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BRISTOL
All happy families are alike;each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
I bet Tolstoy never dreamed that his famous words about happy families would also apply to temp jobs. The work is the same no matter where you go. Print. Collate. Staple.Smile.
Make coffee. Serve coffee. Ignore the sleazy boss.Smile.
Sort by order date and client name.
Forward voicemails to the appropriate department.
Oh, and miss Will Leblanc so much it hurts to breathe.Smile.
Though the last one’s new. I didn’t used to miss Will Leblanc, my former boss, at any of my previous temp jobs. I didn’t know he existed.
And then I got assigned to his company and immediately screwed it up by embezzling fifty-thousand dollars. It sounds ridiculous, and it was. Of course he caught me. The part I didn’t expect was to love the consequences quite so much.
Now that it’s all over, I’m in the horrible position of trying to forget the blue-green of his eyes and the way he threw the most gorgeous left hook at a man who’d hurt me.
And the way he dropped me like a hot potato afterward.
He sold his company, packed up his office, and left me behind. Technically, I think that’s worse than a hot potato. He dropped me like atemp.
Which I was. Which Iam.Temporary.
Now I’m at a new job, in a new company, in a different Manhattan office building. The work, though? That’s the same.
The copy machine spits out the last of my warm, fresh print job. See? The machine’s in working order. And there’s a clean countertop nearby where I can check the order of the pages, staple the corners, and slip the packets into folders. The folders go on top of my legal pad.
A quick check over my shoulder—clear.No boss coming staring at my ass or accidentally brushing against my breasts. Then it’s back out to the main office.
Jennifer, the head of Public Relations, has her phone wedged between her chin and her shoulder so she can type with both hands while she talks. I lay the folder on the corner of her desk.
“The release goes out on Tuesday.”Thank you,she mouths to me, fingers tapping faster. “No, I don’t see any point in moving it up. If you have anything concrete—”
A smile, a little wave, and I’m out.
Could a broken-hearted person do that? No. My heart isn’t broken.
My next stop is at my boss’s corner office. I pass my desk on the way. My trusty palm tree figurine watches me go. I left the Jolly Ranchers in my purse on the first day and didn’t bring them back. I’d rather not associate the sweet, vacation flavor with this particular job.
Which isfine.
I’m making decent money. I’m taking care of the twins. I’m not depending on anyone but myself. This is good. It’s good. It’sreally good.
Plus, this job is closer to home. I have a shorter bus ride. I get home from work at the same time the twins get home from their new after-school program. This job is everything I need.
I could almost believe it by the time I step through his door.
Not Will,the small voice in my mind comments.
That’s for sure. Will Leblanc would never have allowed his office to be decorated in wood paneling that’s meant to look like cherry. He’d knock his knuckles against it and feel particle board, and his eyes would narrow. The corners of his mouth would turn down. His lips would part, and then—
Thennothing.
I don’t break my stride on the way to the executive’s desk. I’m not in any position to judge this man’s choice of furniture, but it’s about as real as the paneling on the walls.
