After forcing said sludge down her throat, Evelyn cracked her neck and readied herself to tackle the bloody Christmas decoration budget. It was fast becoming the bane of her life.
As the hours slipped by, her mood grew dark. All this extra work for one goddamn holiday. Why did they need to spend all this money? New decorations for each store? No way. Evelyn put a strike through that. Real trees? Nope, plastic would do fine. And who the hell thought to ask for an extrafive hundred poundsfor staff Christmas parties?
The board was going to pitch a fit if she signed off on any of that. On the other hand, if she looked to be cutting back on the company’s most important quarter, the board would also find fault. The working day hadn’t even officially begun yet, but it already felt like she’d done a full day’s grind.
“What time did you get here?” Maggie asked, standing in Evelyn’s doorway holding two cups of take-away coffee.
“Around four.” Evelyn didn’t need to look up to see Maggie shaking her head in disapproval.
“I’m sure Mindy was thrilled with that.”
“Mindy rolled in at half three and woke the whole building up with her snoring.”
“She went out until that time? On a Thursday?”
“Yep.” Evelyn didn’t want to have this conversation, not again.
“And you’re okay with that?”
Throwing her glasses—that she had reluctantly put on this morning—onto her desk, Evelyn massaged her temples. How she wished she had a bottle of Baileys in her desk drawer. Today was definitely an Irish coffee kind of day.
“I’m not her mother. She’s her own woman. It’s not for me to tell her what she can and can’t do, Mags.”
“I get that, but come on, Evie. What’s this, the fourth night in a row she’s been out?”
It was the fourth night in a row, but Evelyn didn’t have the right to moan. Not when she’d been burning the midnight oil for the past two months. It was hardly fair to ask Mindy to wait around the penthouse all night for her.
“Mindy likes to party. It’s just who she is.”
Maggie scoffed. “Whatever, Evie, but you don’t fool me.”
What did she mean by that?
“Maggie, can we leave it, please?” Evelyn looked at her best friend, her eyes pleading for her to let it go.
“Fine.” Sliding a coffee over to Evelyn, Maggie waltzed to the door. That woman really liked to make an entrance—and exit. “Don’t think I have forgotten about tonight. It’s you and me, and a slew of alcoholic drinks.”
There was no way Evelyn was going to piss off Maggie anymore, so she nodded and gave a tight smile. Getting blasted wasn’t the best idea, but hell, if she had to choose between araging hangover or Maggie’s ire, she’d choose the former every time.
Five o’clock rolled around and Evelyn felt as if she’d been run over by a truck. Her mind and body were tired, and now she had to go to a pub and pretend to enjoy herself. Evelyn hadn’t always been like this. In fact, she was often the life and soul of the party. That’s why Mindy had been so attractive to her. They shared an enjoyment of socialising, dancing, and drinking. Obviously, things had changed rapidly for Evelyn when she became the boss. Now all she wanted to do after work was don her fuzzy slipper socks and fleece hoody, grab a glass of wine, and watch mind-numbing TV.
Maggie swept in, closing Evelyn’s laptop. “Let’s go, missy.”
After being swivelled around by her overzealous friend, she found herself being yanked out of her chair.
“Coat on.” Maggie ordered.
Laughing at how ridiculous Maggie was behaving, Evelyn did as she was told. “You’re buying,” she commented, walking out of her office and towards the lift.
“Not likely. You’re loaded,” Maggie shouted after her.
The office was almost empty. Richard Crawford had implemented an early finish time of four p.m. for all HQ employees every Friday nearly ten years ago. The board—which was full of old white guys—had been super pissed, but Richard stuck to his guns and proved the board wrong. In the first year of the initiative, productivity had shot through the roof. Evelyn wasn’t going to mess with that. The more productive the office, the less ammo the snooty board members had to use against her.
Fifteen minutes later, the duo swung open the door to Penny’s Pub and Grill. The smell of fruity cocktails slapped them in the tastebuds. Penny Porter, owner of said pub and grill, was a genius mixologist. The pub still sold beer and bags of Scampi Fries, but it was famous for the cocktail menu. It was also alesbian bar, which, let’s be honest, meant it should be put on an endangered species list.
“Evelyn? Jesus, you’re alive,” Penny boomed from across the room. The music wasn’t that loud, certainly not at the level where Penny needed to shout.
Evelyn gave a wave. She hated that every eye in the place was on her now.
