim shakes his head as the waitress walks away. “That’s what I should be eating. I’ve been having way too many burgers lately.”
I look him over. He’s slim but the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up and he’s got these great muscled forearms. It makes me think of the roughness of his palms—I wonder what the guy does for a living. Anyway, he does not look like a guy who needs to watch what he’s eating.
“I’m just trying to impress you,” I say. “If you weren’t here, I’d probably have two burgers.”
Tim laughs. “If you ate two burgers, that would impress me.”
His laugh is really nice. I look down at his left hand—no ring. And no ring tan lines. Of course, it’s December. Tan lines would have faded by now. I don’t think Tim seems like a cheater though. It’s just surprising a guy like this is single.
“So what do you do for a living?” I ask.
“I teach computer science in high school.”
Ha—I knew he looked like a bit of a geek. “Where?”
He names one of the worst high schools in the city, where I’m pretty sure I read about a gang-related shooting last year. I let out a gasp. “Oh my God. I would be terrified.”
He shakes his head. “Really, most of the kids are good kids. And what I do is especially important, because most of them aren’t going to college, so this is their only opportunity to learn computer skills they can use for the rest of their lives.”
He says it really seriously. I can see in his vivid blue eyes that teaching is incredibly important to him. He’s one of those teachers that people make movies about. I’ve had a few teachers like him over the years, and I’ve never forgotten them.
“I bet your students love you,” I say. “Especially the girls.”
He winks at me. “Well, I’m really nice. And I give almost everyone A’s.”
The waitress returns with a bowl of nachos, dripping with guacamole and melted cheese and ground beef. My mouth waters, which seems to amuse Tim. “This is for both of us, you know.”
“You’re the devil,” I say, but I go ahead and take a nacho. After all, I’m not made of stone. And I need something to soak up all the gin. Although right now, I don’t feel quite as much of a need to get completely sloshed. “Do you live around here?”
He shakes his head no. “I live downtown.”
I frown at him. “So why are you at Bull’s Head? It’s nowhere near your school or your house. And… I mean, it’s not like this is some sort of amazing bar. It’s not exactly the Cheers bar.”
Tim hesitates. “It… It’s kind of a long story. It’s dumb.” He chews on his lower lip. “There was somebody I wanted to talk to tonight, but… it was a stupid idea. So I came here instead.” The right corner of his lips quirks up. “And I’m really glad I did.”
Obviously, there’s something he doesn’t want to tell me, but there’s a whole lot I don’t want to tell him, so I let it go. This is definitely
a one night stand—as I said to him, I don’t need to know his life story. So it makes me a little uncomfortable when he says to me, “So what do you do, Ebbie?
Don’t get me wrong—I’m proud of what I do. I’m proud of everything I’ve accomplished in my life. I started out with nothing. My dad abandoned us, my mom worked two jobs to make ends meet, and the second I was old enough, I took a job of my own. I got through college on scholarships, loans, and work-study. Everything I have, I worked my butt off for. Nothing was ever handed to me. I’m a workaholic down to the bone.
But I don’t want to be that person tonight.
“I’m a…” I search my brain, trying to come up with an occupation that I can fake my way through. “An architect. I’m an architect.”
An architect? How did I come up with that? I don’t know anything about architecture. I just said it because architecture and advertising sound similar. Or at least, they start with the same letter.
I wish I could take it back, but I see the impressed look on Tim’s face. It’s too late now—I’m an architect. “Wow, that’s amazing. Are you responsible for designing any of the buildings in the city?”
“Oh no, nothing that big.” I clear my throat. “I mostly design… like, houses. Small houses. Nothing you’ve ever heard of.”
“Well, you look like you’re doing very well.” His eyes flicker over my clothing, and it’s clear he notices how expensive my suit is. For a moment, the thought pops into my head that maybe he’s a gold digger, and that’s why he targeted me tonight.
But no. That’s paranoid. I can tell from looking at this guy that he’s no gold digger. I mean, he teaches computer science in a high school that’s one step above a prison. This is a good guy. He’s such a good guy, that I know I can never see him again after tonight. Because if he knew anything about the real me, he wouldn’t want to be with someone like me.
“I do okay,” I say. “But I don’t really want to talk about my job. It’s what I do all day. Let’s talk about something else.”
Ms. Scrooge Page 5