Page 2 of Get It In Writing
“Yeah,” she says. “I guess you’re doing okay so far. But Mr. Harper is really particular. You’ve got to stay on your toes around him.”
“Okay, I get it,” I say. “I’ll go down to the supply room myself and pick up a few legal pads.” I start to get up from my desk. “You need anything?”
“Thank you. But no. It’s good that you’re taking initiative. Sorry for getting a little pissy with you a second ago,” she says, pausing her typing, her fingers hovering above her keyboard.
“Don’t mention it,” I say, getting up and grabbing my purse. “I’m going to stop by the vending machine, too. Want anything? Cheese danish?”
“I don’t eat crap,” she says, resuming her frantic typing.
“That’s fine,” I respond, getting up from the desk with my purse, kicking my flats off and slipping into my heels. “Suit yourself. Just don’t get jealous when I have my flaky, delicious, cheesy treat all to myself.”
Joanna sighs and starts to grab some change from a little cup holding random coins and paper clips. “Fine,” she says. “You’ve convinced me.”
“This one is on me,” I say, walking through the double glass doors to the vestibule housing the elevators.
I look back at the desk Joanna and I share. And at the placard on the wall behind it, where Mr. Harper’s name is emblazoned in big, shiny, silver letters.
So maybe this is not my first choice for the job I envisioned having when I first started college. I was a graphic design major, and I always wanted to have my own firm. Mr. Harper has one of the leading architectural firms in the city, and I’m very happy to work here. After all, success doesn’t happen overnight, so right now I have a side hustle going, where I’m working on my designs at night and on weekends.
Harper Architecture. There’s just something sexy to it, isn’t there? When I told my best girlfriends that I’d be working here, they gushed over him when we looked him up and saw his face on his website.
My mind wanders back to his tattoo-covered arms as I go down to the lower level of the building, where the supply room is located along with the mail room.
“Gus?” I say, poking my head into the supply room.
“Hey, Bec. Come on in. What can I do for you?”
He’s opening up some boxes and unpacking them, taking out things I’ve never even seen before.
“What’s all this stuff?” I ask.
“Special parts for the printers. We go through so many components and things. All that stuff is new technology, but I swear Harper has to reign in all the printing that’s done around here.”
“Well, I promise I won’t print anything that I don’t need to,” I say, looking around at the shelves with stacks of paper. “All I need is a few pads for writing things down. I’m old school. Like to do everything by hand.”
“I’ve got you,” Gus says, stepping up on a small ladder and grabbing a packet of small, white pads. “Here you go.”
“Thanks!” I say. “Perfect. Later!”
I make my way down the hall to the small kitchen on this floor. There’s no vending machine filled with crappy snacks on the floor where I work. There’s just baskets of fruit and pretzels, which I like, but today I need something a little more artificial.
I toss the packet of notepads down on a table and feed the machine some change, punching in my selections for me and Joanna, when I see a figure out of the corner of my eye.
“I see that you finally got the supplies you need to do your job,” he says as I glance over to see Mr. Harper staring down at me. He’s got his arms folded across his chest. This is starting to become his signature look.
At first, I don’t say anything. I don’t want to get in trouble, like Joanna said, and I certainly don’t want to get her in trouble, either.
Instead, I clear my throat and shuffle my feet around a little, but it’s clear from the way he’s still standing next to me that he expects a response.
“Yes,” I say, bending down to grab my treats from the machine. “I did. Gus gave them to me. Now I’ll be fully able to tackle any task that requires me to write something down.”
I get up and face Mr. Harper. He’s even more deliciously handsome face-to-face.
“Good,” he says, tauntingly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to do a great job now.”
It’s almost like he’s being sarcastic. God, Iamin trouble. I’m probably on my way to getting fired. He probably followed me down here to fire me in private so he wouldn’t embarrass me in front of my coworkers.
That was nice of him.
