I squeeze my fists together, imagining his thin, pale giraffe neck between them.
“I’m your senior designer and project coordinator, Randy. You can’t just demote me. I have tons of unfinished projects.”
“John will take them off your hands.”
I blink away sudden tears of rage and desperation mixed into a dangerous cocktail. “He can’t take my projects. I’ve worked on them from scratch.” I don’t even mention that he’ll lose these clients too, since that seems to be par for the course.
“Josie,” he says, his tone taking that of a teacher scolding a child, “how hard can it be to place two couches and a rug in a room? He’ll manage.” He rolls his eyes, and my left eye twitches.
I start rolling up my left sleeve, making a slow show out of it, and his eyes narrow on the action. Now, his eye twitches. I roll up the other sleeve, and he picks up one of the pens and starts fidgeting with it. Slowly, I start my catwalk toward his desk, focusing my unblinking eyes on his face, and he jumps from the chair.
“What are you doing, Josie?” he asks, nervously looking around as if pleading for someone to come help him. But no one will. He makes sure the blinds are always closed. I always wondered why, but after yesterday, I think I know why.
I don’t respond and just take another step. Deliberately, like an unavoidable evil in horror movies, making his cheeks pale.
He backs away until his ass presses into the glass wall behind him.
“I’ll call security, Josie. Don’t do it!”
My molars grind as I stop right in front of him. His eyes twitch again, a bead of sweat dripping down his suddenly feverish skin. His eyes shoot to the door. “Help!” he yells, and I nearly choke on the laughter bubbling out of me. “Help!” he calls out louder, and I put my hands on his belt.
“Josie?” His head tilts to the side as he quiets down, his eyes softening at what he thinks is happening. “What are you doing, baby?” His voice turns flirty as I proceed to unbuckle the belt. “Oh, baby, you want to fuck me?” He pours on the honey.
Pulling on the belt, I keep it in my hands. I get into his face, knowing how much he loves this perfume. Sure enough, his nostrils flare. I don’t need to check his pants to know that he’s turned on.
“Oh, yes,” I breathe into him before my voice hardens as I pull away. “I want to fuck youoverso badly you won’t be able to see straight.” I shake the belt in the air. “You stole my belt from me, fucker. You could never pull it off anyway.”
With that, I walk toward the door with my head held high.
“You’ll regret this stunt. You’re fired!” he yells to my back.
I stop and turn to face him. “You can’t fire me because I just quit.”
His laugh is maniacal. “Well, I just did anyway. Good luck getting a new job in this city! Don’t expect a recommendation!”
“Good luck finding new clients,” I shoot back. “We both know that seventy-five percent of them weremyclients.”
“You think you’re so irreplaceable?” He wipes saliva from his chin. How didn’t I see how disgusting he was before? He always spits while yelling. “But you are, Josie. Just like everyone else.”
“So are you.” I smile sweetly and look down. “And all of your three inches.”
“It’s five!” he yells, only now noticing how large our audience has become after someone opened the door to answer his call for help.
“Whatever you say to sleep better,” I reply and walk away, hyperaware of the whispers and giggles following me.
I walk toward my desk, where Johnthe Thirdis waiting for me with wide eyes. Leaning over it, I grab my cactus, resisting the urge to push the pot into his smug face, and walk to the elevator, clicking my heels on the marble as loud as I can. I’m leaving this place with a bang.
Once home, I place my cactus on the table, pour myself a large glass of wine, and order a large pizza because New York pizza is the best, and I’ll miss it. For all my bravado, I know that I’ll never find a good job in this city again. I won’t be able to afford the expensive rent of this wonderful studio in Manhattan. Randy comes from old money. He has connections. If he doesn’t want me to find a job here, I won’t.
I’ve spent seven years working for this company. Seven. When I came to New York fresh out of college, I was naive and young and thought the world was at my feet.
Turns out it’s not, and people like me, with big dreams and small wallets, are many. By the end of my first year in New York, I was convinced it was also my last one.
It was by happenstance that I met Lauren, Randy’s sister. We became friends. She was working for their father’s development company, meaning they developed buildings from scratch, and they always needed a few in-house designers. Doing both had been my dream since the moment I built my first sandcastle, I think. So Lauren arranged an interview for me, and I was hired. Not as a designer, though, but asthe help. A clerk-do-it-all.
I’d been making coffee runs for a year before someone noticed my sketches. The rest is history. Lauren got married and moved to California, and our connection eventually died out, even though I’m still very grateful for the opportunity she gave me.
A year ago, their father retired, and suddenly we had a new CEO who was young and charming. He started courting me right away. And me, a small-town girl in a big city even after all these years, was impressed. Flowers were delivered to my desk every single day for three months before I even agreed to a date.
