“Tell me. Tell me all. You said on the phone that you ran into him again in the elevator. What happened? Did he shove his tongue down your throat? I want all the deets.”
Another waiter, in the Agave uniform of black from head to toe, slips in between us for just a moment to deliver their world-famous chips and salsa and our margaritas, and then disappears again. They’re nothing if not discreet around here.
I take a big sip of my margarita and then try to figure out what to say, what to do. Earlier, in the panic of hearing Apollo’s voice come through the speakerphone, I’m not entirely sure Natalie heard the words coming out of my mouth. How do I tell her that she may not have a job tomorrow? I may not have a job tomorrow.
“Mrs. Sanders interrupted our little—” I wave my hand in the air dismissively, “discussion—” Natalie snorts and I ignore her, “—to remind Mr. Kane that he has to decide which departments to fire before his meeting in 15 minutes."
I continue, “Natalie, we may not have a job tomorrow. How can you fire whole departments at a magazine? Which department are you going to cut? Editorial? Marketing? Or!” My voice is getting a little louder now but I can’t help myself, “Production?”
I dropped my voice and lean forward to whisper, “I think he’s going to take the company apart and try to sell the pieces for a profit.”
She sits back and eyeballs me speculatively, nibbling on her lip as she does. I’m the emotional one out of the two, while she’s the analytical one. She never panics until she has to, and there’s a small—okay, very large—part of me that wants to hear it from her that there’s no reason to panic.
“What else did Mrs. Sanders say?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I take a sip of my drink, enjoying the warmth flowing through me from the liberal amount of alcohol. Something to calm my nerves.
“Is this what you talked about with Apollo after work?”
“Yeah, we both ended up on the same elevator, and I…took the opportunity to chew him out.” I laugh quietly while staring down at my hands. Thinking back on it that was a really stupid thing to do, really. I mean, he is my new boss, however long the job lasts, and certainly chewing his ass wouldn’t prolong my career at Blush.
“His response?” Her voice is just a touch exasperated.
I shrug. “I didn’t exactly give him the chance to give me one. I chewed him out and stormed off.” I’m squirming in my seat now. How is it that Natalie knows me so well? Can’t she just pretend that I’m always right and fuck the rest of the world?
“Well, I say we don’t panic just yet,” Natalie pronounces with an air of authority that, I’ll admit, I love hearing. “It could be that he was simply supposed to look at the departments before the meeting, and Mrs. Sanders misspoke. It could be that he looks at the departments and decides to only cut one or two people. I mean, we really don’t know, right?”
I nod my head miserably, realizing that if Natalie is right, the magazine as a whole will survive, but no matter what, I’m pretty fucked.
Fuck.
“So, let’s just hope that you overreacted, he’s not going to fire anyone, or if he does fire someone, it’s Janice in Accounting—that bitch has had it coming for years—and that he has selective amnesia and will forget that you yelled at him. Twice.”
“Perfect,” I laugh, and we clink our margarita glasses together. “That’s an outcome I can get behind.”
We enjoy our dinner of seafood soup and lots more chips and salsa, and then decide to head over to the SoHo to really get our drink on. I mean, yeah, I spent way too much on the cab this morning and I’m spending way too much on food and drink tonight, but fuck it. My job is going down in flames. If there is ever a time to say, “Fuck you, world, I hate you!” and get blitzed, this is it.
Not that I usually need much of a reason, let’s be honest, but today is giving them to me in spades anyway.
After taking a cab over that Natalie mercifully paid for, we wander into a swanky dimly-lit bar that looks like it attracts the power-suits kind of men that I always find my panties getting wet over. Drinks will be way too expensive, but I don’t care. I’m on a mission—to get buzzed, or to get fucked, and preferably both. Anything to end my six-months-and-one-day losing streak but barring that, at least get fucked until my eyes cross.
We settle into the corner booth to better be able to scope out the guys coming through, and begin sipping our strawberry margaritas.
“Ash, you just need to be honest with him,” Natalie pronounces out of nowhere.