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I finish with a painful groan and wash it all off, wondering how much longer I’ll punish myself this way.
13
CHARLEE
For the first time since forever years ago, my period is actually playing hide-and-seek with me.
Tess has teased me that I’m one of the few people she knows whose menstrual cycles never alter. It’s always on time, my calculations are never wrong, and I can always rely on my body to send me those pre-menstrual symptoms.
However, I’m late. Like really late.
Worse, I’m not even feeling any pre-menstrual symptoms. I’m not having those occasional dull abdominal aches that only last a few seconds each day, about three days before the period. My boobs aren’t heavier or softly sore. I don’t have that one tiny, almost-invisible cheek pimple that never fails to pop up.
I’m completely normal. I don’t know how to feel about that.
Today, I’m driving to the office, and as usual, whenever the weather’s beautiful and sunny, I roll my windows down and enjoy some music as the fresh air blows through my face. The soft tunes should be wafting in and out of my ears, but I’m not feeling it right now.
Why is my period acting up?
Could it be…? No, that’s not possible. I can’t be pregnant. That’s literally not possible. Harrison and I made love that first time, almost five weeks ago when I was in my safe period. I’m very sure of that. My calculations are never wrong. The second time, we used a condom. Did it tear? Hell no, it couldn’t have.
I know what’s wrong with me.
It’s the stress. The relentless stress everyone working at Building Bridges is going through right now. It’s crazy, really, watching the effect of falsehood and lies demoralize an entire team of genuinely hardworking people. It’s almost as if it’s the most difficult thing in the world for any of us to come into the office these days.
Just last week, Amy Stewart, head of the Sales team, and Franklin from Communications got into a heated argument in the kitchenette. It was over something as meaningless as Franklin pushing aside Amy’s coffee mug from the machine. However, everyone else could read between the lines. The Communications team is having an incredibly hard time fielding annoying calls and questions from the public and press, and still having to maintain cordiality with potential clients. The Sales team has flunked literally every solid lead and prospect due to the recent reputation hit.
Essentially, every division is going through hell, including mine, where our efforts to fix the image of the company are yielding very little progress. We are all on edge–exhausted, tired, cranky, and in due time, we’ll start taking it out on each other a little more.
So, I understand.
I get why my brain probably feels that my body can’t afford a period right now and it’s decided to ultimately shut down the entire process.
I’ll still be here when it’s ready again.
I’ve just walked into the office when Janice bustles into my face.
“Char, good morning. Uh… You’ve gotta go in and see Harrison right now. Let me just take that.” She reaches around and snatches my bag, walking away very quickly before I can ask follow-up questions.
Great. New day, new drama.
I make my way upstairs to Harrison’s office and I’m not liking what I’m seeing from afar. Victoria Mendoza is sitting on top of Harrison’s table with one leg hanging up while the other swings around the floor, looking serious and as gorgeous as ever in yet another pair of blinding red designer heels and a short turtle neck gown.
She doesn’t even have to try too hard with her hair. It’s like it’s perfect on default. Harrison is seated at his desk, hands clasped in front of his face. I’m not liking this ugly emotion bubbling in my throat. Why is the image of these two perfect beings tormenting me?
“Good morning,” I formally greet, keeping any smiles away from my face.
“Hey, Charlee,” Victoria says and suddenly, she bounces off the table and flounces out of the office without another word.
Oh goodness. What is the problem now?
“Good morning, Charlee. Please sit.” Harrison is watching me intently as he speaks, and much to my utter dislike, that fluttering starts again, low in my belly, and my nipples harden when he starts speaking again.
“Look, Charlee, this is getting out of hand. I was just talking with Victoria about this. How many more porous campaigns are we going to put out there?” Harrison looks red in the face and his voice sounds a little hoarser than normal.
“My apologies but I don’t understand,” I respond.
Lifting his tablet off the table, he quietly passes it to me. There’s a comment section open on the screen.
