"What conference room?" he asked, the hint of a smile playing around his mouth.
"I don't need your help," I countered. "I'm just admiring the view."
"But you're standing in front of me," he said.
Did he just—
"There you are!" I heard Tara screech. "Mr. Svensson is very busy. Stop wasting his time."
Tara did a bad imitation of the longing sigh of a Disney princess in Mace's direction then gestured impatiently for me to follow her. We turned left, not right, and then we were at the conference room. I set the box on the table.
"What is all of this?" Tara asked as she opened up the lid to the box I had filled with paper, colored markers, and stickers.
"You said you were brainstorming, right?" I said. "So you need something to get the creative juices flowing. I brought a few things."
"You need to bring refreshments," Tara sneered. "That's what you do. You fetch coffee. You are not part of the marketing team."
"If I wasn't supposed to bring this, then where's all your brainstorming stuff?" I argued.
Tara pointed to one solitary easel.
"That's it?" I asked, incredulous.
"This is all we need," Tara said.
I was about to make a nasty comment about the state of Mace's PowerPoints and the marketing collateral generally, but I was trying to make it through the week without being fired. I couldn't ruin Marnie's reputation—she had stuck her neck out for me. The least I could do was not insult people every five minutes, even if they deserved it.
"I'm off for coffee, then," I told Tara.
I filled pitchers of water and coffee from a nearby breakroom and was setting them out on the table when Willow walked in. She gave me a brief hug.
"Stay strong," I whispered to her.
"No promises."
Tara stood in front of the room and cleared her throat, watching me. "You can go now."
"Let me know if you need anything else!" I chirped.
See? I'm turning over a new leaf.
12
Mace
Imade Josie stay late that night. She was organizing the notes from the Platinum Provisions meeting to send out. I watched her through the glass partition wall. She seemed stressed as she typed up the notes. Good. She would be gone for sure by the end of the week.
I sent her several emails with busywork like reorganizing the supply closet and inventorying the breakroom snack supply.
"Did you receive my messages?" I asked her from the doorway between our offices. She looked up at me. A few tendrils of her curly hair had escaped from her bun. I longed to tuck them back into place… but only because I wanted it to be orderly, not because I wanted to touch her hair.
"You want that done tomorrow?" she asked. I noticed a slightly hysterical edge to her tone.
"Of course," I replied. "While you're at it, survey everyone in the office to see if they want different breakroom snacks."
"I'm sure they do," she muttered.
"What was that?"
