“Yes. Always the number one daily goal.” Andi gave a little wave and headed to the main door, greeting people as she passed them, totally comfortable. The envy that welled up in Hollyn became a physical taste on her tongue. What must that be like? To move through life so at ease? To wear your personality on the outside? She shook her head and walked past the coffee bar to the stairs that led to her floor.
Movie-version Hollyn would be friends with a woman like Andi. Movie Hollyn would know what to say and would be able to keep up with the rapid-fire conversation. Movie Hollyn would also go upstairs and create a chance meeting with Rodrigo, the superbuff fitness vlogger who worked down the hall. But there were no cameras, no script, and Real Hollyn just wanted to hide in her office, close her door, and get her work done.
The second floor was mostly quiet when she stepped out of the stairwell. A few people had their office doors ajar, but all the glass-walled conference rooms were either dark or had closed doors, soundproofing them. One of the two podcasting studios was active, the light above the door illuminated, and both video recording spaces were occupied. Through the crack in the door, she could see Emily Vu, a productivity blogger, adjusting the lights inside to shoot a video. Hollyn shuddered. She’d feel like she was in an interrogation room under all those lights.
Hollyn’s office was the last at the end of the hall of glass-walled rooms. The space was small but bright, with a big window that gave her a sliver of a view between buildings of the Crescent City Connection bridge. The soft yellow on the one solid wall was soothing, and the mid-century modern desk was so much nicer than anything she’d ever owned that she couldn’t help but run her hand over the smooth walnut every time she came in for the day.
When she’d first seen the space, she’d nearly swooned. Anytime she got knots in her stomach about coming to WorkAround, she’d think about this cozy office with its pretty desk, its city view, and its cushy armchair in the corner. It was the office space she’d fantasized about when she’d worked from the beat-up thrift-store table in her mother’s house. The only change she would make would be doing away with the two glass walls.
The wall she shared with her neighbor was frosted, but the one facing the hallway was not. If she weren’t at the end of the hall, she’d feel like a hamster in a cage. But no one came down to her end unless they wanted to go out through the back staircase to smoke or vape, and she kept her back to the door most of the time anyway. She smiled. Andi would probably tell her to never put her back to a door. Can’t see the serial killer coming that way.
Hollyn flipped on her desk lamp and fired up her laptop, wishing she had a hot cup of coffee in her hand. She liked the ritual of sipping it slowly while she went through her email each morning, but the half-empty, lukewarm bottle of water she’d left behind the other day would have to do for now. She got settled at her desk and opened up her inbox.
Something loosened in her body. Outside these doors, she felt like an alien trying to learn the native language. But in here, at her desk, she got to be herself.
Her computer dinged with new mail. There was one nastygram from someone who didn’t like her review of their “experimental pop funk” band. She rolled her eyes at the invective. Get over it, man. The only experimental part was picking a lead singer who was tone deaf and who couldn’t stop grabbing his crotch. Two requests for dates. No, thank you, overeager strangers. A forwarded article from her mother about a new supplement she should try. Delete. And finally one with a subject line promising a once-in-a-lifetime offer. She hovered over the last email, placing silent bets before clicking it. Would it be an offer to refinance her mortgage, a secret bank account in the Bahamas, or a dick pic? She rolled the mental dice and clicked.
And we have a winner!
The screen filled with a high-definition close-up GIF of a dude inserting his penis into the toe of a black high-heeled shoe, the clip looping to give the full thrusting effect. She snorted and then tilted her head, studying the image. Since her entertainment column on the NOLA Vibe site had taken off in popularity, she received these kinds of emails often enough that she’d started to categorize them. Frat boy who drank too much and made bad choices? Lonely soul? Potential stalker?
Miz Poppy, the moniker she used for her reviews of movies and local entertainment, got the gamut in her inbox. Hollyn was amazed by the assumptions people made about a person based on their cartoon avatar. The red lips, long dark hair, and tight black outfit of her cartoon alter ego got more date requests in one week than she’d gotten in her entire life. If she could live life in a cartoon world, she’d be killing it. But alas, Miz Poppy only existed in the imagination of her readers. If they knew Miz Poppy was really some chick with unruly blond curls, an even more unruly anxiety disorder, and a penchant for high-top Vans instead of high heels, they’d be vastly disappointed.
Lucky for her, no one but her editor and boss at the NOLA Vibe knew who the real Miz Poppy was, which meant misguided penis guy got to keep his fantasy about Miz Poppy’s shoes. What he would not get was a reply. She lifted her hand to delete the email, but before she could, a knock sounded at her door.
Her body tensed, and she automatically went into if-I-stay-still, maybe-they-won’t-see-me mode. No one ever knocked on her door. There was a Do Not Disturb door hanger that she’d bought in the French Quarter hanging off the knob. It had a picture of a voodoo doll full of pins. The message was pretty damn clear. But before she could go into full flight-or-fight mode, she remembered Andi was bringing coffee. She needed to turn around. Be a functioning human for a few more minutes.
The glass door made a soft whooshing sound as it opened. “Um, hello?”
Not Andi. The voice was male and one she didn’t recognize. She really needed to turn around now, but she could feel the electricity moving through her, her nerve endings jumping. Her fingers twitched against the arms of her desk chair, tapping the pattern. One two three four.
“You ordered a coffee?” the guy said, his tone unsure.
Hollyn wet her lips—get your shit together, babe—and forced herself to spin her chair to face the door. A guy she’d never seen before was standing inside her doorway, holding a cup of coffee and watching her. Her breath caught. One, because he was a stranger and in her office expecting her to speak words. Two, because, holy shit. Hot.
He looked like he could be modeling for a WorkAround ad. Tall and lanky with an untucked, short-sleeved button-down and skinny jeans that said he was trying but not too hard. Square tortoiseshell glasses framing hazel eyes. And dark, shaggy hair that was just a little too long on top to be considered neat.
He gave her a chagrined half smile, and his gaze traveled over her, making her insides ripple with awareness. “Whew. So she is alive,” he said. “That’s a relief.”
“Excuse me?” Her throat had narrowed to the circumference of a pencil, and the words came out broken around the edges.
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and his smile went full span. “Well, it would suck if on my first day at a new place, I was the one to find the body.”