It’s the reason why I chose to go into a field with strong job prospects and a decent wage.
But Evelyn, she wouldn’t be deterred. And then, in her sophomore year of college, she met finance major turned investment banker Jeff and fell madly in love. And she’s never had to worry about money ever since.
For her, things work out for the best simply because they do. She doesn’t understand that sometimes, oftentimes, it takes more than hard work and a false sense of optimism to get your way. Sometimes it just isn’t in the cards.
“I don’t know, Ev. I just started there. I can’t exactly ask for favors. I mean, someone just got fired today, and he reamed out the entire research department.” If I were her, a freak accident would have us shut down the same day that I need off or something. But I’m not her; I’m me.
“You’re not trying to get out of it just because Cassie and Jason are going to be there, are you?”
A grunt falls past my lips at the sound of their names. “No. I don’t care about them. I just wishtheyunderstood that.”
“Good. I can ask Jeff if his friend is still single. That way, you can show up with a date,” she offers. I open my mouth to shut that down, but she’s still mumbling to herself about which of her husband’s friends would be the best prospect for her poor dateless sister.
“Evelyn, no. I’m good. Really.”
“Well, I’ll ask anyway, in case you change your mind. Just get that Friday off, okay?” She hangs up before I can say anything else.
I sink down into my couch with a sigh. It’s no use getting worked up over it. I’ll cross that bridge with her when the time comes.
Although, I do wish I could go to the anniversary party. It’s a big deal to make it sixty years married to the same person.
The door opens, and I pop my head up from the couch to see my roommate and best friend, Holly, rush in, shaking the chill from her bones.
“Hey, did you have to park around the block?” I ask.
“Yes. Stupid Greg and his stupid truck took up two spots in front of the building. I should call the landlord and have him towed,” she snaps.
“Get yourself into something comfy,” I say, changing the subject. “We’ve got two episodes of our show to catch up on.”
“Fine. I’ll leave it… for now. But only because I’m cold and miserable and you look way more comfortable and I’m jealous,” Holly says, her face crunched up in a pout.
We watch a couple of episodes of our show together, but my mind keeps slipping away, the unfinished research like a fly buzzing around my head. As Holly starts the next episode, I pull the notebook from my bag and collect my laptop from my room. I’m not sure if I’m even going to submit all of this, but the restlessness in me won’t let up until I finish what I started.
As soon as I get to the office the next morning, swiping my new key card for the first time, I sit at my desk and open the file that I sent to myself last night. It took well into the night to sift through all of the companies and their marketing and branding methods. I put all of the information I’ve collected into a spreadsheet with links to the backup documentation, relevant articles, and revenue trends for the past ten years for those companies that are required to publish that information to the public.
I shoot an email off to Damian Edgerton with everything attached, but since I’m still new and haven’t figured out the quirks for everyone yet, I decide to print everything to hand deliver to him as well.
He’s sitting in his glass-paned office, the blinds drawn but the slats open. I knock on his heavy wooden door, peeking my head to the side so I can look through the glass. His brow furrows in confusion as he looks at me through the blinds.
“Come in,” he calls.
“Mr. Edgerton, hi. I just wanted to drop this off for you,” I say, placing the file on the corner of his desk. Everyone I’ve spoken to atCreativEdge has told me the same thing: keep your head down, don’t make direct eye contact, place the folder on the desk, and back away quickly.
Mr. Edgerton glances up at me, his dark eyes connecting with mine, his full lips pulled into a straight line.
Looks like avoiding eye contact has gone straight out the window.
I nod and turn to leave when I hear him ask, “What’s this?”
“The research you were asking for,” I answer, turning to face him again.
His heavy brow quirks up, and his gaze travels the length of me, not with any emotion, but with a question in his eyes. “I thought you were the new accountant.”
“I am.”
“Then why are you wasting time working on research?” His question comes out gruff, his smooth voice clipped and direct.
“It piqued my interest, and I had some time yesterday,” I reply, pulling my shoulders back. For better or worse, I don’t break eye contact, ignoring every piece of advice I was given. “I wasn’t slacking off. I did most of it at home after work.”
