Page 84 of All's Well that Friends Well
“Nothing,” I say, not meeting her eyes. “I didn’t say anything. Sorry. I’m...”
Standing. I’m standing.
Why am I standing? I don’t need to go anywhere. But Juliet continues to watch me, waiting, so I make something up as even my ears begin to burn.
“You need to introduce yourself to the staff,” I say, hoping she won’t notice how hoarse my voice is or how red my ears must be. “Come on.”
Introducing myself to a group of people is my nightmare, but Juliet just looks excited at the prospect.
“Definitely,” she says with bright eyes. She gives a little nod, straightening up and turning toward the door. “I should do that.” She looks like she’s about to head out, but then she freezes, twirling back toward me. “Are they going to hate me? Will they think it’s weird that I was a janitor and now I’m your assistant?” She swallows and steps closer, her voice dropping. “I told you, I don’t want to be the employee who sleeps her way to the top.”
“Seeing as we haven’t slept together,” I say flatly, “you haven’t slept your way to anything.”
She gives me a reproachful look, and I shrug.
“I’m not the person to guide you on that particular matter,” I say, and it’s the truth. “You got this job becauseyou’ll be good at it.” I pause and then jerk my chin to the door, past which is the work floor full of people she’ll need to win over. “Prove it.”
Because she’llneedto prove it. Not to me, but to Rodney. And, yes—she’ll probably need to prove herself to the people who will be suspicious about how she went from janitor to assistant.
More than any of that, though—I think she needs to prove to herself that she has what it takes.
“All right,” she says with a nod. “That’s a good point. If I want these people to believe in me, it’s my job to instill that confidence.”
There’s clearly some sort of internal pep talk going on, because I watch as she squares her shoulders, takes a few deep breaths, and then marches to the door with several long, sure strides.
“Come on,” she says without looking back at me, and I startle before following her. But then she stops in place with her hand frozen on the door handle.
“What?” I say.
“I should warn you,” she says. “Your image needs to be softened, and I will be starting that process now.”
I blink down at the top of her head. She still doesn’t look at me, but I speak anyway. “I’m concerned about your word choice.”
And even though she’s facing forward, I can hear the faint smile in her voice as she answers.
“You should be,” she says.
I sigh. “Thanks for the warning, I guess,” I say as apprehension settles on my chest.
Then, without responding, she opens the door with alurch and steps out, planting herself at the head of the work floor.
The sound of the door and the rattle of the blinds—and, I’m sure, the sudden appearance of someone new—causes a brief pause to settle over the room. The pause is followed by a hush as eyes turn to her. I scan the cubicles quickly; most of the expressions I see are skeptical, confused, and there are a couple raised brows, but I don’t spot anything malicious or angry.
That’s positive, at least. I drift off to the side where I can see Juliet’s face as she begins.
“Hi,” she says with a bright smile and a wave. She doesn’t allow an awkward pause to develop, I notice. She just dives right in. “My name is Juliet Marigold. You might recognize me; I’m the janitor who started a couple weeks ago.” She gives a tiny, self-deprecating laugh. “And yes, if you’re wondering—Iwasdressed like this at the time.”
The tiniest smattering of laughter ripples through the room, and Juliet nods.
“Anyway,” she goes on, “I learned my lesson after the first day and started wearing pants. But today I’m starting as an assistant instead.” She takes a deep breath now, shooting a glance over at me, and a trickle of foreboding creeps down my spine at the hint of apology I see in her eyes.
“You might have noticed,” she says when she turns back to the room at large, and her voice is louder now. “That Mr. Slater is a little intimidating. It’s the frown, you know?” She pulls an exaggerated frown that looksnothinglike me, and?—
“There!” she says, whirling and pointing at my face. “See? That look right there.”
It’s only then that I realize I am, in fact, frowning.
But really—she’s throwing me under the bus. Am I supposed to smile?
