Evening Bags and Executions(4)

I could easily see how Vanessa had made the decision that she didn’t like me so quickly because, already, I knew I didn’t like her, either.

I saw no need to share that revelation with her since I really wanted to keep this job—at least long enough to wear each of my eight fully accessorized business suits a minimum of one time. Collecting a paycheck would be nice too, since I’d received a troubling e-mail from my bank a couple of days ago.

“Why do you think I should resign?” I asked.

“Because I don’t like you,” Vanessa told me.

Jeez, no wonder H.R. was so quick to hire me.

“Don’t take it personally,” Vanessa told me. “I liked my last assistant. She quit. I want her back, but H.R. refuses to meet her demands.”

I figured those demands included providing her with a cross and an unlimited supply of garlic to sleep with.

“As long as you’re here, H.R. has no incentive to rehire her,” Vanessa said. She pulled a sheet of paper from her drawer and slapped it down in front of me. “You can write your resignation on this.”

I was tempted to write something, all right—two choice words came to mind—but I didn’t.

“I’m not going to resign,” I told her.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Jeez, what grade were we in?

“Look,” I told her. “I’m going to keep this job until I decide to quit. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Vanessa gave me serious stink-eye and pressed her lips together so tight, I thought cartoon steam might actually come out of her ears.

“We’ll see about that,” she said.

Vanessa stomped out of her office and screamed, “Kayla! Where is Edie? Kayla!”

I went to my office.

Kayla, who was probably hiding under a desk somewhere right now—not that I blamed her, of course—had showed me around the office complex while Vanessa had been screaming at Edie earlier. I’d gotten spoiled by having my own private office at my last job, so I was really glad to see that I had one here, even if it was right next door to Vanessa’s office.

It came with a neutral-colored desk, chair, credenza, and bookcase, and was accented with splashes of vibrant blues and yellows in the wall prints. I gazed out the window down Sepulveda Boulevard, hoping to spot a Starbucks—home of my all-time favorite drink on the entire planet—nearby. I knew one was located in the Sherman Oaks Galleria, but that was about a five-minute walk from here—I preferred something under three, in case of an emergency.

I sat down at my desk and realized the morning was flying by and essential matters absolutely had to be taken care of. I pulled out my cell phone and made lunch plans.

Luckily, Marcie had anticipated my first day on the new job and had taken off a half day from her job at a bank downtown—is she a terrific BFF or what? We met at the Cheesecake Factory at the Galleria.

“So, how’s it going?” Marcie asked after we sat down.

Marcie and I were a mismatched pair of friends—I’m tall and dark haired, she’s short, petite, and blond—but that’s okay because between the two of us, we can wear absolutely anything.

“Great,” I said, looking over the menu. “Everything’s going great.”

“Really?” she asked. “The first day on a new job can be kind of intense.”

“No problems,” I said. “Wow, this Godiva chocolate cheesecake looks great. So does the chocolate mousse cheesecake.”

“Remember that girl we went to City Walk with last year? The one who wore that dress with the stripes and the gold sandals?” Marcie asked. “She’s having a party on Saturday. We should definitely go.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

The waiter approached our table.

“I’ll have the chef salad,” Marcie said.

“I can’t decide between the Godiva chocolate cheesecake and the chocolate mousse cheesecake,” I said. “Bring me both.”

“Sure thing,” he said, and left.

“One of the girls in the insurance department came by my desk this morning asking when we can schedule a purse party,” Marcie said. “How about Friday night?”

“Maybe,” I said, and gazed across the restaurant. “Where’s that guy with my cheesecake?”

“What do you think of the new Enchantress evening bag on the cover of Marie Claire this month?” Marcie asked. “Isn’t it awesome?”

“I didn’t see it,” I said.

Marcie gave me her I’m-your-best-friend-and-I’m-worried look, and asked, “Haley, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”