I snapped my mouth shut and narrowed my eyes into glaring slits, trying my damnedest to set him on fire with my eyeballs. No such luck. “I got it,” I answered between clenched teeth.
“Great. Well, hop to it, then.”
With that, the door was rudely slammed shut in my face and I was left honing some newfound murderous tendencies.
It was official.
I hated my job.
By the time the subway pulled into the station closest to my house, I was a sweaty, disgusting mess. My hair had fallen out of its artfully styled chignon. My feet had blisters the size of pancakes from traipsing all around the city in the sweltering summer heat. Harlow’s pretty blouse had a coffee stain across the right boob where I’d tripped and spilled Rowan’s coffee down the front of myself—meaning I had to go back and wait in the long ass line at The Bean a second time. And I was pretty sure a panhandler shoved his hand up my skirt on the subway ride home. The whipped, puss-y topping on the shit sundae that was my day were the million and one text messages I received from Rowan needing me to run yet another errand.
None of those messages were of him asking. Oh, no, they were rude and demanding in nature, and I had to stop myself on multiple occasions from hurling my beloved iPhone into oncoming traffic.
By the time I made it back to his apartment with all his requested items, the coffee had long since grown cold, mimicking his icy attitude.
As I limped up the steps to mine and Harlow’s apartment, I kept thinking of all the reasons I wanted to quit, following closely with all the reasons I couldn’t, i.e. my rent and other such necessities.
“Hello, pumpkin. How was your first day?” Harlow asked in an all too chipper voice once I came through the front door.
“I hate my boss!” I yelled like a crazy person before collapsing to the floor and spreading out on the cool, laminate wood, basking in the feel of it against my overly heated skin.
“What the hell? What happened?” Harlow asked as she took a seat on the floor next to me, brushing my sweat-slicked hair back from my face.
“You mean other than working for a twat-waffle who's the love child of Satan and that 'Mommy Dearest' lady?”
“You mean Joan Crawford?”
“That’s the one.”
“Was he really that bad?”
“Remember that asshole William Chandler from sophomore year?”
Her face scrunched up as she tried to recall who I was talking about. “You mean that dickhead football player, who used to bark at all the girls he thought were ugly?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, shit. That bad?”
“Multiply that times a million and you’ll have Rowan Locklaine.”
Harlow’s gaze grew sympathetic. “Aww, sweetie, I’m so sorry.”
“And if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m pretty sure I lost my no-no hole virginity to a hobo on the subway.”
I was being completely serious. So when Harlow let out an indelicate snort and collapsed in a heap of hysterical laughter next to me, I couldn’t find it in me to share with her in the humor of the situation.
“I’m glad you find my pain so hilarious,” I deadpanned from my spread-eagle position on the floor of our entryway.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she sputtered, tears trailing down her face. “I know it’s not supposed to be funny, but you should see your face right now!”
I was just about to respond with something brilliantly snarky when my cell phone rang from inside my purse. With a groan of pain, I twisted sideways and retrieved it before going back to my original position.
“Shit,” I muttered as I looked at the screen.
“Who is it? Is it him?”
“No, it’s Lauren. Probably calling to tell me I’ve been fired.”
Harlow whacked me on the shoulder, eliciting a pout from me. “Stop being so negative. Answer the phone and I’ll go pour you a glass of wine.”
“In the big glass?” I asked hopefully, referring to the wineglass-shaped vase we found on clearance a year or so ago. It was what we considered our 'emergency glass'.
“Yes, in the big glass, you big baby. Now, answer the damn phone already.”
Steeling my resolve, I slid my finger across the screen and held the phone up to my ear, prepared for the worst.
“Hello?”
“Navie, hello! How are you?”
“I’m, um…” I lifted my head enough to take in my prone position on the floor, only imagining how pathetic I looked. “I’m good?” I had no idea why I answered in the form of a question.
“I’m glad,” Lauren answered. “I was just calling to see how your first day went.”
“It was, uh… um… good?”
Silence came through the line so long I was afraid the call dropped. That was, until I heard her heavy sigh whoosh through the receiver. “What did he do?”
“No! No, it was… fine,” I spouted quickly. “He was fine. Everything was fine. Fine, fine, fine,” I added with a heaping of cheerfulness, hoping it didn’t sound as fake to her as it did to me.
“Navie, please speak freely. I want nothing more than for you to feel comfortable enough with me to tell me the truth.”
While her statement didn’t necessarily put me at ease, it did make me like her all that much more.
“No offense, Lauren. You’re fantastic, but I really need to keep this job.”
“Your job’s safe, sweetie, trust me.”
“Pinky promise?” I asked then quickly face-palmed.
“Swear,” she answered with a light laugh.
“Okay, then. He’s horrible! I can’t believe you’ve worked with him as long as you have and haven’t already been imprisoned for murder. I was seriously contemplating it a time or a thousand today. I can’t stand the guy, and I’m pretty sure he hates me, which doesn’t make sense because I’m a friggin' ray of sunshine! But after the day I’ve had, I’m feeling rather violent. I’ve never felt that way before, and I was bullied in high school, so that’s really saying something!”
After my long-winded rant, I sucked in some much needed oxygen, praying that my mini freak-out hadn’t just cost me my job, but seriously doubting I was still gainfully employed.
“I’m fired, aren’t I?” I asked as I chewed anxiously on my thumbnail, waiting for Lauren to say something.
And what she said was completely unexpected.
“Do you know why I hired you for this position, Navie?”
“Uh… because you secretly hate me, too, and are trying to punish me?”
“No,” she laughed. “I hired you because I saw something in you during that first interview.”
“What did you see?” I asked curiously.
“A backbone,” she answered simply, shocking me into silence. “You’re tough, Navie. It’s not something you wear outwardly, but I could see it in your eyes the moment I met you. And seeing as you just admitted to being bullied, that strength makes sense now. I gave you this job because I had no doubt whatsoever that you could handle it.”
“I think you’re giving me a little too much credit,” I responded humorlessly.
“And I think you’re wrong. A weak person would have gone home and cried into a pint of ice cream. She wouldn’t have gone on a passionate tangent the way you just did. I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“Thank you,” I said softly, truly touched by her impassioned words.
“Look, I know Rowan can be difficult at times—”
“Understatement of the century,” I snorted.
“But,” she continued, “he’s not all bad. I know it’s hard to see that now, but you’re right. I wouldn’t have been able to work with him going on ten years if he was a constant miserable prick. He’s got some demons in his past that make it hard for him to trust anyone. You can’t take it personally. His life made him hard.”
I could understand that. Boy, could I understand that. The fact that Rowan and I shared messed-up childhoods resonated with me and made me a little more sympathetic toward the callous man.