Matthew still doesn’t believe I love him.
That Ichosehim.
And I have no idea how the hell I’m supposed to convince him of something he’s already decided not to believe.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brooke
“These are the cubicles, that’s the breakroom, over there are the bathrooms. And the boss’s office is on the other side. Anything else you need, just holler,” Stacy says in one long breath before she promptly disappears like a puff of smoke.
I stand in the corner for a second, taking it in. The office isn’t big, maybe six cubicles total, not very large at all. It’s obviously a starter company, not some established, glossy travel agency with branded mugs and endless resources.
I’m okay with that.
I started my career as a flight attendant with a budget airline; paying my dues isn’t new to me.
“Hey, Brooke, right?” a warm voice says.
I turn to find a tall African American man with an easy smile approaching me.
“Yeah,” I nod.
“I’m Teddy,” he says, offering his hand. I shake it, grateful for at least one friendly face. “Come on, I’ll show you the ropes. Stacy does that a lot,” he adds as we walk. “She’s not mean or anything, sweetheart, actually. I think she’s got ADHD or something. Talks fast, forgets to check if you actually heard her.”
I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“Anyway, we’re gonna be neighbours.” He gestures to the cubicle next to his. “All these computers are hardwired to the same network, so you don’t need to log in or anything. Whenever you make a booking-”
He squints at me. “You were given your ID number, right?”
“Yeah,” I nod.
“Just enter that on the final paperwork or you’ll lose the commission.”
“Seriously?” I ask, already wincing.
He nods solemnly. “Trust me, I’ve been there.”
I make a face, and he laughs, pointing me toward my seat.
“Oh, and did you bring earbuds?” he asks.
I shake my head.
He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a headset that look like it’s been through at least three presidencies. “These are from, like, the ‘90s. We all bring our own so our ears don’t bleed.”
“Noted,” I say dryly, taking mental notes as fast as I can.
He opens up a webpage and starts explaining. “We’ve got three types of calls. One: we call back people who left inquiries on our website. Two: we answer incoming calls. Three: we cold-call, offering services. Luckily traffic’s been good lately, so we haven’t had to do number three in a while.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“It’s not that hard,” he says encouragingly. “Most of the info is on the website. And this.” He points to a clipboard. “Mr. Kowalski isn’t big on tech, so, uh, analogue.”
Of course.
Before I can ask anything else, my line rings. A little box pops up on the screen: ACCEPT or REFUSE.
