Page 3 of Company Ink

"Yes," he states matter-of-factly, handing the attendant the crisp dollar bill. "I'm afraid you might do something rash."

The bouquet bitch hands me a plastic bag. I snatch it from her, refusing to meet her judgmental eyes. "What makes you think I would do something rash?" I whisper harshly, walking back to the scene of the crime.

"Well, youweretalking to an inanimate object earlier and did threaten to throw yourself into oncoming traffic."

Shit.

He's not wrong. That behavior does teeter the line between sane and insane. Oh...maybe I am unhinged. What an unwelcome realization.

I force a meek smile. "I appreciate your concern, but I am fine." I stuff my belongings in the bag and loop it through my arm. "I'll be going now."

The man hands me seventy-five cents. "For the funeral arrangements," he smirks. I narrow my eyes in utter disbelief. He thinks this is a joke!

"Plants are living organisms, they eat, grow, and reproduce. They deserve respect," I inform him, grabbing the change from his hand and tossing it into the hat of a nearby homeless person. "Goodbye, you small-minded simpleton!"

Some people!

I can sense his eyes burrowing into my back as I head in the direction of the bus stop. I groan inwardly.The bus. This is the new normal now I suppose. One of the best perks of being a Senior Events Coordinator at NVP was access to the company car. We held book signings, fairs, and press conferences all over the city, so a car was a necessity. I don't think Ingrid even has a driver's license. Why in the hell did they keep her? Is saving money that much more important than competent staff? No, whatever, enough of this pity party! I wish Ingrid and her split ends nothing but the best.

I'm sure that everything will work. It has to, right? People say it's always darkest before the dawn. I bite my lip. I just hope my roommate is a fan of proverbs.

two

the twitterverse

"Cassandra Michelle Carrington!" The fierceness in Monique's voice causes my entire body to tremble, a lone slice of cucumber slides down my cheek and onto my chest. "What are you doing?"

I twist my neck and squint. "Relaxing?" I say hesitantly, popping both cucumbers into my mouth.Ew, I think I just ate some face mask residue.My gaze shifts to the digital clock on the table. Damn, she came home early, it's only 7 pm. Her classes usually go late on Fridays. I hope she didn't come home just to yell at me. I knew I shouldn't have texted her with my news. I made sure to include a shit ton of emojis to soften the blow. Can't get mad at a smiley face.

"You just got fired and you're lying here in pajamas listening toUsher?" Monique shakes her head, her voluminous tight curls swaying with the motion. "You should be looking for a job, Cass!"

Wow, straight to it.

"First of all, I wasn't fired! I was laid off. There is a big difference." I sit up, dusting the chocolate chip cookie crumbs off of my shirt. "Secondly, I think that taking a few hours to unwind after such astressfulday is well within my rights!"

Our entire dining room table is covered in dirt from my attempt to revive poor Stella. I won't know for a week or so if my surgical skills were successful, but I'm hopeful that she'll make a full recovery.

"Cass, come on. You told me you'd look for a job as soon as you finished with your little DIY spa session, that was four hours ago. I'm not trying to be pushy or mean, but we have rent due in three weeks."

I roll my eyes. "I'll have you know that Ididtake a few minutes to look for a job earlier."

"Really? On what website?" Monique purses her full lips, her foot tapping repeatedly on our walnut hardwood floor.

Ihope she doesn't scratch the wood with her shoes.We had to search high and low for a condo that had real hardwood, not that laminate garbage. Truthfully, Monique didn't care, but I figured if the interiors are designed with good quality material, so must the exterior. Living on the 26th floor in a region that's expecting a giant earthquake any day is terrifying. Even though rent is crazy high, I like knowing that this building is seismically sound.

"It wasn't like a traditional website, per se—" I hesitate, watching Monique's expression tighten. I'm sensing she might not appreciate my out-of-the-box thinking. "I just sent an SOS into the Twittersphere."

"Cassie! How is tweeting going to help you?" Monique pinches the bridge of her nose, walking over to the kitchen island. She pours herself a glass of wine from the half empty bottle before sitting down on a bar chair.

My mother once told me that a good Chianti can fix anything. Mothers are never wrong. And personally, I'm feelingmuchbetter.

"I have over three thousand followers," I defend myself. "One of them is bound to see my tweet, DM me, and offer me a job."

That's how I got my job at NVP. I was in my final year of college and was desperate to find an internship. I ended up posting a Facebook status asking if people had any leads. One girl messaged me about New Vision Press, and I ended up getting the job. Once I finished my degree, they offered me a full-time position. I did have several other offers, including a couple in New York, but I chose to stay in Seattle with my best friend and my cousin, Vanessa.

"Cassie..." Monique closes her eyes, clearly exhausted. She must have had a long day at work. Her working hours aren't confined to teaching hours. Not only does she teach classes and mark homework, but she also conducts weekly check-ins with all her students and takes them on field trips around the city. "You need to go on a real job site and look for options. You can't just rely on pure luck!"

"It's not luck, Mon! It's networking. I have tons of professional contacts on my Twitter. Richard Brixton, the author, is even following me." I laugh. "He actually retweeted me last week. I posted this hilarious anecdote about—"

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