Page 48 of Chandelier Enthralled
“This is where you’ll be,” she said, her hands on the high-backed office chair. “Not bad, right?”
I nodded and she walked away.
I felt eyes looking my way, and blushed, feeling self-conscious. The two cubicles on either side were empty, but personal items on each desk told me someone would be back soon.
I nervously pulled out the chair and sat, hands trembling, anger in my belly that Cameron had told me to quit.
This place felt so right—leaving it felt wrong.
This job wasn’t just about following my dream—I needed to prove to my family I could make it without using the family name. More than this, being distracted helped me forget Hugo.
I reached for the blue folder on my desk—correction,thedesk. The place I’d sit for all of five minutes as I rallied my courage to quit.
Inside the folder was a list of everything I needed to complete on my first day, including a stack of forms. One asked for my address, which would have given away I was currently staying with my brother. I continued to rifle through them as though I’d not been forbidden to be here.
This is what I’d been destined to do. I wanted to find stories that appealed to women. Wanted to spend my days working on issues that inspired others. Unravel a compassionate story that would bring light to an important issue, one that I could make a difference by uncovering.
But I would totally humiliate myself before I’d even created a company email.
I noticed a blur to my left and then, from over my shoulder, a bunch of mail scattered on my desk. I peered up to see the same guy who had bumped into me yesterday. Only this time, he was creepily close. He chucked a box, and it barely missed my face, rolled and landed with a thud on my desk against the divider.
Riled by his rudeness, I leaned back. “Excuse me!”
Ignoring me, he continued, dropping off mail to the cubicles all the way down the aisle. But with the other staff, he offered a polite word before he threw the mail onto their desks.
When he looked my way, he gave me a hostile stare.
Leaning back in my chair, I waited for him to finish delivering mail to the rest of the floor. Then, I pushed up and followed him into the hallway.
“Hey,” I called after him.
He turned, and the way he looked at me sent a shiver of uneasiness up my spine.
“Why the rude attitude?” I asked. “Do you have a problem with me?”
He looked me up and down. “No.”
“You threw my mail at me.”
“I have a lot to deliver.” He scowled. “You’re new.”
“That may be the case but treating people with courtesy isn’t hard.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“I remember you.” I stepped closer.
“Don’t remember you.”
Triggered, I felt that unsettling confusion of realizing someone doesn’t like you yet being unable to understand why.
He looked smug. “Don’t you have a story you’re meant to be working on? Something special for them?”
Narrowing my gaze, I asked, “You’re from the mailroom?”
“Yeah,” he said, annoyed. “Why?”
“Well,” I turned and glanced toward my desk, “if we’re going to be working together, we should try to get along. We’ll see each other every day.”
