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Her smile grows. “I’m done fielding texts from his stupid, macho, self-centered, gym-rat friends. I’m done scheduling his massages and getting him in with the woman who trims his beard and waxes his eyebrows. Want to know the really annoying thing about Brock? He doesn’t want me to ask him any questions about his schedule. He always says the same thing.”
She tucks her chin and furrows her brow, apparently trying to look like our boss. “You have access to my calendar, Amanda,” she intones, her voice low. “Check it instead of bothering me. This is what I pay you for.”
I might find her impression of Brock amusing, except my brain’s still hung up on that bit of gossip she dropped about how he gets his eyebrows waxed.
Really?
I imagine my burly, gorgeous boss tipped back in a chair, wincing as the strips get pulled off.
Mandy laughs giddily and then sighs with relief. “Man, this feels good. I am done shipping out his ditzy date’s thong bikinis and arranging his flights to Palm Springs so he can mingle on white-sand beaches while I am buried—buried—in the tasks he leaves me in his absence. I feel totally great! There is no amount of money in the world that could make working for that man for one minute longer anything but a soul-crushing experience for me. It’s time to take my life back for my own sake.”
She sweeps her arms wide, then swoops down over me. “Thank you, Gwen. You are the best listener, and you totally steered me in the right direction. Life is too short. Seriously. I am going to finally pursue opening a bakery like I’ve always wanted to do.”
Behind her, Lizzy arches both eyebrows.
I catch Lizzy’s eye as Mandy squeezes me, and give a shrug with the shoulder Mandy isn’t pinning down.
Mandy strides toward the double glass doors. Morning sun streams through them. October in our little New Hampshire town is typically glorious as far as weather goes, and today is no exception. The golden sunlight lights up the butter-yellow leaves on the birch trees outside. “I am going to chase my own freaking dreams, guys! Good luck to all of you, and I hope to see you around Windsor!”
Scattered applause goes up around the department. Mandy’s swallowed up by the autumn sunlight as she steps outside.
Around me, heads return to the glow of computer screens on desks and wide, black tables.
Regardless of the drama, it’s still Monday morning. We all have work to do. The hush feels more pronounced than it did earlier, thanks to the monologue that just ended.
“Did you…” Lizzy whispers to me.
“Tell her to quit?” I whisper back. “No. I mentioned she should have some honest words with Brock about her workload, and that was it. She twisted that to fit what she wanted.”
“She has a dramatic streak, that one.”
“I guess we should be happy for her.” I gaze toward the sunny doors.
What would it feel like to walk out into the fall sunshine and never come back to this office?
To feel the cool, crisp morning air kiss my cheeks? To look up at the azure sky and feel a whole day ahead of me… a day of freedom. No shipping forms. No customer complains. No computer glitches, emails, or boring afternoon meetings…
I’ve spent the better part of six years sitting at this desk.
“You’re having a daydream,” Lizzy muses while shuffling papers. “But I’m telling you, this is one of the best gigs in town, at least as far as pay goes.”
“I know.” I sigh. She’s right again. Brock pays his employees way more than other businesses in town. Daydreaming about abandoning my desk may be fun, but it’s not a reality. I need the paycheck, especially now that house-flipping-related debt is piling up.
I feel like I’m drowning in credit card bills lately, and it’s a struggle just to keep my head above water. Then there’s the personal loan I took out on top of maxing my credit cards. And still, more expenses keep popping up. Expenses that I can’t manage. It’s not like I can call on my little brother for help.
How am I going to pay that roofer?
Beside my desk, the little trashcan erupts in a shrill ring.
Right.
The cell phone.
I use two pincher fingers to retrieve the tablet. Then I pick the cell phone up off the crumpled papers it landed on. I clean the surface and the sparkly pink case with a cleansing wipe from my desk.
Once the call from “Vanessa” goes to voicemail, I see that the cell phone screen’s background is a photo of Mandy cheek-to-cheek with her daughter.
An incoming text then lights up the screen, covering the photo.
