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“Me either. I hate to say it, but I spend more time listening to audiobooks while I’m working than sitting down and reading a book for pure enjoyment.”
“My mom hates audiobooks.” He smiles fully, not like the twitchy one from earlier. “She says it makes her feel even older than she is to have someone read to her. But she’s semi-retired now, so she can be choosier with how she spends her time.”
“My mom only begrudgingly sees the value in audiobooks and still prefers to look at the words. Some of her students like to have the book and the audio at the same time. She says it helps them slow down. The more senses they involve while learning, the better the information sticks.”
“What grade does she teach?”
“High school, mostly upper-level students now. She started in middle school but prefers the subjects at the high school level better. She’s almost to her twentieth anniversary, so the district giving her a little plaque for her classroom.” I feel like I’m rambling. I am rambling. I’ve always been a talker when I’m nervous.
He checks both directions at a four-way stop sign. “I think the school district up here does something like that, only they have a big picnic during the summer for everyone. A friend of mine got the contract to cater it this year. Usually, people from the community come too. You just missed it this year, but if you’re around next summer, you should definitely go.”
A little jolt of worry straightens my posture, and I pause for a moment before asking, “How’d you know I’m not from here?”
He scratches the side of his neck and doesn’t look me in the eye. Evasiveness. A crack in the affable armor. My brain focuses back on a potential threat.
“Just haven’t seen you around here before. It’s a fairly safe guess with all the tourists in for the summer.”
Oh right. Tourist town. Probably only one in ten people are actually from here.
My phone jangles obnoxiously and starts to vibrate in my hand. I rush to answer it so the high-pitched ringtone can’t do more damage to my eardrums and before the man on the other end of the line works himself up into too much of a rage.
“Hello, Mr. Taub.”
I’m certain Matt can hear some of what's being said, but hopefully, he’s not able to make out all of it. Mr. Taub, the owner of the accounting firm I’ve been working for, is a micromanaging, misogynistic, good ol’ boy. I can tell from his tone that he isn’t in a jolly mood this morning.
I tune back into his diatribe in time to catch that an important client’s files are missing, and he thinks it's my fault. As his secretary and filing person extraordinaire, I would be at fault if the files were actually missing. The more likely scenario is that Mr. Taub, who couldn’t find this year’s tax law updates without me stapling them to his forehead, is probably looking in the wrong place.
Unfortunately, none of the secretaries in the office has the courage to stand up to him, so I’m on the verge of getting fired for something I’d be able to fix in under ten minutes if my car hadn’t coughed, wheezed, and died on the side of the road this morning.
Frustration makes my stomach churn, and I forget Matt the Mechanic can hear my side of the conversation.
Trying to explain, I say, “Sir, I’ve had some car trouble. I’m hoping I’ll be able to make it in soon, and I’m certain I’ll be able to find the files. You’re probably just not looking in the right spot.” I regret saying that last part almost as soon as the words leave my mouth.
“Thank you for reminding me how impertinent you can be. One of the other girls riffled through your desk as soon as I figured out you weren’t here. The files were not located.”
I’m grateful it wasn’t him personally, but the invasion of privacy still rankles.
Mr. Taub sounds gleeful when he continues, “Based on this situation and the fact that this will be the third time in the last four weeks you’ve been late for work. . .”
While he pauses to take a breath, I say, “But sir, my car isn’t running. There’s nothing I can do short of teleportation that could have gotten me there on time this morning, and it’s only the second time—”
The old bastard cuts me off at a near shout when I interrupt him. “No excuses. You’re fired. I’m confident the office will continue on without your bumbling attempts at organization. I am sure going to miss the eye candy, though.” His words send a shiver of dread down my spine. I’d always gotten a bad feeling from him, and I should have recognized it. “There'll be a box with your belongings near the front door this afternoon. Come get it today, or I’ll have someone throw it in the dumpster.”
While I attempt to cradle the phone against my ear, I start digging through my big tote bag, just in case the files are in there, but freeze when I see the tightness of Matt's jaw and the way he’s clutching the steering wheel. He must have caught the tone of my one-sided conversation, and he’s not happy about what’s being said.
Slowly turning away, I continue to search my bag. Thankfully, the files aren’t there. It would have been just my luck that I accidentally brought them home. Grabbing my phone before it falls from where it’s pinched against my shoulder, I realize the yelling has stopped, and the screen is blank. Asshole hung up on me.
Good riddance to Taub and Associates, but goddammit, I needed that job; it had insurance.
I slowly put the phone back in my purse and fold my hands on top of it, staring straight ahead. I hope Matt doesn’t notice how much I want to scream, although judging by the stony silence and general aura of menace emanating from his side of the cab, he might also want to.
“I’m not in as much of a hurry now.” There, that sounded calm and collected.
“Did I just hear what I think I heard?”
“Yes. I mean, probably.” Breathe in. Breathe out. “How much could you hear?”
“Did you just get fired?” He chews on the words that come next. “And does he always talk to you like that?”
I feel my cheeks heat. “Yes, and not all the time.” I mentally scroll through my time working at the accounting office. “But enough that I probably should have been looking for a new job long before this.”
I’m ashamed I’ve let someone treat me the way Taub has, but I needed the work. One would think I’d learn from the past, but those lonely pennies in the bank wanted friends to play with, and the job market still sucks for people who haven’t finished college or gone into a trade. My therapist, Dr. Connors, warned me about a toxic work environment whenever I brought up something Taub had said, but I’d insisted it was all I could find.
“You’re clearly better off without him, but I also think I should tell you to get a lawyer and sue his ass for harassment.”
Matt takes in a deep breath through his nose and blows it slowly out of his mouth, trying hard to stay calm, but he’s still white-knuckling the steering wheel. Part of me is shocked that he’s angry on my behalf. I’m not used to strangers willing to go to bat for me, care about the way I’m treated, or notice things about me so easily.
As I look at him, the unexpected feeling of confidence spreads through my chest. My hands fist around the strap of my purse.
“Maybe I should.”
