Page 8 of Keeping Denver

"I have your lunch, Mr. Hawk." Stepping into his office, I find Joslyn sitting on top of his desk beside his chair, her legs crossed.

"Set it up over there," he jerks his chin toward the sofa and table on the opposite side of the room near the large window that overlooks the city.

Doing as I am told, I place the bag down on the table and begin pulling food containers out. The smell of grilled chicken and roasted potatoes fills my senses, causing my mouth to water and my empty stomach to rumble. I'm so hungry I'm on the brink of tears.

"God, Callan. Where did you find that one? The bargain bin down at the thrift store?" Joslyn does little to keep her voice down as she blatantly takes a dig at me. I pause what I'm doing and look down at the same pink blouse I wore the day before yesterday, the black dress slacks I have been wearing for three days straight and the too small, scuffed shoes on my feet currently screaming in pain.

Refusing to show weakness in front of my boss and his girlfriend, I ignore the jab and finish setting up their lunch. When I'm done, I exit his office without a word. Noting it is time for my lunch break, I stop by my desk, set the incoming calls to the answering service, and as fast as my feet will carry me, make my way to the stairwell at the end of the hall. I climb down one flight and fall to my butt on the same step I sat on the day before and allow the first tear to fall. I don't know why I'm letting Joslyn's words get to me. It's not as though I've never been judged and put down before. It's happened more time than I can count. The nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach makes me think it has everything to do with my new boss, and the way he just sat in his chair as his female friend berated me. I'll never be able to understand women like her. Women who tear down others to feel good about themselves; to make themselves feel as if they have some power over them. I could never treat another human being that way. There is no satisfaction in another person's pain.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, wrap my arms around my middle, and lean my face against the cold concrete wall. I'm hungry. One of the coping mechanisms I use to ignore the pains from lack of food is to count. I have a thirty-minute lunch break. That's one thousand eight hundred seconds. So, starting at one thousand eight hundred, I count backward to myself.

I stop counting when I feel a presence behind me. Turning my head, I glance over my shoulder, to see Mr. Hawk standing in the stairwell several steps above me. As I wipe the tears from my face, I notice how his large hands grip the metal handrail with such force his knuckles begin to turn white. This time I don't shy away from looking at him. There's no point. He's witnessed my little breakdown and there is no denying I've been crying. I'm the first to speak. "I'm on my lunch break, Mr. Hawk, but if you need me, I can cut it short." I'm proud of how strong my voice sounds at the moment.

"No. That won't be necessary," he says before walking away, which seems to be a trend with him.

By the time my workday is over, I am emotionally drained and slightly embarrassed for the events that transpired today. Not only was I treated like a pile of dog crap, but my boss caught me all up in my feelings about it. Not that I have anything to be ashamed of. We all have breaking points. I just rather no one would have witnessed my moment of weakness.

"You finished for the day, Denver?" Frances asks as she walks up to my desk with her coat, purse, and briefcase in hand.

I smile. "Almost. I have this one last email to send off to Judge Harrell for Mr. Hawk, and I'll be done."

"Great. Do you have any plans for dinner? My husband and I would love to have you over."

God, the invitation for a free hot meal sounds like heaven, but I don't want to lose my chance at a bed tonight. It's either food or a place to sleep other than the street. Plastering on a fake smile, I answer, "That's sweet of you, Frances. But I'm meeting a friend later. Can I get a rain check?"

"Of course, dear. If there isn't anything you need help with, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Nope. All good here. I'll see you tomorrow."

Once I have clicked send on the email, I power off the computer then grab my bag from the filing cabinet. As I make my way down the hall, I stop by the employee's lounge, spotting a pack of saltine crackers lying on the counter next to the refrigerator. I peer over my shoulder, finding no one around. A sense of guilt washes over me with what I am about to do, but I do it anyway. Swiftly I dash in, swipe the crackers off the counter, tuck them into my bag then quickly make my way to the elevator.

As I step out into the bustling city streets, the bitter cold cuts at my exposed flesh like a sharp razor blade. Trying to shield part of my body from the wind, I tuck my backpack close to my chest, hearing the cracker crinkle inside. I do what I have to in order to survive another day, but stealing something so simple still eats me up inside.

I walk briskly, weaving in and out of the crowds of people trying to make my way to the shelter.

One day at a time.

5

Finally, Friday!

When I arrive at work, I do so with a smile on my face. I survived my first week here, and that is a huge accomplishment. Sitting down in my chair, I fire up my computer and open my email to see my boss already has a laundry list of things for me to do this morning: have his dry cleaning sent out, call his housekeeper, and give her a list of items he needs picked up, place his lunch order, and set up a meeting with Janice, the records clerk for this afternoon.

"Am I going to get my coffee sometime today, Miss Hollis?" Mr. Hawk's voice rings out over the speaker on the desk phone, causing me to jump. He gets me every damn time he does that.

I press the button on the phone and reply. "Yes, Sir. I'm getting it now." Jumping from my seat, I shuffle down the hall to the breakroom, coming to a dead stop just outside the door when I hear my name spoken.

"I don't know how she has made it a week. I bet she doesn't make it another before Mr. Hawk fires her."

I know that annoying voice. Kelly.

"Really?" Another woman's voice I don't recognize speaks.

"Frances has nothing but good things to say about her. She was telling Lucas the other day that Mr. Hawk was pleased with how she been doing."

I ran into Lucas two days ago. He's a paralegal here and is also the grandson of Roland, the older man from the library. Lucas was sweet when he introduced himself to me. I thanked him for both his and his grandfather's help getting me this job.

"Oh, please. I'm not buying that innocent girl act Denver is putting on. If you knew what I know about her...."