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I watched him go and felt a surge of annoyance with myself. Something about the guy had been weirdly familiar, almost like I recognized him from somewhere. But how the hell would I forget a face like that?
I was still thinking about it when I thanked the girl who gave me my coffee and headed back out into the street toward the office. Within a minute or so, I’d put the asshole in the suit completely from my mind. Okay,almostcompletely. It was possible I’d shoved just a little memory of him in my “dirty dreams for later” mental closet, but that was beside the point.
I had a delicious pile of sugar with a pinch of coffee in my hand, a dream in my head, and the day I’d been anxiously awaiting ahead of me. My phone buzzed again and I was surprised to see a text from my dad this time.
Dad: Have you heard back fromThe Union Coastyet about your application?
I cringed.The Union Coastwas the end-all-be-all of prestigious publications. It was news, opinion pieces, politics, and just about every intellectual on the planet read it. A full-time job forThe Union Coasthad always been my dad’s dream–a dream he never quite reached.
I hadn’t actually sent that application in. But I fibbed and told him I was still waiting, then felt my mood drop several octaves. I’d finally texted him last night to explain how important today was. After months of working forThe Squawkerand working on various articles, my boss told me to come up with my own idea for a weekly article written exclusively by me. It was everything I’d been hoping for and working toward for the last two years. So ever since she told me, I’d been up late busting my ass to come up with the perfect pitch after I got home from work. All I had to do was explain my idea today and she’d virtually promised the opportunity was mine.
I’d told my dad as much in several carefully crafted sentences that were supposed to convey just how much this meant to me. And his response? He was asking whether I was any closer to getting a “real” job.
I felt my face contorting into a scowl and I made myself breathe as I walked. I tried to manufacture something more like a smile, but it felt forced.
By the time I made it toThe Squawkerbuilding my perfect morning mood was thoroughly tainted. I was still brooding about my dad’s text, and stupid Mr. Blue Suit was practically ramming down the door of that “dirty dreams for later” closet I’d tried to shove him into. He was in real danger of busting straight into “dirty daydreams for now” territory, and I couldn’t have that on a day like today.
I pretended I knew how to meditate, closed my eyes, and focused on clearing my mind. It sort of worked.
Our magazine was located in a historic section of downtown Manhattan and sat on top of a two story apartment complex. A few decades ago, someone had renovated the second floor apartments and knocked down most of the walls to make room for a huge printing press. Now we still used the old press with some modern touches and had our offices in the same space. The whole building oozed with charm from the exposed brick walls to the faint smell of old socks. Okay, maybe the smell wasn’t exactly charming, but it was part of the building’s history and something about that spoke to me.
I stepped in the old rickety elevator at the back of the lobby and my eyes went wide when I saw what had to be a hallucination. Mr. French Blue was rushing toward the elevator with one hand on his coffee and the other reaching toward me.
“Hold that door.”
Something clicked in my brain. I smiled sweetly, twinkled my fingers in a girly wave, and then jammed the “close door” button. I lifted my middle finger at him and watched his perfect forehead crease in confusion and frustration as the doors shut just before he reached me.
Suck on that, asshole.I smiled as the elevator jolted and started groaning its way up to the second floor. I may not have handled the situation in the coffee shop like I wanted, but even the minor annoyance of making him wait for the elevator felt like a touch of justice. Maybe my day wasn’t doomed to be so bad afterall.
For some reason, I felt like if my life came with a narrator, he would’ve been cackling with laughter at that very moment.
2
DARCY
The bounce in my step was back. It was my freaking day, and how often could I say that? Normally, I’d start work off at my desk. Today was a Monday, so my inbox would be fresh and full of my weekly assignments. Usually, that meant a feature piece for the magazine that would take the bulk of my time. We also got other smaller assignments like writing advertising copy or helping brainstorm headlines and things of that sort. Honestly, it wasn’t as prestigious as something likeThe Union Coastand I wasn’t interviewing the important people of the world or tackling big issues. But I’d learned to be okay with that. I had fun writing forThe Squawker, and I was good at it.
I flipped my hair, smiling and waving with a little exaggerated wink at Farhad, one of my co-workers. He rolled his eyes, then broke into a smile and shot me two thumbs up. Elizabeth rushed from her desk to come behind me and mocked rubbing my shoulders like I was a prize fighter about to enter the ring. I humored her, throwing a few unathletic shadow punches.
I headed straight past my station and went for the corner office. Jasmine Marshall was the one in charge of making sure our stories were clean and fit the overall direction of the magazine. She reported to some higher ups, but as far as we were concerned, she was the boss on the floor. She was also the one who was going to approve or deny my pitch for a new weekly feature.
I opened the door, smiling wide and ready to crush it. My face fell when I saw she had a plastic bin on top of her desk and had already stuffed most of her things inside.
“Woah,” I said. “You look like you’re moving out!” I laughed lightly, but my stomach was already flipping on itself. I went as far as making an emergency “if I puke” plan and decided where to aim it. Definitely the trash bin beside her desk.
Jasmine was beautiful with deeply tan skin and upturned eyes. She was in her forties, and just about embodied everything I wished I could be when I was older. She was calm, collected, didn’t take shit from anybody, and she was a kick ass writer. Of course, none of those qualities would’ve impressed my dad.
“Yeah, well, this is what it looks like, then,” Jasmine said. She gave me a sympathetic smile as she tried to shove a fake potted plant between some paperweights and a row of manilla folders. It didn’t fit, so she made an annoyed sound and thumped it into the trash bin.
“But you’re amazing at your job. They wouldn’t fire you. I-” I stammered, hands lifting uselessly as I looked around the small office, as if there might be some clue in neon letters on the wall. “I don’t understand.”
“We’ve been acquired, Darcy.The Squawkeris owned by three investors who bought it from the original founder forty years ago. They’re all getting older, and a wealthy businessman made them a generous offer to sell. It’s that simple. I just found out this morning. My options were to report to this new asshole who calls himself our boss, or resign.” She slammed a jar of pens into her box with a shrug. “And I’m not about to lick somebody’s boots. So it’s greener pastures for me.”
She hoisted the box of things and then paused when she saw what must’ve been the dejected, wounded puppy look on my face.
“Hey, I know,” she said. “This sucks. It really sucks. You were coming in here to pitch your feature to me and I’m sure I was going to approve it. But that’s careers for you. They don’t ever seem to go the way we expect. If you want a recommendation, just let me know. I’m sure I’ll land on my feet somewhere, and I’d love to have you come join me.”
With one last pinched smile, she headed out and left me alone in her office, head spinning.
