I give her a wink as I back away. Leaving her there, steady on her feet, I walk around the counter to get to unloading the boxes that fucking James was supposed to take care of. I look over my shoulder when she doesn’t respond and catch her staring at my ass… again. It takes her a second before she notices my eyes on her.
Her eyes widen slightly, those beautiful baby blues looking like she knows she got caught. A violent shade of red floods her cheeks as she shakes her head, pulling her hair to one side and starts walking backward.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she says playfully. But it’s that very thought that’s keeping her away from me. A woman like her, someone put together, with her life all figured out... She doesn’t date men like me.
“Have a good night, sweetheart,” I tell her one last time.
She waves shyly as she leaves me with nothing more than a “you too”.
Yeah, I’ve made some mistakes in the past. I have a reputation, and I’m sure as shit not looking for the same things she is.
But I wouldn’t mind knocking boots with my little sweetheart.
Grace
It’s 3 p.m., and I have a thousand things to do at work in only two hours. It’s not going to happen. That’s the bottom line. I push myself back from my desk in my rolling chair and sigh while looking around my cubicle. It’s littered with coffee mugs with motivational phrases, like, ‘I drink coffee and I get shit done’, notepads that have to do lists on them and pens. There are pens everywhere. In coffee cups, on top of to do lists and in the top drawer. Why? Because everyone takes my pens. Just like my mugs, they have cute things on them. My most recent set: keep your hands off my pens. I bought a six pack, I’m already down to four… I think… unless one is tucked in my purse or a drawer.
I’m in the advertising design department here at L. J. Scott & Co, which supposedly fulfills my need to create. The stack of ads, printed out on thick photography paper, at my right hand can attest to that.
I went to Rhode Island School of Design for marketing, with a minor in graphic design not realizing how much both subjects would challenge my creativity. I freaking love it. Eventually, I settled in at this graphic design job, choosing it over the other two offers because I like the work done here. It’s as simple as that. Day in and day out I get a different task and a different market to tap into.
All but one of the checkboxes on my list have been checked off, tick, tick, tick. Just the last one remains: find a hubby and make those babies.
“Hey! Drinks after work?” a chipper voice calls out from behind me. The pen in my hand lands on my desk when I jolt back to reality. The cat on my screen licking his chops is nearly just as startling. Nothing says, ‘your cat wants this kibble’ like an open mouthed cat ready to devour it.
I swivel my chair around and find Diane, leaning on the wall between our cubicles. She tilts her blonde head in a come-hither sort of way. She exudes sex appeal and often unbuttons her blouse a bit too low for client orientation which has led to more than a few rumors at the water cooler so to speak. AKA it’s how she wins a number of her jobs.
Diane started at the company at the same time as I did, and didn’t really give me much of a choice as to whether I would be her friend.
It was more that she assumed I wanted to go get drinks after work that first day, and I went along with it, why wouldn’t I? I soon found out why. She doesn’t really know limits and boundaries, not with men, not with alcohol and not with personal questions. She’s downright intrusive and cringe worthy when drunk, but I prefer that to sober Diane. Although in either state, she laughs a little too loud and right now I’m just not in the mood. I’m still processing everything from my doctor’s visit. Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of always saying yes. She’s not mean spirited, she’s not a bad person. She’s just… A LOT to take in. And since Ann is on leave for three months, I’ll admit I’m a tad bit lonely.
“Sure,” I answer, trying not to look at my desk, at the red blinking light on the phone that means I have messages. “That sounds good.” I close my eyes as soon as the words come out of my mouth. I didn’t even think about saying no.
“Mac's?” she asks, as if we would go anywhere else. I’m not the only one who lusts after Charlie. Diane flirts with himbig time, counting down the days till he’s in her bed.
“Sure,” I say, breathing a small sigh of relief. At least it’s Mac’s.
“'Kay! See you at five thirty, then.” Her eyes travel down my body. “I hope you brought a change of clothes. I’m planning on the two of us getting handsy with some hotties tonight,” her smile dims as she rolls her eyes and adds beneath her breath, “not going to a friggin' funeral.”
Boundaries, Diane. My inner voice is snappy with a comeback but I just smile. I will wear whatever the heck I want. Diane’s embarrassment for me will just have to deal with it.
With that, she steps back and disappears behind the wall of her cubicle.
I blow out a breath. It wouldn’t be the first time Diane has called dibs on a guy I liked, slept with one of them. Diane’s a little competitive… in everything. Work’s like that, too; she likes to have the biggest and best clients under her purview in sales, often promising customers off-the-wall things and then dropping the whole stack of work in someone else’s lap. She did it to me when I first started… I learned quick to tell her my own workload was full.
Wheeling my way back to my desk I send up yet another prayer for more women to be hired here or even men, so long as they’re actually social and then glance at my cell phone, which is face down on my desk to keep me from getting distracted. But right now, I need the distraction. The second I click it on I see a message from Jason on Tinder. I open the app and make a face as I scan the message.
Hey there — you look beautiful. Are you free tonight?
A tingle runs down my spine as I read it and look at the guy’s pictures. Oh yeah… there isdefinitelya reason I liked his profile. He’s blond and handsome in the photos, and his profile says he’s looking for a serious commitment.
I hesitate for only a moment, then type a message in return.
Thank you! And I am free, actually. What were you thinking?Double checking it to make sure there are no obvious signs that I haven’t dated in practically forever, I send it.
Sitting a little straighter in my chair I think: maybe tonight won’t be a disaster after all. Back to work I go. Time to be as much of a super woman as I can be in the final hours.
I have to return a dozen calls. Only one of them gets to me. Criticism is something I can take. I don’t mind it. But when a client treats me like crap, it gets to me. I wish it didn’t, but it gets to me. Sometimes this job is stressful and it’s 100% the clients who lead me down one path, tweaking a design a million ways, and then wanting to trash it. They do it again and again, while deadlines slip by and they don’t seem to have any grasp on what they actually want. I constantly interact with customers who want four more mock-ups than the three I've initially provided, as per their contract with L. J. Scott & Co. I’ll make them a dozen if they need it. If that’s what it takes to ignite a spark, I will do it all day long. But don’t have me do a dozen, choose one to tweak a million times, then another, then another and waste weeks of work not deciding a damn thing and wanting to start from scratch.
