CHAPTER SEVEN
The stench of warm hotdogs and sweat follows me from the New York City street into the building lobby. Are we all too busy running around from one location to another to notice the smell New York carries on her back? Maybe things are more pungent for me today after my week with ocean breezes and Trey’s spicy cologne. New York looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same. Some of the city’s glow, the spark, the presence that keeps the city alive seems to have fizzled out while I was gone. Or it could be Monday, and who doesn't hate a Monday? Especially a Monday after a vacation.
The elevator stops on the sixth floor and the walk to my yellow-walled office is quick so I don’t have to greet anyone or give out the details of my vacation. The whole communication thing is too daunting a task this morning. I plan to sink into my computer chair and answer the hundred and fifty emails I didn’t get to from my apartment last night.
New York City might not make my veins sing as it did a week ago, but my office hasn’t changed. I unpack my small soft leather briefcase and start up my laptop. If I were smart I’d keep to my normal routine and visit the breakroom for a cup of coffee to start my day, but the thought of nosey coworkers keeps me away. My email program loads on the screen before me, but my brain still has me in a lounge chair poolside.
“Hey, Simone. How was the trip?” A much too bright for a Monday morning voice brings me out of my gloom, at least for a moment. The cute and perky redhead it belongs to walks into my office with a steaming mug held out in front of her.
“Thanks.” I graciously take the cup of coffee from one of my closest friends in New York and place it on my desk to cool.
Stacy doesn’t move from her spot in front of my desk, and her black dress pants block my sight out the door. “So, vacation?” she prompts again.
“Urgh, I don’t even want to talk about it now. Give me a few hours to re-acclimate to city life.”
Her head tilts in my direction. “That bad, huh? Family drama?”
I stare into my coffee cup. “No, that good.” I sigh as I look up again.
Stacy cocks her head to the side in question but doesn’t ask more of me. “Okay, fine, keep it to yourself for now, but drinks tonight. I want all the details.”
“Okay, the place across the street. You need to fill me in on everything that went on here while I was gone too.”
Stacy’s hands fall to her hips and she leans over placing half her body over my desk. “Girl, you won’t believe what went down last week. Jay's being tight lipped, but something seriously bad happened with our West Coast branches,” she whispers.
“Do you work in one of our West Coast branches, Stacy?” the deep voice of my boss, Jay, filters in from my doorway and we both jerk to straight positions. Our casual act doesn’t work on him as he walks farther into my space. “Why don’t we spend more time worrying about what goes on around here? Peterson is outside your office looking for you.”
Stacy squints her eyes at Jay but is out the door without a good-bye. I don’t blame her. Peterson, our office manager, is not a man you let wait.
“I take it you and Stacy did not get back together last week?”
Jay leans against my bookshelf, his head thrown back to the white ceiling. His dark suit looks good against his light black skin, but from his posture the week wore on him.
“She’s crazy, Simone. I don’t know what the woman wants from me.”
Stacy wants full commitment, but she doesn’t think she should have to tell him. She expects Jay to figure it out on his own. It’s taking him longer than she planned for. “All girls are crazy, Jay. It’s our own little conspiracy.”
His face brightens at my words. “Yeah, well don’t ever date someone you work with. It’s nothing but trouble.” He steps closer to my desk and taps his knuckles on the top twice. “Come on. Peterson’s requested a meeting with us right now.”
He puts air quotes around the word “requested” since it’s not like any of us could turn down a meeting when the big man wants to see us.
“Why? What did you mess up without me here to fix your mistakes?”
“Me? Why do you think it’s me? Maybe it’s you.” He knocks on my desk one more time and strides to the door.
I grab the yellow notebook from the top of my desk and a pen before I follow him out. Six doors down, Jay stops to knock on Mr. Bob Peterson’s office door. Not that anyone calls him Bob, not if you want to still have a job when you’re done.
“Come in!”
“The man might be going on seventy, but he still has a set of iron lungs, huh?” Jay says back to me and then opens the door with a fresh smile plastered on his face.
Mr. Peterson sits behind his big black wooden desk. His literal corner office would be bright and maybe even a little inviting if you didn’t know the man who occupied it. It’s not that our boss is a bad guy. I’ve seen him dance the funky chicken with his wife at our holiday party. No one should be imposing after you’ve seen them cluck and wave their arms like wings, but somehow the guy does it. Impose, that is.
“My lungs aren’t the only part of me in good working order. I also have impeccable hearing, Miller.”See! Mr. Peterson waves a wrinkled hand in front of him and motions for us to sit in the two green fabric chairs in front of his desk.
“Sorry, sir.” Jay becomes overly interested in the folder he’s placed on his lap.
“Right, well, we aren’t here about you, Jay. I wanted to speak with Simone.” He looks to me and I try to keep the panic from my features. “I’m sure you’re aware of all the trouble on the West Coast last week, so I won’t go over it again. But as you know, it's messy.”
