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N I N E
- Madeline -
My first day on the job wasn’t what I expected. Perhaps it was naïve to think I wouldn’t spend all day getting people coffee and Diet Cokes, but “errand girl” certainly felt like a demotion from handing dental goody bags to people with fresh smiles. Worst of all, Crecia, the woman now in charge of my time, couldn’t get my name right, which seemed a bit rich coming from someone who actually had an unusual name.
By lunchtime, I was convinced she was doing it on purpose to deliberately crush my spirit and see what I was made of. Or at least, that’s what I told myself after the seventeenth time I corrected her. At least she’d gotten close. Then again, maybe “Addy” was a Freudian slip on her part.
On the plus side, things weren’t going any better for the other new intern, who showed up in a form-fitting pink sweater that matched her Hello Kitty purse. The first question Crecia asked her was whether she lost a bet. The girl defended herself by explaining her personal style philosophy: that fashion should have an element of fun and whimsy. Needless to say, Crecia was not impressed. She did seem to get Jin’s name right away, though, and I felt a little jealous that I wasn’t named after a popular liquor.
Fortunately, the morning flew by. Whether that was from the buzz of being on the set of my first real cover shoot or the fact that Crecia, despite looking like a member of the Addams family, was an excellent delegator, I wasn’t sure.
The young woman being photographed for the cover was in a Netflix series I hadn’t seen yet and a Pantene commercial I’d seen too many times. She looked pretty unremarkable—apart from how thin she was—until she was subjected to hair and makeup. It was only then that I recognized her, and I tried to hide my shock at how magnificently she’d been transformed.
My mind wandered for a moment to the young girls flipping through BELLE on their beds, loathing the weight of their stomachs against their mattresses as they looked at airbrushed model after airbrushed model. If only there were an asterisk at the bottom of these photos saying it took twenty-five people to make them look like stars. I mean, it was one thing to hear that magazines photoshopped stuff, but it was quite another to see a regular girl with a chin zit made into a poreless, contoured masterpiece. And that was before she stood behind five industrial-strength fans and spent twenty minutes posing like she wanted to rip her shirt off.
The shoot ran overtime so I could only take fifteen minutes for my lunch break, but I got the sense that wasn’t unusual. Perhaps compromised lunch breaks were why everyone I’d met so far looked two sizes too skinny. It was only day one, but I already felt like I should either start dieting or change my fashion philosophy to reflect the fact that my size ten ass made me the resident fat girl.
I spent the first eight minutes of my lunch break race-eating my ham sandwich and baby carrots with hummus. As for the brownie I brought, I decided to save it for later, so I’d have something to look forward to. I considered offering half of it to Jin as a friendly gesture, but by the look of her poreless Japanese skin, her favorite dessert was probably dried seaweed or something decidedly “cleaner.” She’d probably just feel awkward if I offered to share, which was the last thing I wanted. Ultimately, I decided it would be best to eat the brownie on my walk home when I wouldn’t have to explain to anyone how I confused it with a Diet Coke.
With the seven minutes I had to spare, I pulled out my phone and stared at Quinn’s Tinder message. Did he really think I had a nice smile? Did he really want to take me to dinner? Or was he just fucking with me because the asshole couldn’t help himself?
It was hard to tell. He gave away so little with his words and blank expressions. It was like he was playing poker all the time… Or maybe he was a trained assassin. I could totally see him wearing tight leather gloves and choking the life out of someone, all the while making the same face he’d make if he were eating a donut. Psycho.
And yet, I gave him the perfect out. It would’ve been so easy for him to say he swiped right on accident, too. But he didn’t. All he said was “shame.” Was it possible his disappointment had been sincere?
Admittedly, part of me was happy about my little fumble to the right. It certainly made things more interesting…assuming he wasn’t just waiting for the perfect moment to laugh in my face. It was all too easy to imagine him aiming his pointer finger in my direction, his eyes leaking tears as he asked if I really believed a guy like him would ever go for a girl like me.
Not that there was anything wrong with me. There just wasn’t anything terribly right. I wasn’t supermodel tall or thin, like most of the women he’d dated in the past, and I hadn’t achieved any enviable financial success that could make up for the fact that I was no head turner.
Then again, he had plenty of people to bully for sport. I was probably too easy a target for him. Not to mention the fact that he and James had been best friends for years. So even if Quinn thought I was less enticing than a used Band-Aid, he probably wouldn’t try to ruin my life out of loyalty to my brother.
Still, I wished I knew whether he genuinely wanted to take me to dinner. Either way, I accepted his invitation, I’d have to be careful. The guy traded women even more than he traded athletes, and he’d been doing the latter every day for years. He could probably make a girl orgasm just by the way he removed her bra. God forbid he smiled while he was fucking you. Noah would have to get his arc out of storage.
But I was getting ahead of myself. Not to mention being ridiculous. Because there was no way I was ever going to sleep with the guy. He was an arrogant asshole who’d never made me feel anything but uncomfortable in my own skin. So it didn’t matter if I overheard Amber say he had the nicest dick she’d ever seen or if the sight of him in his perfectly tailored suit this morning made my tongue soak itself. Cause the guy was as off-limits as a guy could be, and I was already out of my depth just sharing a bathroom with him, much less a dessert menu…
That said, I did want to message him back. Something flirty. Something playful. Something that said, I know you’re messing with me, but I am, in fact, a sexual being. Thanks very much for noticing. Unfortunately, everything I thought of was either tacky, trying too hard, or underwhelming. So while I was grateful for the distraction, I failed to come up with a worthy response to his invitation.
Even so, as I dropped my trash in the garbage and left the staff kitchen, it dawned on me that I hadn’t swiped in days. Not a single swipe. Not a moment’s curiosity who else might be out there hoping for a chance to take me to dinner. Nothing.
Quinn’s message about my smile had kept me going for days.
