Her lips purse as she considers me while I do my best not to shift beneath her prolonged stare. Are there crumbs on my face? I bet there are. That would be my freaking luck.
I swipe my mouth, just in case.
“I do a ton of squats and lunges.” Her teeth flash in a blinding smile. “You don’t need a gym for those.”
No, you do not. I return her smile. Pretty sure I have a girl-crush on our new boss. “Thanks.”
She looks between us, then down at the croissant being strangled in my fist. “What’re your names?”
“Loren Piper,” I say with a weird half-wave sort of gesture.
Meg lifts her own coffee in a toast. “Meg Benson.”
“You’re both in the marketing department?”
Our heads bob in unison.
“Good to know. I guess I’d better let you get back to work. It was nice to meet you both. Have a great day.”
“You too,” I say with another wave. At least this one is normal.
“I kinda love her,” Meg whispers, watching Rebecca walk to the end of the hallway where Dick’s former corner office overlooks downtown.
Actually, “walk” isn’t a fair description. That woman saunters.
I want to saunter like Rebecca.
“Me too.” I take a bite of squished croissant, hope building in my heart. “Do you think she’d want to hang out with us after work sometime?”
Moving to a new place has been tough. Not only is there financial strain, but also I had to make new friends. As an adult, that’s crazy difficult. It’s not like you can walk up to another girl on the playground, tell her you like her necklace, and then become besties. Women can be jealous, vicious creatures. You don’t know which ones are fake until it’s too late.
Case in point: my three-day stint at a call center.
I sat next to a nice woman, introduced myself, thought we were jiving. Next thing I know, she’s talking shit about me in the bathroom to a bunch of other petty mean girls.
Thankfully, Meg is nothing like those witches.
We have bonded over a shared love of cheap wine and our mutual disdain for Dick.
Our former boss, I mean. Not actual dicks. We’re both pretty into those.
Sighing, Meg sinks down on the corner of my desk. “God, I hope so. I bet she has a massive closet. Do our feet look like they’re the same size?” She wiggles her foot encased in chunky black patent leather. “Those heels she had on would look great with my slinky black dress.”
“I don’t know.” I stuff another bite of croissant into my mouth as I pretend to consider her feet. “You kinda have man feet.”
“Excuse me, bitch.” She throws what remains of her breakfast in my face, which I catch and plan to save for lunch. “I’ll have you know, my feet are small for my height.”
We both laugh until Carson, the man on the other side of the cubicle we have lovingly named “the librarian,” hisses for us to be quiet.
“Sorry, Carson,” we say in unison. With a roll of her eyes, Meg retreats to her own cubicle and I open a new helpdesk ticket so IT can get my email fixed for real this time.
CHAPTER 8
LOREN
Meg
Get it girl
