Page 37 of A World Without You
“Bennett, thank you! You’re clearly a puppet master because I know you pulled about seventeen strings to make this happen,” I say.
“Actually, twenty-one,” he says and pauses. I have no idea if he’s serious or not. Then he continues, “But no need to get me a better Christmas present this year because it’s only a temporary position. The marketing company they hired will just be here through the end of the year.”
“Honestly, that’s perfect. I need to just...work, you know?”
“I know.” I hear the smile in Bennett’s voice. “You’ll be all right, kid. Probably sick of me by New Year’s, but you’ll survive.”
I laugh. “I have never in the history of knowing you—which is forever by the way—been sick of you.”
“It’s never too late,” he says, and I bite my lip to contain my smile. “Human resources will email you the details, and I’ll see you Friday.”
My smile is so big my face hurts. “Bennett?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank youso much.” Thankfulness is always much harder to convey when you truly mean it. I have met dead end after dead end since my divorce with Graham started, and for once, it feels like someone flung the door wide open.
“Anytime you need anything, I’ll always be here for you—in the middle of the night or the middle of a storm.”
I smile even wider, though he can’t see it over the phone. “You might be regretting that sentiment, Bennett.”
“Whatever, I’ll see you Friday.
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APPARENTLY, BENNETTHolland, Finance Executive, has some pull in whom they hire. And now I’m basically the secretary for the marketing department for the remainder of the year while Sascha is off for the holiday.
Today is her last day before she takes off, and I find myself drawn to her. She’s stylish in that Gen Z morphed with 90s and a touch of the early 2000s way. She’s funny too, mostly speaking in movie and viral audio references, but each one works with the task and question at hand, making her sound remarkably smart.
The only problem: she thinks I’m a complete idiot. She’s gone over how to answer phones, transfer calls, and schedule meetings with such meticulous detail it has physically pained me not to remind her I was doing all these things and then some before she had all her permanent teeth.
Instead, I smile and allow her to walk me through the tortuous tour of corporate life that has not changed much since 2011.
“You know how to alphabetize, right?” Sascha asks.
I stare blankly at her, not sure if it’s a joke. When she raises her eyebrows, I realize she’s dead serious.
“Yes,” I answer almost hesitantly because what kind of question is that?
She clearly reads my thoughts and says, “Well, you’d be surprised who doesn’t. Everything has become digitalized to save the trees and all that, but we have computers doing literally everything. It’s as if people have forgotten how to spell, count, and sing their ABCs.” I smile because it sounds like she’s spouting off a line her boss—or her father—spewed at her.
“Well, I can assure you, the lodge I worked at was digital, but the owners loved to have a physical paper trail.”
Sascha narrows her teal-lined eyes at me. “Well, great. Here’s what you need to file today. Since it’s Friday and your first day, I’ll take over the phones, and you can take care of this.”
She pushes the gray rolling cart filled to the brim with files haphazardly stacked toward me.
“Sounds great.” I force a smile at the cart in the file room when Bennett pops his head in the door.
“How’s our girl doing?” he asks in an oddly endearing but slightly inappropriate way.
“She’ll manage,” Sascha says, pinching her shoulders back and smiling brighter at Bennett.
I try not to laugh. He’s at least fifteen years older than Sascha. But Bennett has always been adorable—nerdy yet protective, strong yet kind. He played sports and built rockets for the science fair. Respected his mom and had a line of women waiting for him to ask them to prom.
And now he’s a corporate hotshot who does God-knows-what for this multi-billion-dollar department store with tattoos under his suit that give him an edge, and a daughter at home who gives him the single dad tenderness.
I’m sure all the secretaries eat him up and fantasize about him at night.
