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It’s been hours since I saw him, but that might be in part because I’ve barely left the room other than with Donna’s supervision. She’s shadowed me all day long, popping up with a frankly creepy smile on her face every time I leave the room.
Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was watching me or something, making sure I don’t roam wild around the halls of their precious company.
Lord knows what she thinks I’m going to do—steal top-secret government information, by the looks of it.
I didn’t even get to go out for lunch. Donna insisted that they order something for me, which they did, and I ended up eating in my office alone, getting the distinct impression from her that it’s best I don’t eat in the larger of the three kitchens I’ve seen here.
I’ve spent the afternoon doing various admin tasks that she’s given me which have ranged between the monotonous and the straight-up mind-numbing, constantly reminding myself that I’ll be getting Carrie’s full six-hundred-dollar-a-day salary.
I didn’t hear from Greyson after I left the meeting room other than four emails, the first thanking me for emailing him the notes I typed up; the second asking me if all was okay and if I needed anything; the third to tell me he’d be driving me home, to which I replied with a very resounding,No, you will not, mainly due to my irritation at the fact that he didn’t even ask if I need a lift.
The fourth email is why I’m sitting here now waiting for Donna. I glance at the screen, my fingers drumming the glass desk as the words he wrote ruffle my feathers once again:
Indigo.
I need to see you in my office immediately.
We need to discuss some things.
Including your choice of clothes and your attitude.
Donna will come and get you.
Greyson Everitt
“Who the hell does this guy think he is?” I mutter under my breath, my foot twitching in aggravation.
My spine snaps up straight as a rod as my fingers position themselves on the keyboard.
I’ll give him “attitude”.
Dear Greyson,
Is there a reason I need a chaperone every time I leave the office? Are you afraid I’m a foreign agent sent in to steal classified information? Because if so, I can assure you that espionage is not on my list of skills.
As for my clothes, I find them perfectly appropriate for my current position.
The same goes for my attitude.
Sincerely,
Indigo Nilsson
Send.
The unexpected ring of my phone has me jumping out of my skin, especially since I’ve spent half the day checking it to make sure no more of those fucking messages have come through… which they haven’t.
I pick it up.
Carrie.
“What took you so long to call me back?” I whisper, having waited all day for her to get back to me.
“Sorrryyy,” she sings. “Dealing with a shitload of family crap over here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Ah, nothing a crate of wine won’t fix. What’s up?”
