Today keeps getting worse and worse.
First, I wake up before my alarm and desperately check my phone, still in the habit of starting my day to one of Jake’s ‘good morning’ texts.
Second, we run out of the good coffee, so I’m stuck making the weak stuff. I need coffee—strong coffee—to function. If I don’t have caffeine running through my veins, I can’t handle social interaction.
I clam up and stutter, and it’s a disaster. Alcohol temporarily cures my crippling social anxiety. Coffee removes the ‘crippling’ part.
This morning, I end up drinking two cups because one isn’t enough to awaken my barely-there social skills.
That turns out to be too much caffeine, and I get all shaky and have to lie down for a couple of minutes before I leave for the office.
Third, the woman who meets Shawn and me in the lobby doesn’t recognize me, but I sure as hell know who she is. Purple Bitch.
She acts nice and peppy, but all I can think about is how she stepped between Logan and me at Smash. I guess since her back was to me, she didn’t get a good look at my face.
Honestly, I’m fine with that.
Michael is Chief Information Officer at Quincy Ventures. And Logan is the CFO.
Last night, Zoe managed to quell my anxieties about coming into Michael and Logan’s workplace by assuring me that the photographer and social media guy wouldn’t be collaborating with the top dogs.
Senior company officials must have bigger, more expensive fish to fry than social media assignments, right?
Wrong.
The first thing Purple Bitch did was invite us to a stupid meet-and-greet with the C-suite people.
Luckily, Shawn thrives in these kinds of situations, so he did most of the talking, oblivious to my humiliation.
I only had to answer two questions, but they were doozies. Condescending doozies by some asshat named Dylan who seemed to think I’d be lurking around their office recording secret business deals.
Little does he know, I haven’t the slightest clue what a venture capital firm does. I mean, I know they invest in things, but I have no idea how that works.
Do they just write a check? Do they pay all at once? Is it a stock? Is it a bond? Is there a difference between the two?
I have a BFA, not an MBA.
I’m chatting with Shawn and chugging a latte in the Quincy Ventures cafeteria when Michael plunks down beside me.
By plunks down, I mean he loudly drags a chair across the linoleum floor to our two-person table.
“I was disappointed not to hear from you this morning, but I guess you were getting ready for your big day,” he says, grinning.
“Yeah, I’m the worst with texting. Sorry,” I laugh.
Shawn raises his eyebrows.
I take it back. I’m no longer comforted. “Yeah, Saturday was fun,” I pretend to agree.
I mean, he was talented, but I also witnessed the love of my life cheating on me and humiliated myself in front of the Quincy Ventures CFO, so all in all it was a complete disaster.
“Oh, it was. This Saturday will be even better.”
I smile because I have entirely no idea what to respond to that.
“Rae and I were just talking about my new puppy,” Shawn says.
“Want to see a picture? My fiancée named him Puffin because he’s black and white, so she thinks he looks like one.” He slides his phone across the table.
Michael doesn’t even look down. All he does is mutter, “Adorable.”
Shawn blinks a couple of times. I continue smiling awkwardly. Then, I down the remainder of my latte in one gulp, make a less-than-funny joke about duty calling, and book it out of the cafeteria.
Note to self: Bring lunch tomorrow. Eat in cubicle. Remain out of sight. Disregard Dylan’s concerns and hide under the desk if necessary.
The solitude doesn’t even last a minute.
“What on Earth was that?” Shawn asks as he leans against my cubicle wall, eyebrows raised to the moon.
I like Shawn. He’s easy to talk to—well, as easy as it gets for me—and doesn’t mind when I stutter or say weird things.
Maybe he does mind, but he’s nice about it, and that’s all I care about. It’s a low bar, but avoiding bullies and judgmental comments have been my main priority since preschool.
Any interaction that doesn’t involve either is a victory in my book.
However, as much as I like Shawn, I don’t really want to confide in him about my weekend activities. We’re work-pals, not pal-pals.
“He looked…smitten,” Shawn comments.
I can’t help it. I laugh. “Smitten?”
“Yeah, smitten. Does he know you have a boyfriend?”
Shawn gasps. “You and Jake broke up?”
I nod.
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Rae. You guys were together for a while.”
I can’t cry in the office, but I’m going to cry in the office.
“Excuse me,” I choke out. I set the camera on my desk and hurry to find a bathroom stall where I can let the tears loose. I frantically wade through rows of cubicles to no avail.
There has to be a bathroom nearby, right? Isn’t there a law? No wonder why this place can’t hire anyone. No visible restrooms.
I crash into something tall, probably a person. I look up. Definitely a person. A person named Logan.
“Hey, Rae.” He smiles. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. You alright?”
“Sorry,” I splutter. I whip my head back and forth, willing a ladies’ room to appear out of thin air.
“Can I help you find something?”
One tear escapes, then another. Then another. I shake my head.
“My office is right around the corner. I was hoping we could talk about the types of photos you’ll be taking. Are you available for a few minutes?”
I nod and let Logan pity-lead me toward a door decorated with a “Logan Quincy, CFO” plaque.
