When the firstlines of Def Leopard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” vibrate through my wall, I can’t help my smile.
Joke’s on Loren. I fucking love this song.
CHAPTER 7
LOREN
Dad
Please call your mom
5:04 PM
Is it about tornadoes?
I’d rather not say
After a terrible thunderstormthat kept me up half the night, there’s finally a nip to the air as I make my way through my office’s very full parking lot. Which begs the question: Why is it so full? I check my watch for the third time in as many minutes. It’s not even eight o’clock yet. Most people rock up at nine or even nine-thirty.
The joys of working for a “progressive” company with flexible hours.
The instant coffee I made before leaving my place sloshes in my takeaway cup as I jog up the three stairs to the main entrance.
The glass door swings wide, and Meg is there, holding it open so I don’t have to. “You’re late.”
I check the gigantic clock hanging over the desks at reception. Same as my watch. “No, I’m not.”
“Gah! You didn’t get the email, did you?”
Freaking IT. They promised my email was fixed. Guess I’ll have to put in another ticket this morning. “No. What did it say?”
Meg loops her arm through mine, towing me into the industrial warehouse turned modern office, all exposed brick, black metal, and glass. She leans in close so no one in the graphic design department can hear her say, “Dick got fired.”
His name isn’t really Dick. We call him that because it describes his glowing personality better than “Reginald” ever could.
“No way. Why?”
“Don’t know. No one tells me anything. What I do know is that they brought in someone from an outside firm to take his place until they can hire a new marketing supervisor.”
Great. I spent the last three weeks buttering up our terrible boss only to have him get the sack.
That may sound selfish and borderline bitchy but allow me to explain.
I would be concerned for a man who is now without a job, except his wife is some higher-up in the banking world, so I figure they won’t have any trouble putting food on their table tonight.
Me, on the other hand? If this new hire doesn’t think the company should be shelling out for temp workers, then I’m in big trouble. Rent might be paid for this month, but it’ll be due again in four weeks, and I have no husband or wife to fall back on.
Our heels meet the polished concrete stairs at the same time.
“Do we know anything about our new boss?” I ask.
Meg shakes her head, her sun-kissed blonde streaks rippling in perfect waves over her slim shoulders. Believe it or not, shewakes up like this. I’ve witnessed the phenomenon on more than one occasion after a few too many glasses of boxed wine.
I’d kill for her dewy complexion. Even the little freckle above her lip is sexy.
I, on the other hand, wasted an hour trying to straighten my wild curls only to step out into the damp morning air and have them defy gravity all over again.
Growing up, I used to get highlights to try and lift the drab brown color. The moment my mom decided I should be paying for my own hair treatments, those highlights stopped.
