Wanting the Man - Book cover

Wanting the Man

Maree O'Brien

Chapter 2 - Death Songs

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Miranda muttered under her breath.

Andrea lifted her head to stare at the woman she had worked alongside for the past two years. She had been invited to Miranda’s wedding. Miranda, Liz, and Joe had worked with her as a cohesive team.

They had celebrated each other’s achievements, consoled each other during private or professional hard times, and been a supportive friendly group. Never had they been judgmental or downright nasty.

Miranda continued to type on her computer, ignoring Andrea’s confused and hurt look.

Andrea dropped her company name scroll on top of the small pile of personal items she had dug out of her desk drawers.

“I’ve heard they are going to interview Jill for the job,” Liz leaned across the desk to Miranda.

Andrea’s hands started to shake. They were talking about her job, in front of her. Lead Auditor for the Manufacturing Sector was the job she had been working towards for the last three years.

When her boss had left for another company, Andrea had stepped in as Acting Lead. So she was the obvious choice. It was the first step in her scheme to make Partner by the time she was thirty.

She had it all mapped out. But that was yesterday.

“I think Jill is the perfect candidate,” Miranda smiled back.

Andrea blinked back the tears. Jill. That was a slap in the face. She hadn’t seen Jill yet. They had been best friends since her first day working here.

Jill knew how important this job had been to her.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Andrea’s voice croaked.

“Is she talking to us?” Liz asked Miranda, then sniffed in contempt as she turned to Andrea, “Mike in IT is looking for a stripper for his bachelor party, if you’re looking for work.”

“Apparently there’s work on the strip for B-grade porn stars,” Miranda shrugged, “I’m sure they need fluffers too.”

“Yes,” Liz nodded sincerely, “And you already have an audition tape!”

Andrea tried to blink back the tears as she bit her lip to stop the sob that seemed stuck in her throat.

“Oh, and the invitation to my wedding,” Miranda paused as she stretched her lips out in a fake sympathetic grimace, “You’d best not come. Apparently the venue doesn’t allow dogs.”

She shook her head slowly at the two women, and then her eyes flicked to the solid back of Joe.

His shoulders were tense, but he continued to work without seeming to notice what was happening in their cubicle.

On more than one occasion, she had called him ‘her rock,’ but right now he seemed more like clay.

The tears leaked from her eyes and fell fast and free. She didn’t bother wiping them as they trickled down her cheeks and dripped from her jawbone.

The sob she was desperately holding in convulsed in her chest, causing her shoulders to shake.

“I thought,” still unable to accept what was happening, she needed to fix this.

“You thought?” Liz interrupted with theatrical surprise, “Really? When did that happen?”

“It’s a mistake,” she tried again.

“A mistake?” Miranda shook her head. “Yeah, it’s safe to say that. It’s your mistake and we’re all paying for it. I’ve been on the phone all morning with clients suspending or canceling. We have no work next week because Grey Steel has decided to get City Accountants to do their audit.”

“Apparently we ‘no longer offer an image they want to be associated with’. If this continues Henry will have no choice but to start laying us off. If I lose my job because the prude went all crude and rude on the boss’ desk,” she stopped and inhaled a deep breath. “Yeah, it’s a mistake. Have a nice life Andrea.”

Andrea’s mouth opened and closed but the two women had already turned back to the computers like she no longer existed.

She clutched the small bundle of personal items to her chest as she ran from the place she once thought of as her sanctuary.

Fight to see through the tears she made it to the bathroom and threw herself in an empty stall. She sat and pulled her knees up.

Her chest finally erupted and the sobs came fast, ripping her chest inside out. She cried as her body rocked and shook.

Nothing about this was right. Nothing made sense. How did this happen?

She stayed in there until the sobs died down to hiccups and her body felt dehydrated. Then she pulled a long pad of toilet tissue from the reel and held it to her face. What now?

No matter how tempting, she couldn’t hide in here for the rest of her life. But how could she face everyone? Miranda and Liz clearly thought that she had been fired.

They would find out the truth soon. Everyone would soon know that she was going to be working for Mr. Wood. Then this hatred they had for her would turn to loathing in a flash.

A fresh batch of tears fell against the toilet tissue.

“Miss O’Neil,” Mrs. Windsor’s voice came from the other side of the toilet door. Andrea hadn’t even heard her enter the bathroom. “Your desk is ready.”

“I can’t do it,” she sniffed.

“Of course you can,” Mrs. Windsor’s voice sounded impatient. “Everyone is frustrated at the moment. We have all worked hard to make WAS a success. You have a responsibility to do what you can to help repair the damage to the company’s reputation. And if you quit now the press will roast us over hot coals. Come on, open the door, wash your face and let’s not keep Mr. Wood waiting.”

Weak from all the crying, she did exactly what Mrs. Windsor told her to do. Then she meekly followed her back across the office space towards Mr. Wood’s door.

She kept her head down but even so she could feel the glares searing her as she passed by.

The desk they stopped at was directly outside Mr. Wood’s office. One wall of the office was glass with long vertical blinds which were currently shut tight.

The company had an open door policy and all senior management had to be clearly visible to their staff unless dealing with sensitive matters.

On the other end of the glass wall, next to the dark wood door, was Mr. Wood’s personal assistant Mrs. Anna Jones. Mr. Wood had gained much admiration from the staff when he hired Anna.

They had watched the procession of young ladies interview for the position, all perfectly groomed with stunning long legs, narrow waists, and skirts that might as well have been spray painted on.

Instead he chose Anna, who was in her fifties, experienced, and, more importantly, happily married. Andrea wasn’t the only female to sigh in relief.

“Here is your new job description,” Mrs. Windsor pointed at a short description on an otherwise blank piece of paper, “Anna will show you where to find the information. Your computer is all set up. You report directly to Mr. Wood so he will manage your workload.”

Andrea put her things on the desk as Mrs. Windsor turned to leave.

“One more thing,” Mrs. Windsor leaned in and spoke quietly, “Make sure you leave the door open and the blinds undrawn when meeting with Mr. Wood. I don’t want to have any sexual harassment cases come before me.”

“You think he would,” Andrea’s voice trailed off as her horrified expression was met with an incredulous look from Mrs. Windsor.

“I’m referring to him filing against you!” Mrs. Windsor lifted an eyebrow, “It would hardly be the other way around. What sort of man do you think he is?”

Andrea sat in stunned silence as she watched Mrs. Windsor confidently walk towards the elevators. Then her eyes landed on the job description. Internal finance was nothing.

It was a job you might give to someone fresh out of college.

Wentworth Accounting Solutions had a turnover a fraction of what she normally dealt with, no stock, minimal assets or liabilities, and basic accounting entries.

There was nothing there to challenge her. This was the death song of her career.

Actually, if her career had a death song, then it would have been the moaning and groaning she made on that YouTube recording. There had to be something she could do to stop this.

These pictures were of her. Why couldn’t she stop people from seeing them? Why didn’t she have control of her own image?

“Anna,” the growled voice jolted her from her thoughts. “Secure a meeting with Frank from the lawyers for early tomorrow.

She looked at the man in the doorway. His suit jacket was gone and his tie was skewed with the top button of his shirt open.

He ran a hand through his thick wavy dark hair as he leaned against the door frame. Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes, distracted by some other thought, met hers and softened.

Just for that fraction of a moment all her problems vanished and she could think of nothing but his deep blue eyes.

Then the moment was over. His eyes widened slightly and then hardened into glaciers. His jaw tightened as he paused, as if he was waiting for something.

His eyes closed, severing any connection between them, and he turned his face and his body away from her. He was gone, disappeared back into the depths of his office.

Andrea’s body tingled. She brought her focus back to the fake wood pattern on her desk. What was she doing? She had already made a fool of herself.

She had no hope of any type of relationship with Joshua Wood. It was not going to happen, ever. Why was she torturing herself?

Her phone rang. She looked at it. Was she supposed to answer that? Answering the phone hadn’t ended well today and she didn’t think she could take any more abuse.

She closed her eyes and tried to block out the nagging inner voice that wanted her to answer.

“Andrea,” Anna’s voice broke her concentration. “Answer your phone.”

Feeling foolish, she grabbed and fumbled the receiver.

“You will answer your phone promptly.” Mr. Wood’s voice was cold and crisp.

“Yes, sir,” she bit her lip as it took all her strength not to spin her chair in his direction, just to see if he was looking at her as he spoke.

“I’m emailing you a schedule of payments and reporting dates that I expect you to adhere to. All the information is on the company hard drive and in the filing cabinets. Jeff left some notes. I believe they are in the top drawer of your desk.”

She nodded.

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Yes, sir,” she answered scrunching her face up in chagrin for expecting him to see her nodding.

He exhaled, “You’ve been crying.”

She held her breath. What was she supposed to say to that? She’d been crying in his office, did he not notice?

He exhaled again and she was positive she could hear his fingers drumming against the desk, “More than before. You’ve been crying more than just from this morning. What happened?”

“Nothing,” the word sprang from her mouth.

Silence again.

“Thank you for asking Mr. Wood. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” Even to her, the words sounded fake, monotone, and hollow. She was not fine, and she doubted she would ever be fine ever again.

“I see,” he paused again, “Go home Miss O’Neil. I’m in the office from seven thirty a.m. Make up the time by coming in early, that way you’ll miss the morning rush too.”

She felt her shoulders relax in gratitude. Before and after work, people hung around the office entrance catching up with each other. He must have known.

“And Miss O’Neil,” his voice softened, “Keeping busy helps.”

She looked at the phone, which was now dead. What did he mean by that?

She shook her head. This wasn’t the time to question; she’d been given a ‘get out of jail free’ card, and she had every intention of fleeing as fast as humanly possible.

She grabbed her bag and headed for the fire exit. She would gladly descend ten floors of stairs if it meant she didn’t have to endure the short walk to the lifts again.

In the bright sunlight on the street, she inhaled deeply. She lifted her face to the light and clutched her bag to her chest. The oppressive weight lifted, and she just breathed again.

“That’s her,” the words were distant but clear, “I tell you, that’s her. This is that accounting firm and that’s the babe.”

Her head dropped and she tightened her hold on her bag, still against her chest. She walked without looking up, in the opposite direction to the voices.

“Nah, that chick on the YouTube had a kick-ass bod,” said a different male voice. “That ain’t the chick. She’s got fat thighs.”

Andrea nearly turned and told the moron that her thighs were not fat. But fear kept her moving. There was a small group of men lingering outside the building.

It was just as well she had opted for the fire escape which exited at the side of the building.

She had forgotten that this was bigger than just her workplace. Her humiliation was worldwide. There was nowhere to escape to. What was she going to do?

She had to get home. She would be safe there. But how was she going to get there? She snuck a glance to the other pedestrians.

Half of them had their phones out and she swore that guy with the coffee was checking her out. Maybe she needed to make her thighs fatter.

That was it. She headed for the clothing shops. Avoiding the boutiques, she soon found what she was looking for—a discount dress mart.

It was full of racks of brandless clothing, mothers dragging screaming children behind them, the odd low-paid office clerk, and very few shop assistants.

She walked briskly from rack to rack, pulling out clothing, hats, and a pair of oversized sunglasses. She took it all to the checkout without trying it on and handed over her credit card.

The checkout girl looked at her strangely when she asked if she could change into one of her new outfits but shrugged.

The girl might have guessed that what Andrea was wearing cost more than the four bags of garments that she had just purchased.

Hurrying to change, Andrea grabbed the first untailored shapeless dress and pulled it over her head. Then she shoved the hat on, bunching up her hair within it, and jabbed the sunglasses on.

She looked at her reflection. She looked nothing like herself. She looked terrible, but that was the whole point.

She left the shop confident that no one would recognize her, not even her mother, but that too would probably be a good thing.

She considered buying hair dye next but ruled it out. Her hair was black. She had once tried to dye it a different color, and that had required many hours in a salon.

Hairdressers were right on top of any gossip around. She didn’t want to be tied to a chair while her lack of impropriety was openly discussed by a panel, all for hair an unnoticeable shade different.

The hat would have to do.

As soon as her front door closed, she sank to the floor. Crawling up into a ball, she just stayed there. The tears started again. She let it all out, the racking sobs. After that came the furious anger.

She screamed at the world in general about the injustice of it. When her throat was hoarse, she just resorted to begging, wishing, praying, bargaining, and pleading for all this to be over.

But that didn’t change anything. She knew that. She was still on the floor, and her life was still in tatters, and the only person she could blame was herself.

When the tears dried up, the cold seeped in. Cold reality was all that she had. She could cry until the cows came home, but that didn’t change a damn thing. She messed up.

It was her fault, and she couldn’t do a damn thing to fix it.

Nothing she did would make this any better. She might as well give up now.

Her mind flashed to the bathroom cabinet’s contents, the razor she shaved her legs with, and the electric toaster that with an extension cord would reach the bathtub. No. She couldn’t do that.

She still had things to live for, she couldn’t remember what they were at the moment, but there were things she still wanted to do with her life.

She closed her eyes and let the exhaustion claim her. In the morning, everything would be a little better. Tomorrow was a new day. She closed her eyes and fell asleep where she lay.

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