“Mac's?” she asks, as if we would go anywhere else. I’m not the only one who lusts after Charlie. Diane flirts with him big time, counting down the days till he’s in her bed.
“Sure,” I say, breathing a small sigh of relief. At least it’s Mac’s.
“'Kay! See you at five thirty, then.” Her eyes travel down my body. “I hope you brought a change of clothes. I’m planning on the two of us getting handsy with some hotties tonight,” her smile dims as she rolls her eyes and adds beneath her breath, “not going to a friggin' funeral.”
Boundaries, Diane. My inner voice is snappy with a comeback but I just smile. I will wear whatever the heck I want. Diane’s embarrassment for me will just have to deal with it.
With that, she steps back and disappears behind the wall of her cubicle.
I blow out a breath. It wouldn’t be the first time Diane has called dibs on a guy I liked, slept with one of them. Diane’s a little competitive… in everything. Work’s like that, too; she likes to have the biggest and best clients under her purview in sales, often promising customers off-the-wall things and then dropping the whole stack of work in someone else’s lap. She did it to me when I first started… I learned quick to tell her my own workload was full.
Wheeling my way back to my desk I send up yet another prayer for more women to be hired here or even men, so long as they’re actually social and then glance at my cell phone, which is face down on my desk to keep me from getting distracted. But right now, I need the distraction. The second I click it on I see a message from Jason on Tinder. I open the app and make a face as I scan the message.
Hey there — you look beautiful. Are you free tonight?
A tingle runs down my spine as I read it and look at the guy’s pictures. Oh yeah… there is definitely a reason I liked his profile. He’s blond and handsome in the photos, and his profile says he’s looking for a serious commitment.
I hesitate for only a moment, then type a message in return.
Thank you! And I am free, actually. What were you thinking? Double checking it to make sure there are no obvious signs that I haven’t dated in practically forever, I send it.
Sitting a little straighter in my chair I think: maybe tonight won’t be a disaster after all. Back to work I go. Time to be as much of a super woman as I can be in the final hours.
I have to return a dozen calls. Only one of them gets to me. Criticism is something I can take. I don’t mind it. But when a client treats me like crap, it gets to me. I wish it didn’t, but it gets to me. Sometimes this job is stressful and it’s 100% the clients who lead me down one path, tweaking a design a million ways, and then wanting to trash it. They do it again and again, while deadlines slip by and they don’t seem to have any grasp on what they actually want. I constantly interact with customers who want four more mock-ups than the three I've initially provided, as per their contract with L. J. Scott & Co. I’ll make them a dozen if they need it. If that’s what it takes to ignite a spark, I will do it all day long. But don’t have me do a dozen, choose one to tweak a million times, then another, then another and waste weeks of work not deciding a damn thing and wanting to start from scratch.
Tapping my nails on the desk I take in steadying breaths and pretend like Anthony from Bike It isn’t going to take every single one of those tweaked designs and use them all. I know we’re expensive and he has commented such a number of times, but the package he chose isn’t for a limitless number of ads and that’s what I think he wants.
Of course, Diane has promised this client the moon, she had him first before our boss moved him to me, but at half the cost of the creative hours billed so far, which are now supposedly useless.
“Hey! Got you a coffee!” Tracey’s voice echoes in the small cubicle. Letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, I swirl around and thank her. It’s impossible to be mad or sad or anything other than grateful around Tracey, the office personal assistant. Just the sound of her pushing around that cart is enough to lift my spirits.
“Anything good?” I ask, eyeing her coffee-with-cream skin and sleek, high ponytail. I'm weirdly jealous of Tracey’s consistent good cheer, her youth, and her easy breezy attire. I’m even jealous of the way she wears that pale pink dress probably because she’s obviously naturally skinny. She could be a model and I’ve told her that a million times.
“Psshh,” she says, grinning as she hands me a cup. “Same thing as usual. A shot in the dark. Coffee, espresso, two creamers, and one Splenda.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, looking at the tiny puff of steam that escapes my cup. “I seriously need this right now.”
“I got you,” she says, winking. “You need anything else?”
A new client? One not from hell? Maybe some new ovaries? I think. But I stay quiet and shake my head. I’ll give this guy another week and if he’s still yanking me around, I have to go to the higher ups. I hate doing that, but I know my limits. There are givers and takers in this world, the givers have to have boundaries, because the takers have none. My mind flashes with an image of Diane and I shut that down with a gulp of hot coffee.
“Alright. Well I have tons of three-o’clock-slump-coffees to deliver,” she says, backing her cart out of my cubicle. “See you tomorrow.”
“Have a good night,” I reply, turning back to my desk after saluting her with my cup.
The smell of the coffee and espresso makes my lips turn upward. Holding onto it with two hands, I take a sip and sigh with fulfillment.
Sure my job can suck when one client decides to shit on my entire day, but there’s an endless coffee supply. That’s gotta be worth something, right?
With only an hour left of the work day, I mouse over to Adobe Photoshop, clicking through the six ads I’m working on for other clients, ones that have given me direction I can actually use and ones I don’t think are using me.
Another message from Jason makes my phone vibrate and I actually feel a hint of excitement. The corners of my lips kick up as I read:
Have you ever been to The Brick Store Pub in Decatur? They have great drinks, and the food’s good, too.
I bite my lip with a nervous excitement although it’s quick to dissipate when I think of exchanging a night at Mac’s with Charlie for this new guy. But the new guy is looking for commitment. He’s not the safe ‘never-going-to-want-me-like-that Charlie’ and Decatur isn’t that far away from where I work. I could get there in under an hour, even, assuming that I stop at home first to change. Maybe Diane is right, after all.
I type back: I haven’t been but that sounds like a plan to me. It’ll have to be around seven, though. Is that alright?
Before I can even put my phone down, he texts back.
Great! Let’s say… seven thirty?
My lips curl upward. Awesome. See you there.
There’s a nervousness that’s half excitement, half unease that stays with me for the rest of the workday. And why do I keep thinking about Charlie?
Jason is single. He’s hot. And he wants commitment.
I don’t look up again until Diane sticks her head over my cubicle, just before five twenty.
“Time to go! I was thinking that you should leave your car here, and I’ll drive. I think I have something for you to wear, if it’ll fit…” I cringe at Diane, realizing I never told her. Shit. I feel like an ass.