“Actually, I did that,” I correct.
“Anyhow, the odds are looking good for us. They want a detailed report upstairs; we have about a fortnight to produce it. Do you think you two can get your teams to finish it for the ninth?” he asks. Ralf and I nod, confident in our departments’ abilities to do it in time. “Perfect. Genevieve, I know you have asked for a day off that Friday. Can you push back whatever plans you have?”
After a few seconds of frantic thoughts mixed with confusion, I shake my head. “I’m afraid I can’t, sir.”
“Really? This is terribly important, Genevieve.”
“I’m sorry, but the request was approved months ago. I can’t come in on the ninth.”
“What could be more important than this?” Ralf snickers.
My annoyance for the man was somehow contained because he didn’t open his mouth, but since he has, I don’t hold back the glare I give him. “A personal matter that doesn’t concern you.”
I turn to my boss again. “Sir, I’m sorry for the terrible timing, but do trust that I will have everything you need ready by the eighth. My absence the day after won’t pose an issue.”
His lips are pinched in a displeased manner, and I expect him to argue again and force me to come in on the ninth. I didn’t complain in the past about Christmas and New Year’s, but this, I can’t.
Mr. Sinclair eventually sighs and walks around his desk to sit on his big leather chair. “Alright, you two take a seat. We need to organize ourselves.”
I nod and move to the closest chair while Ralf approaches the other one. For the next two tedious hours, we listen and take notes. The report needs to be much more detailed than I expected, and it would be a challenge even if I were coming on the ninth. But I’ve handled worse in the past, so I know I can make it.
By the time I come out of my boss’s office, I’m properly drained. The man’s ability to talk all the time and get constantly sidetracked is uncanny. And I’m not as good as Ralf at faking interest and licking our boss’s ass, so it’s torture.
Because I need to recharge, I head toward the break room rather than my office. That coffee Daisy offered earlier doesn’t sound like such a bad idea now. My pace slows as I get closer. Every time I approach this room, I’m reminded of the awful words my colleagues spewed about me. Part of me fears it’ll happen again, and I’ll have to endure more humiliation. That worry gets even more intense when I discern hushed voices in there. More specifically, Isabel’s voice.
“I swear it was her. And he had a big motorcycle and tattoos.”
“And she kissed him?”
“Girl, she practically swallowed him whole. It was so weird.”
No. Not again. They can’t be talking about me again—about me andJake.
“So that’s why she was late, then?”
“Maybe, yeah.”
Because I’ve had actual nightmares about what happened last time, it takes a second for my brain to process that this is all true. This is really happening. I’m not making this up.
“Was he hot?” someone asks.
“Eh, I didn’t see him because of the helmet, but he couldn’t have been. Have you met her? The tattoos were sexy, though.”
Oh, if that bitch knew just how hot Jake is, she’d have a stroke.
“Unless he was an escort or whatever,” Isabel continues.
“A gigolo? And she paid him for the night?”
“Where else is she gonna find someone? All that harpy does is work,” Larry snorts.
The fact that they are insulting Jake infuriates me. With a quick, deep breath, I straighten up and walk inside the breakroom. Their attention instantly falls on me, and they try to act as if nothing happened. I do the same for a few seconds, fetching a mug and moving to the coffee pot.
As I pour myself a steaming cup, I boldly meet Isabel’s eyes. “So you were late this morning?” I ask.
Surprise flashes on her face. “Uh, I—yeah. But you t—”
“No, don’t even go there. I was late for the first time in three years. You were late for the fifth time this month.”
