13
Tomorrow, I am positive I will promise to be positive about the next day.
The blow horn alarm on my phone sends a spike through my head this morning, reminding me I'm wiped out and have no desire to go into that horrible office today. I grab the phone, checking it for a message from Wesley, but I only see the return message from last night, so I send over another message to see if it happens again. I think this is where I listen to the voice in my head that saysthe guy isn't into me, let it go.
Me:Hey!
Again, a message returns with:
104010430:Return to sender. This caller is not accepting messages.
What the hell? Did he block me? I mean, if he blocked me because I didn't respond to him fast enough last night … well, that's ridiculous. I shouldn't care. It's not like anything is going on between us. I'm overreacting, and I need to get the hell over it.
I'm over it. This is nothing. Emotions are off. Bee-boop-beep. Off.
Since I've been sluggishly moving around this morning, I need to move a little faster to get out of here in the next few minutes. I toss my hair into a ponytail, pull on my boots, and grab my bag. “See ya," I shout at Layla as I fly out the door.
The subway times did not help with my tardiness, so I'm walking in five minutes late, which I hate.At least everyone is in a meeting as usual though. I'm wondering if the office opens an hour earlier than what Mick told me. It seems there is a “men-only" meeting occurring every morning before I arrive. That's cool I wouldn't put the behavior past them. I suppose they could just be chatting about whatever it is they enjoy in their spare time, Playboy magazines, figurines, or calculators—I can only imagine.
“Did you get a hold of the news?" Carla whispers.
It doesn't matter how quiet she is; she still scares the shit out of me every time she talks. I never think she's six inches away from me, separated by a thin wall. I clutch my chest as she peers over the top of the cubical wall. “What news?"
“Michelle is pressing charges against Mick for sexual harassment." She says the word harassment like my elementary school teacher pronounced it, and it's all I can focus on for a moment until I realize these charges will somehow end up being my fault too because I had to open my damn mouth.
“Did he harass her?" I ask. I can guess she has an answer since she seems to know everything that goes on in this office.
“Oh yeah, I think Michelle only dated him because she was afraid of getting fired. I'm not sure where she got the courage to do what she did to Mick last week. It was so out of character for her."
I wonder if she can see the guilt on my face. “Well, then I'd say he has what's coming to him," I tell her.
“This is true, but if Mick gets into too much trouble, we'll all be out of a job, so that's the unfortunate part."
Shit. Why do I keep opening my mouth all the time? “I doubt that will happen," I tell her, lying because I've been watching the way society reacts to this sensitive topic, and no one is blinking twice at sexual harassment complaints anymore.
“We'll see, I guess," she says before slinking back down into her seat. So weird.
I take my phone out of my bag and recheck it, feeding my growing obsession over wondering what I did to piss Wesley off enough to block me. It's such a childish move.
I open my software to begin work on the layout for the toilet paper ad. Focusing on this will distract me from the stupid shit going through my head. The meeting ended abruptly yesterday when Wesley walked into the office, so Mick sent me an email later, telling me to go with my gut on whatever wording I chose. I assume he has more important things to worry about right now.
The company sent us some images and their logo to work with, so this should be easy.
It's been less than five minutes since I started what I'm doing when I hear a banging sound echoing from the front of the office. I stand up and look around, spotting a fist knocking on the front desk, so I walk closer to the lobby to see who's knocking.
Wesley, and a middle-aged woman dressed in a suit, accented with more Botox than I would think any surgeon would offer.Yikes.
“Not a word," she mutters to Wesley.
“Can I help you?" I ask the woman.
“We are requesting to speak to Mick Cale. Could you please inform him that Mr. Moon and his attorney are here." I guess that makes me a receptionist now. Wesley won't look at me, which clarifies my thoughts on whether he blocked me or if it was for some other reason.Nice.
“Sure, I'll tell him."
I open the conference room door and poke my head inside to announce his guest's arrival. “Mr. Moon and his attorney are here to see you," I announce.
I'm quick to walk away from the door before anyone says anything, and sit back down at my desk, rolling my eyes at everything around me. On the other hand, I shouldn't have to be trying so hard to look unaffected by Wesley's presence. It's ridiculous I'm reacting to him at all since we are nothing to one another.
