“You didn’t show me the cafeteria,” I told Myra, “but that can always wait until lunch, right? What else should we be doing?”
Myra rarely stayed at her desk, receiving an agenda of items to attend to on Roland’s behalf via email at the start of each workday. I shadowed her on her jaunts across the office and to other companies on floors below, observing the surprisingly high energy in a woman about to retire. If I’d put in as many years as she had in the workforce, I would’ve been taking it easy during my final week.
And when she did go back to her desk to check the agenda or if there was some free time to work on digitizing between tasks, the phone would often blare, scaring us both. The only person ever on the other end of that line was Roland.
“I’m surprised you don’t have many missed calls from him,” I said, as Myra prepared to forward him some information he’d asked for.
“What do you mean?” she asked absently, clicking away at the computer.
“I mean, if you’re rarely here, at the desk, always running errands around the building, then don’t you think he’d call? He seems to be really needy.”
“There’s no need for him to call when I’m not here,” she answered, sending the email with a small sound of triumph and bringing the agenda back up on the screen. “He can see if I’m here or not for himself.”
She pointed toward the ceiling to a small, black lens.
“A camera?” I nearly shouted, causing several people to swivel around in their desk chairs to try and see what was wrong with me. “Sorry. But a camera? Really?”
Now I understood my creepy feelings, the impression that I was under scrutiny. I’d felt like that when I first got here because it was true. There really were eyes on me, and they belonged to Roland Shepard. My skin crawled in earnest.
“I don’t see why you’re so upset about it,” Myra said, shrugging. “How else do you expect the man to keep track of what’s going on in his own office?”
“Well, he could come out here, for one,” I said. “Not lock himself away. He doesn’t have to spy on us. Oh, wait. Does that thing have audio?”
“Of course it does,” she answered, almost crossly. “So does that one, and that one, and that one, and the one in the break room, too. How have you not noticed them?”
Because there were too many other things to notice, like how attractive Dan was, or how afraid I was of not fitting in, or how fast I was running away from my past, or how frightening Roland was, or how mightily I was struggling to prove that I could do this job…somehow. There had been many, many distractions to keep me from noticing the cameras this place was apparently bristling with, but now that I knew they were here, I couldn’t not see them.
Roland watching me get his coffee in the morning, or stopping by to chat with Sam. Roland watching me as I sat at this very desk, staring right back into his eyes through the camera.
I averted my gaze.
“There are cameras everywhere, you know,” Myra said, calm as a cucumber. “You should pretty much assume you’re being recorded everywhere you go, you know. Even our phones have video.”
“It just seems weird,” I said, feeling defeated and cagey. Roland had heard everything I’d said about him while sitting here. I’d been true to how I felt, but that didn’t mean I didn’t feel guilty about my words. They probably weren’t things I’d say to his face, given the chance.
“You’ll get used to it,” Myra said absentmindedly. “It gets nice, after a while. Like a guardian angel, always looking out for you.”
I blinked at her, surprised at her sentimentality. Up until now, Myra had seemed like a no-nonsense woman. She looked up at me, bewildered.
“What?” she asked, then frowned. “Oh, Beauty. Silly girl. It’s not as if Mr. Shepard doesn’t have anything better to do than stare at his employees all day. I imagine he simply glances at the camera on our desk to see if there’s a body in the chair so he can ask us to do something.”
I did feel silly, but I felt no less scrutinized. There wasn’t an inch of the office that escaped the camera’s singular glare. No matter what I did or where I went, there would always be the chance that Roland would be watching me, probably ready to leap at the chance to criticize me for messing up.
The day passed slowly, the cameras a constant, distracting companion. It was difficult to keep up with Myra and keep tabs on the things she was telling me I would have to be doing soon with the feeling that I was being watched and judged very thoroughly.
It was a relief to leave the building at the end of the workday, practically skipping to the parking lot in the sheer joy of not being watched by Roland Shepard on a camera. I imagined him hunched over his laptop, studying my every step, and shuddered. It was too creepy to think about.
“Looking much better than yesterday, if I may say so.”
I turned around in the parking lot to see Dan, twirling a set of keys around on his finger.
“Feeling much better than yesterday, and since I’m not sobbing with makeup running down my face, I think it’s fine that you say so,” I sassed, happy to see that friendly face of his. It was also a relief to be able to talk to whomever I wanted to however I wanted to. I always felt like I was treading on thin ice with Roland. How could Dan be so different from his brother?
“Well, I’m glad that you’re finding your rhythm,” he said, looking me up and down in a way that made me blush. “Though I do remember you used to have plenty at a shitty little bar across the state.”
“I’d prefer to leave the past where it lies,” I said, twirling my own keys to match his boisterous fidgeting.
“That’s the problem with the past, Beauty,” he sighed, his face playing at resignation. “It never lets itself be left behind.”
“Maybe for some people,” I allowed. But not for me. I couldn’t have my past be present right now, not when I was so focused on doing well here, on tentatively moving forward.
“Yeah, maybe just for some people,” he mused. “Well, would you care for a ride to wherever you’re headed? Dinner, perhaps?”
“I have a car,” I reminded him, jingling my keys loudly. “And dinner’s waiting for me at home.”
“Oh?” Dan asked, his ears practically perking up in interest. “Someone waiting for you at home? A boyfriend, eager to impress you with his prowess at the stove?”
“No,” I snorted, laughing. “A crockpot.”
One of the purchases I’d made when I still had Roland’s credit card in my possession was a slow cooker. The packaging promised that I could dump a bunch of ingredients in before I went to work and get home to a delicious dinner. To a person who wasn’t so confident in her cooking skills, that seemed like a damn miracle.
Dan laughed, too, and shook his head. “Well, I’ll let you get to that,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to burn your house down with scorched dinner. But could I take you out sometime? When dinner’s not waiting for you?”
I put my hands on my hips. “That sounds awfully like a date,” I mock scolded. “And I don’t think you want me reporting to human resources that I’m feeling pressured to date my boss.”
“I’m not your boss,” he scoffed. “That’s my brother’s job. And there’s no office policy about dating.”
Dating? Really? Did Dan actually want to date me? My cheeks colored of their own accord, and my stomach seemed to try to take flight inside of my body.