She was used to people laughing at her, and to be truthful, with Jennie it always felt more like the old saying: Jennie was laughing with Sam, not at her. Sam could handle people laughing at her, though. Even by her friends. It happened. It didn’t bother her anymore.
“What does divorcing your gym have to do with ice cream?” Jennie finally asked, using her fingertips to sweep an errant tear from under her eye.
Samantha shrugged a shoulder and grinned, knowing her workout routine wasn’t exactly what most fitness gurus would recommend. In fact, even assigning the word “workout” to it was a bit of a stretch. Or fitness. Or routine, for that matter, since she didn’t exactly go on a regular basis.
“If I finish whatever class I signed up for, I reward myself with an ice cream cone from the place next to the gym. If I started working out at home instead of the gym, I’d have to drive to get my ice cream cone and that just changes the whole thing. It’s not as fun.”
Jennie had been trying to convince Sam to hire a personal trainer. Sam’s budget could definitely afford it, but frankly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to pay someone to hound her to exercise. There would be no wheedling out of it if she wasn’t in the mood, which, most of the time, she wasn’t.
“And, tell me again why you have to divorce your gym?” Jennie emphasized the divorce part of the question, as if to stress how unusual it was to talk about divorcing a fitness center. Yeah, okay, so maybe that had been the wrong choice of words.
“It’s got bad juju,” Sam explained. “It’s cursed. You can’t deny the evidence. First, someone stole my wallet in the locker room the one time I forgot to bring my lock, then I ended up with a flat tire a week later, and yesterday someone sideswiped my car in the parking lot. They don’t have cameras in the lot, so I’m screwed. I can get her repaired, but she’ll never be the same.”
Jennie nodded and sipped her drink. Everyone knew Sam’s Jaguar was her baby. She didn’t splurge on things often, but that car had been her one great splurge and she babied it. Coming out and seeing the scrapes and dents all along one side of Dahlia had made Sam want to cry. Or hit something. Or throw things. She’d actually done all of those things. And, stomped her feet.
“That is some bad juju. Maybe you could join another gym. Mine doesn’t have an ice cream shop nearby, but there’s a donut place.”
“Ooooooo. Donuts could work.” Her grin was wide, but the reason for her and Jennie’s early arrival in the office walked through the door, distracting her from thoughts of food and workouts.
Three men and one woman followed the office’s human resources director into the room.
The men looked like they belonged in a magazine or on the pages of a calendar. One of those calendars. And the woman looked to be five feet one or two inches of size-zero gorgeousness, designed to make other women feel inconsequential, at best.
“You have got to be freaking kidding me!” Samantha said, probably a little louder than she’d planned to.
She heard Jennie sputter and cough over a mouthful of latte and had to admit to a bit of chagrin when Jennie turned amused eyes on her.
“What?” Sam said defensively. “You’re telling me you expected that for our new science and technology department? We should have gotten geeks and nerds, not underwear models and a woman who could easily pose for … for … for whatever the biggest fashion magazine is,” Sam said with a glance to her own outfit.
Sam would have no fashionable clothes if it weren’t for Jennie. When Sam’s online game took off and she started earning more money than she knew what to do with, Jennie helped Sam trade in boxy business suits for cute skirts and blouses that accentuated Sam’s curves. It had taken some talking to get Sam to see that, when showcased properly, her curves were beautiful.
And now Sam had a personal shopper who brought her clothes each month to choose from. She let Sam have her own unique style, as evidenced by the purple blouse and matching purple boots she wore today, which Sam loved.
Still, even with the personal shopper and help from her friends, Sam wasn’t what one would consider a fashionista. Hence, her lack of knowledge about the titles of the latest and greatest fashion magazines.
Her friend shushed her and laughed as they watched the HR director continue her tour, the underwear models in question following her as the group made their way across the room.
“I’m just not sure I understand your issue with it, Sam. If I was going to be in charge of getting those guys settled into the company, I’m pretty sure I’d be psyched, not complaining. I mean, if I didn’t have Chad, that is,” Jennie said with a sly grin.
Jennie was happily married to Chad Thompson, head of Sutton Capital’s security division and part owner in the company. Chad was also Jack’s cousin and best friends with Andrew Weston, Sutton’s Chief Financial Officer.
Chad, incidentally, was model-worthy himself. It didn’t surprise Samantha that Jennie was married to such a good-looking man, since Jennie could also easily have landed the cover of Vogue or some swimsuit or underwear spread.
Samantha, on the other hand, was a normal person. She was one of those “average” females you heard about, who wore more than thimble-sized clothing. She was taller than the average woman at five foot eleven. Oh, Jennie told her differently.
Jennie said she was voluptuous and sexy, and Sam saw that to some extent. But she also faced reality. If she were a model, she’d be showing off sweatshirts and galoshes, not underwear.
“Why am I not happy about this?” Sam gestured to the men who stood in a loose circle across the room, each with the kind of easy confidence born of above-average looks and a physical fitness level that can only come from years of honing and driven attention to exercise. “Because we need some normal people around here.”
Another coworker approached on Sam’s side as she finished her sentence.
“Damn right we do,” Tanya, the newcomer, said with a nod. Tanya worked in the finance department of Sutton and often had lunch with Jennie and Samantha.
“See, she gets it,” Samantha said to Jennie, as she bumped her hip in solidarity against Tanya’s, earning a smile from the other woman. “We’re surrounded by above-average overachievers who look like they were crafted in the Ken and Barbie doll factory instead of a womb. We need average guys around here for those of us that weren’t graced with those kind of genes,” Sam said, casting a glance at Jennie. “No offense.”
“Um, none taken. I think,” Jennie answered with a huff of a laugh. “So you were hoping for ugly?”
“Not ugly. Just . . . normal. They’re science geeks. I mean, come on. These people are supposed to be walking computers on everything from nanotech and biochemistry, to immunotherapy and whatever the hell else they do. They should, at the very least, be a little pale from being indoors too long, not tanned and glowing and all . . . all . . .”
“Godlike,” Tanya finished for Sam.
“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “Godlike. You’d think Jack would have given the teeniest bit of consideration to us mere mortals when he hired them. It’s just selfish, is what it is. Selfish and inconsiderate. Just because Jack’s all walking, talking sex-on-a-stick doesn’t mean he shouldn’t think of the rest of us once in a while. The guy could at least throw us a bone for once. Is that too much to ask?”