I tore my eyes away from my boobs so I could jump in the shower. As the cool water washed over me, I relished the refreshing spray. I couldn’t help but think about the person I used to be when I was younger. The loudmouth who made up for her insecurities by overcompensating.
Needless to say, I hadn’t been very popular. But there had been at least one person who appreciated my wit and charm.
After all these years, I could still remember the face of my first love. What a face it was. I thought about him more often than I probably should, but he had made such an impact on my life in such a short period of time. Not to mention he’d been stunningly gorgeous, and every man I had dated since then could never hold a candle to him.
Light-brown hair, blue-green eyes that looked like the ocean, a jaw that was definitely chiseled from stone, and cute freckles left and right of his nose…
It wasn’t just his looks that had taken hold of me and never let go. His effortless charm and humor had drawn me in the second he spoke. His voice. Oh, boy. If I concentrated hard enough, I could still hear it. And I could remember how it felt to have his arms wrapped around me.
I shoved my head under the spray of water, trying to force myself to refocus. I had a big day ahead, and I couldn’t let myself get sidetracked by a ghost from my past. It was time to look forward to my future. I finished showering as quick as I could and threw on the outfit I’d laid out the night before: dress pants and a short-sleeved white blouse. Normally when I went to work, I didn’t dress so formal, but I wanted to make a good impression during my meeting.
Dressed and ready to face the day, I headed out the door. The tiny apartment I called home was only about two blocks away from the building where I spent the majority of my time. Usually, I walked to work. But it was so damn hot out, there was no way I was going to sweat my ass off before my big one-on-one with the boss.
While I sat in typical New York traffic, I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel of my old mint Mustang.
On my phone sat an untouched voicemail from my father. It was several days old, but I had yet to muster up the energy to listen. Chances were, I didn’t have to. I was sure it had something to do with how I was wasting my life and should get a “real” job—the usual overbearing and controlling bullshit. Screw that. I couldn’t fathom how my stepmother put up with him.
He had been that way ever since I was a kid. Even going so far as to pick up and uproot our entire lives to prevent me from seeing somebody he didn’t approve of. Again, the image of a chiseled-jawed young man came to mind, this time accompanied by the sexy motorcycle he liked to ride.
I wonder what Josh Varjak is doing nowadays. Does he ever think about me?
Deep down, as much as I hated to admit it, I knew the reason I was thinking about him was because my father called. I couldn’t help it. I lost my first love, because my dad decided Josh wasn’t good enough and moved the family to another damn state to separate us. I never forgave him for that. Josh. Meaning God is salvation.
I was well aware of how silly it probably was to still hold onto such anger over what was likely a really intense crush, but I couldn’t help it. That moment had been such a pivotal one in my life that it was difficult to forget. It had been the moment I realized just how bad the situation was with my father.
And it had been the moment I’d started to think and act for myself.
Traffic finally began to move, and I turned up the radio, drowning my thoughts out with eighties rock as I drove toward work. Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” started playing, and I sang along as loud as I could, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel (probably shaking my head like a madwoman), not caring if I looked like an idiot. You couldn’t listen to that song and “not” sing along. It would be a sin.
Underground NYC shared its space with about five other businesses, all of us crammed together into a ten-story building. I kind of liked it, though. I was able to meet so many interesting people coming and going. Aside from our office, there was a law firm, day spa, dojo, and travel agency. This meant that at any given time there could be a group of gals heading for a day of pampering, right next to a bitter couple heading for divorce, and a family of six attending their first martial arts lesson.
God, I loved New York.
I entered the parking garage and showed my ID to Norman, the attendant. He was a thin black man in his late fifties who I absolutely adored for the sheer fact that nothing seemed to faze him. I’d seen a forty-something housewife with a Kate Gosling haircut scream at him for five minutes straight, while he just sat back and waited for her to finish before kindly reminding her that she still owed him two dollars.
“Cuttin’ it close today, Ms. Dawson, ain’t ya?” he asked, his New York accent giving me the comfort it always did.
“Hey, I’m on time,” I said with a grin, watching as the toll booth arm rose to let me through.
“Barely. Ain’t you supposed to start at eight?”
“Exactly. It’s not eight yet.”
He shook his head and handed my ID back. “Have a g’day, Ms. Dawson.”
“You, too, Norman.”
It took me some time to find parking, but I was able to snatch one relatively close to the garage’s exit. The main lobby was crammed with people waiting for the elevator. I bypassed a hefty sixty-something man with a bald spot, who was screaming into his cell phone, heading to the stairs instead. Most of my day was spent sitting in front of a computer, so my commute to work and taking the stairs were the only sources of exercise I got. Since I didn’t walk that day, I needed to make my steps count.
I just managed to make it to the office with two minutes to spare. Thankfully, everybody was too wrapped up in their own lives to really notice.
There was one thing that frustrated me about my job. I never felt like I had anybody I could call a friend. My coworkers had their own ambitions and motivations, which was expected. However, it also meant that they tended to see each other as competition rather than coworkers. Unfortunately, the environment my boss Chris cultivated lent itself to suspicion and jealousy. I had no doubt he was the reason for such coldness between the employees.
There were favorites. Everybody knew it, and he did nothing to try to quell the whispering. I did my best not to get caught up in the chatter, but it was easier said than done. I entered the break room to find three of these favorites huddled together around the Keurig machines. I held back a sigh, knowing I had to push through them to get myself some sweet merciful caffeine.
“Good morning,” I said in my most disgustingly cheerful voice.
The oldest one was Dave, a sneering middle-aged guy with black hair that was obviously dyed to hide the gray. He turned his attention to me—to my boobs, to be precise. “Hey, Angie.”
“That’s April. My name’s April.”
“Right. April. Aren’t you the one who’s scheduled a meeting with Chris this morning?”
The other two young women (who I was pretty sure Dave was sleeping with), both seemed smug, as if Dave was uncovering some deep dark secret that nobody was supposed to know about.
“Sure am!” I said enthusiastically, putting the coffee pod into the machine and sliding a disposable cup underneath the spout.
“You sure that’s a good idea? You know he only hands out assignments to more experienced members of the team.”