“Go through these and sort them by date,” he demands. “I have two more boxes in the conference room once you’re through with those.” Mr. Sheridan slumps onto his chair and types away at his laptop screen as if I’m not even there. I hear him answer his phone with an elated greeting—a grating guffaw—and he leans back with his feet kicked up on his desk. Whatever infuriated tone he aimed at me is swiped away now that things are as they should be. Me, his little lackey, and him, the corporate version of the evil stepmother.
I almost ask him if he has another bag of Sour Patch Kids he’d rather have me divvy up by flavor before picking up the box and trudging over to my cubicle. Maybe an unpaid internship wouldn’t be so bad. Anything to get me out of this snake pit and the slithering scumbag I work for.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Andrew
Grace is sittingacross from me at my tiny dining table. She’s reading some book she brought over with her, her focus homing in on the last few pages as she flips them violently. She’s wearing some flimsy bra-type of tank top. A bralette, she claims. She’s added shorts to the ensemble, and she has her knees drawn up to her chin, her toes dangling off the edge of her chair. She’s the epitome of a lazy evening at home. I hold back a chuckle when she lightly gasps and urgently whips another page over. Instead of reaching over and pinching her cheek, which is what I really want to do, I secretly take a picture of her with my phone already held in my hand.
Satisfied with the candid moment I managed to capture, I return to the email I was reading from Thad. It’s a standard follow-up email, though the level of sincerity makes the tone less formal and more personal. He added something new though. A generic job listing. Nothing official, but what was previously used for other internship positions. Just so I’m aware of what’s expected as an unpaid intern. Still, it isn’t so much the unpaid part that makes me hesitant. It’s working more hours than I already am. There are days when I don’t get home untilafter eight, and I don’t know where I’d squeeze in a part-time internship.Unless I quit my job altogether.
“What are you looking at?”
I look up at Grace. Her book is closed and set aside next to her plate where a half-eaten slice of pizza rests. She picks up her can of Perrier and eyes me over the aluminum rim as she waits for me to answer.
“It’s uh…” I pause to run a hand through my hair. “It’s an email from this nonprofit organization.”
“A nonprofit? Why are they emailing you?”
“I had a meeting with the president yesterday. Josh pulled some strings and got me an interview.”
“What. Like a job interview?”
I shake my head. “Not really. It was more of a ‘find out what they do’ kind of meeting.”
“So what are they emailing you about?”
“Just checking in, I guess.”
She looks at me with doubtful eyes. “That’s it?”
“He kind of mentioned an internship position. Something to get my foot through the door, and it can maybe transition into a full-time position…as the finance manager.”
She leans forward, setting down her drink. “Andrew, that’s a big deal.”
“Eh,” I answer, brushing her off. I don’t know how to tell her I don’t want to get my hopes up. What if it’s not what I expect it to be? What if I’m stuck in the same place I am right now, just minus the shitty boss. With no room for growth or ladder to climb. I can’t be some entry-level associate forever. So instead of telling Grace all of that, I simply say, “We’ll see what happens.”
Grace stands from her spot and walks the two steps to bring her right onto my lap, hooking her arms over my shoulders. “Hey,” she whispers, placing a small peck at the corner of my mouth. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
I place my hands on her thighs, giving them a soft squeeze. I don’t say anything, and she waits with patient eyes and an unwavering calmness that makes me feel like I can tell her anything. “I guess,” I start. “I feel like I put so much into this company, and as much as I hate working for my boss, I don’t hate the work. I’d like to move up there and finally get out from under him. I feel like I’m so close, but I don’t know how much more I can take.” I exhale a breath, my words jumbling together as they pour out of me. “And what if this nonprofit stuff just isn’t for me? Then I’d have left my job for nothing, and then I’d be starting all over.”
“But you’d have some experience under your belt, so you wouldn’t be starting from scratch wherever you go. That experience has to speak for something.”
“True,” I admit, appreciating her honest and frank opinion. “It just feels like a lot for me to just try something out. I’ve held on for this long, maybe I need to suck it up. Just a little longer.”
She cups my face with both her hands, squishing my cheeks together, and she kisses me. “Whatever you want to do, I’m here, okay? If you want to rot in this job with your asshole boss, I’ll hold your hand and maybe pop his tires.”
I lean my head back, looking up at her with a lopsided smile, and she scratches her nails between my shoulder blades, smothering any hint of vacillation I may feel as I stand in front of this self-imposed crossroad.
“And if you feel like you want to take this other job, I’ll be here too. I’ll even pack you a sack lunch on your first day,” she says, grinning adorably.
I pinch at her sides, and she squeals. “Are you going to take a picture of me like it’s the first day of school too?”
She nods, unable to answer through her giggly outburst.
“You’re a little smart ass, you know that?”
“We can even get you a small chalkboard and write ‘first day of work’ on it,” she manages to whimper out through her laughter.
