No, it won't be a joke. And yes, she will be wearing shoes that cost more than my rent. But I'm so going to make it on time, so she can suck it! I sigh in relief as I run down the stairs into the Fourteenth Street Station and squeeze through the turnstiles in time to make my train. Once on, I score a seat and get to work. First I pull a brush out of my bag and get to work taming my blonde hair into a perfect ponytail with lots of volume and a final strand of hair wrapped around the band and fastened with a bobby pin to cover the elastic. I watched a video online once and now I can do it without a mirror and in motion when necessary.
My makeup is done via a compact mirror and finished before I reach my stop. Then I walk another five blocks to my office. In Manhattan it's called walking but anywhere else that pace would be considered a jog. I check my phone when I'm a block away—the building is in my sights—and grin. I made it.
I've even got just enough time to grab a coffee from the little shop located next door to my building, as long as they don't have a line. They only charge a dollar for a coffee to go, which even I can afford, and when I approach the door and see no line I'm tempted to click my sneaker-clad heels together. No line! I'm still getting my morning coffee! Which really makes all the difference, you know? When I don't have time to stop or the line is too long it throws off my whole morning. I need that cup like a baby needs a pacifier. It's like a cup of zen to get me through my morning, no matter what the boss throws at me.
See, today is totally my day because life is all what you make of it. I could be pissed off about oversleeping, but no. I'm going to call that sleeping in and still making it to work on time. A total win, yay me, I think as I double-check the time and reach for the door handle of the coffee shop.
The door doesn't budge because it's locked. My brain registers this at the same time it registers the orange eight-by-ten sticker stuck to the door. The one labeled New York City Health Department with a big check mark next to 'closed for health code violations' which cannot be possible because I just got coffee here yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.
Wait.
Oh, shit. I get coffee here every day.
At the place closed for health code violations. Well, that's great.
Walking next door, I swipe my badge to get past security while wondering if coffee can be contaminated. It can, right? Like bacteria in the machines or something? Never mind, I'm fine. My stomach is okay. I think. I might need to talk myself out of phantom hypochondriac stomach issues, but I'm probably fine.
I need a refund on this day and it's not even nine AM.
I sigh before giving myself a pep talk. It's fine, Lauren. This day can only get better. Nowhere to go but up, blah blah. I work in marketing, so I know it's all in how I spin it and I've already determined that today is a good day for a good day, so it will be. I'm going to have a good day if it fucking kills me.
Chapter Three
It might just kill me.
"You want me to do what?" I glance across my boss’s desk in shock. Surely I am misunderstanding something because there is no possible way I am hearing this correctly.
"I want you to go down to Times Square and pass out some flyers, Lauren. Was that unclear?"
I hate the way she says my name. I don't even like hearing my name come out of her mouth, but the tone she says it in makes it all the worse. And she's always adding it to sentences needlessly to intimidate me. Normal people don't repeat your name to you in conversation because it's unnecessary.
"Did you have a late night? You seem a little off your game today, Lauren. Has the weekend started early for you?"
See what I mean?
She smiles when she says it but she doesn't mean it. Because she's a bitch. That's really all there is to that.
"No, my weekend hasn't started early. I'm just a little confused about why tourists in Times Square would be interested in a sale at the Budget Bridal Stop in Brooklyn. But I have some ideas about how we could better reach the target audience," I start, but that's as far as I get because she cuts me off.
"I didn't ask for your thoughts, Lauren. If you're interested in a career here you need to learn how to follow direction. The team can only have one leader and that's me."
Sometimes I wonder if she was a bitchy baby. I think she probably was.
"Now I understand this probably isn't the most challenging task you've been given and I can see you're not excited about it, but it needs to be done and I hope I can trust you to handle it like a professional."
I swallow the words 'fuck you,' and place a fake smile on my face as I stand.
"You'll need to change here and then have the car service drop you off in Times Square. The case of flyers is much too heavy to walk with." She adds a big smile that anyone else would think was genuine but I know better.