"I suppose, but I suffer to make him happy. Is that love?"
"Eh, that's pushing it," I tell her. "How do you suffer?" I'm scared to hear the answer, but she could be in trouble.
"There are blisters all over my feet, and my hair," she tugs her bang to the side, and points to her roots, "I'm naturally blonde." I just thought she had a slight receding hairline, but she just needs a little touch up, which isn't the worst thing in the world. "My skin is sensitive and breaks out from all this makeup, and I hate talking like a mouse. Mice don't even speak, and a mouse my size, if one was to exist, wouldn't sound like a deflating helium balloon, right?"This situation is an example of why it's better to have commitment issues.
"I get it. Breaking away from someone who you have or had feelings for is tough, but in the long run, you'll thank yourself. You know, I wasn't telling you to break things off with Mick. That's your call; I'm just making a point that you should be able to be yourself in a relationship."
She nods her head and wipes away the tears from her cheek. "He doesn't want the person underneath all this," she says, pointing down at her ensemble—a black turtleneck beneath a red jumper. "I've been in denial, and you're right, Madelyn. Thank you." She places her hand on my shoulder, yanks her oversized pearl necklace from her neck, and walks out of the bathroom.
I'm left here, staring at my reflection with an eyebrow raised, and a smirk I shouldn't have after destroying a relationship so easily.All in a day's job, I guess.Plus, whatever happens, is not my fault. Karma is a real thing, and I just helped that girl, so I must have just increased my positive healing magnetic power.That doesn't sound right.
I step back into the office, finding the area reasonably quiet. It's a good time to slip back into my cubicle with hope of avoiding interactions with the "men." Yet, before my inbox has enough time to populate, the silence turns into shouts.
I inch out of my seat and poke my head above the wall barriers just in time to see Wesley pulling his shirt over his head and storming toward the lobby.Oh, shit.I slump back down, hoping to stay out of the mess I already fell into since I've said more than enough today.
The sound of footsteps begin to grow louder when they should be disappearing into the distance, where the lobby is located.
"What the hell is this campaign for?"
I gasp, falling into the back of my seat and slap my hand against my chest. Wesley's sudden appearance startles, especially as he stares me down from a foot away, crowding me in my cubicle. The look of rage on his face doesn't exactly help calm my racing pulse, so I take a second to breathe.
"Crap, you scared me," I shout through a whisper in case Mick is standing nearby.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, but I need to know what the campaign is for," Wesley snaps again.
"I'm sure it's in your contract," I tell him. It's probably not the time to add to his anger, but this is not my fault, and I don't know what he signed. Plus, I tried to warn him despite not knowing if he read the contract.
"I'm heading home to review it, but I didn't see much of anything except for this being a milk campaign gig."
"Always check the fine print," I mutter.My mouth needs a firm strip of duct tape for the rest of the day.
"Seriously, I don't have time for this shit. Just tell me what the hell I agreed to." I shouldn't be fighting a smile as I prepare to let him down, but I also want to ask him if he takes his shirt off every time someone asks nicely. "This isn't funny."
"Okay, geez. The campaign is for a company called Lacto Natural Central. They sell mothers' breast milk to those who can't produce it on their own."
"What the fu—! Are you kidding me?"
Would I be hysterically laughing if I was?"No, that's why I walked out. I want nothing to do with the campaign. It's disgusting how these idiots are portraying this poor company that hired them."
"Oh my God, my career is over." Wesley is pacing back and forth, raking his fingers through his hair like he was earlier when Mick told him to take his shirt off. Except this time, he's tugging at the roots and huffing in short breaths. He might be having an anxiety attack, but I'm taking the moment to drink him in while he thinks of his next solution. I shouldn't be ogling someone when they're grieving about a stupid decision, but it's not my fault that some men look hot when they're enraged, and he happens to be one of them.
"There's a chance they didn't get all the photos they need, right?" I offer. It's all I can think to say. I'm almost positive he screwed himself over since I'm sure they have something to use.
"Yeah, they got photos of me, half-naked, holding a baby, with a milk mustache to promote a breast milk company. Yup, they have that. So, this is just awesome."
"Can you retract your agreement?" I ask him. I don't know much about contracts, but I know I wouldn't sign one without reading it first.
"Who the hell knows? I need to go call my publicist and attorney. I know something seemed off today.“
“Did you at least ask them what the campaign was for while they were shooting?" It's a stupid question, but again … he didn't seem to read all of the contract.
“Yeah, they wouldn't give me a straight answer, which made it clear I was about to end up in goddamn mess. That's why there was so much yelling. They nailed me and have no issue going to print with or without my disagreement."
I'm sure Lacto Natural Central won't approve the campaign, but I'm not sure how the approval process works, or what the agreement is, for that matter.
Wesley stops pacing and gives me a sorrowful gaze, then clenches his fist and throws his hands down. "See ya."
"Good luck," I tell him, trying my best to sound optimistic. "Oh, and you still have the milk mustache—" I tried to tell him, but the front door of the office slams before I can finish speaking.
Well, at least I can assume Mick will be more upset over the milk than Minnie. I'm not sure which situation is worse.
