Chapter 5

I t was back, and I put my palm on my breastbone and rubbed, then winced at the feeling that I couldn't push away with my hand. It was more of that pressure—but maybe I was just coming down with a cold. It probably wasn't because of a lack of sleep due to weird dreams, or the party my roommates had thrown. I was fine, which was the message I was relating to my sister through lips that didn't move very much. I didn't want any of my coworkers, including my boss, to know that I was talking on the phone.

"It's ok, I didn't tell him," I assured Addie. "At the moment that I was going to spill my entire life story to my boss, the waiter came with dinner, which I ate too fast to give myself time to talk. Then Beckett ordered more and I ate that, too. I kept the words and the food securely down." I'd been very, very glad that I hadn't thrown up in Beckett's beautiful car, not after I'd eaten Dinner Specials #3 and #5, and flan for dessert.

My sister was quiet for a moment. "Well, I'm glad," she finally said. "But I think that getting drunk with your boss—"

"I didn't mean to do that," I told her. "We were just having dinner."

"Was that a good idea?" she asked, and I could tell that she believed the answer was no, it wasn't. "I guess not ruining his floormats was the best possible outcome, especially since you said that the floormats are worth more than your rent. But JuJu, you're not a kid anymore. How in the heck did you not recognize how strong those margaritas were?"

"I did taste something off. But then he said that his drink was weird, too, and I was dumb." I held up my hands, a gesture that she couldn't appreciate over the phone, but that others could see through my transparent office walls—I quickly put my fingers back on the keyboard. "I think Gigi was trying to do me a favor by making mine stronger," I continued. Her goal, whenever we'd gone out, was to get drunk as fast as possible, so she would have considered all that extra liquor as a true gift. "She was being really nice, and it was really strange. The last time we'd seen each other, she was giving me the finger. I guess it was meant for everyone in this office, though."

"If she's being nice, she might want something," Addie said. She herself was nice, but she wasn't dumb. "What would that be?"

It was a good question. Gigi had talked about the new "opportunities" coming her way, and how she was going to contact me so I could get in on them. That made as much sense as her giving me extra tequila, though. "I have no…oops, got to go," I muttered, and hung up. I looked hard at my monitor as I surreptitiously slid a file over the phone on my desk.

Beckett was walking by with one of the potential new hires, an attorney who seemed to be about my own age. Her interview outfit was great and…I leaned slightly to see. Yeah, her shoes were, too. She had tiny feet; she was tiny all over, which of course didn't matter to me. I didn't care about dwarfing her. I was more concerned about whether she was professional, prepared, and diligent, those qualities that Beckett had once talked about. She sure looked it, like she was the whole package: professional, prepared, petite, and pretty.

I had gotten over my high school hangup of feeling like a baby giraffe around shorter women, all those cute, little ones that guys picked up and carried around while the girls giggled and said things like, "Oh, no, you're so strong and I'm so helpless!" But I was feeling very awkward and baby giraffe-y around Beckett in general. Since the night of the margaritas, I'd tried to keep my distance from him, and any interactions we'd had were totally work-related. Yes, I'd managed to keep myself from pouring out my heart and telling him all my troubles, and thank goodness for that. But Addie had been right: I wasn't a teenager but I'd gotten drunk, sloppy drunk, in front of my boss. Like an idiot. And then, since I was in no condition to drive, he'd wanted to take me home after our dinner, and that had also been awful.

"You can let me off at the corner," I'd said, pointing as we neared my building.

"No, I will not," he'd answered. "I'll be walking you in." That made sense, since I'd had a little trouble getting to his car in the parking lot at Whitaker Enterprises, but I hadn't fallen or anything.

I saw him looking around carefully, checking all the mirrors with eyes that moved quickly. "Maybe the neighborhood isn't the greatest, but it's a nice building," I'd said when he'd finally found a parking spot.

"It's a busy street," he'd noted briefly. "I'm going to come around to your side. Wait for me. Do not open your door and hit the curb."

I had also retained enough awareness to remember not to touch anything in this car. "I won't," I'd promised, and he waited until the traffic cleared enough for him to get out of the driver's side. "Ok, thank you," I'd said when I'd emerged onto the sidewalk. "Good night."

"I told you that I'm walking you in. Right to your door."

Alarm bells had sounded in my addled brain. "No, no. No," I'd responded, but when he'd asked why, I hadn't been able to come up with an appropriate answer that swayed him from his purpose. So he'd taken my elbow and escorted me to the door and into the lobby. I'd seen him glancing around with disapproval.

"They don't keep it up as well as they should," I'd confessed. "We pay a lot in maintenance fees every month, but they don't clean much."

He'd peeled his foot off of a sticky spot in front of the elevator. "No, they don't appear to. Which floor?"

It was always a quick ride up to the second story. Before the outer doors even opened, both the music and the heavy odor of weed had already entered the elevator car. "Sweet Jesus," Beckett had muttered. When we stepped into my hallway, the sound was almost deafening and the smoke made a haze around the overhead lights. "You have awful neighbors," he'd commented.

I hadn't said anything in response. It only got louder and smellier as we approached my apartment, and then it was clear to him that both issues originated from behind the door that I'd pointed out as my own. "Thank you for walking me up," I'd said loudly, so that he could hear. My key never worked quite right—another issue that the building maintenance staff was currently overlooking. I'd jammed it in and tried to twist it as he watched.

It had given him time to ask questions. "I assume that you have roommates? And they're…entertaining tonight?"

"I have two roommates," I agreed, and finally got the key to work. "Thank you. Be careful as you leave."

"Juliet…" he said, and he'd frowned at my front door. "Never mind. I'm glad the baby is all right."

"Me too. Thanks again," I'd told him. I opened the door just enough to get my body through, and I slammed it fast before he could see inside.

My building, the Falstaff, was really great, despite the problems in the lobby. It had recently been remodeled and was under new management, and a lot of people wanted to live there. In fact, it had been difficult to pin down the listing agent and get her to show me an apartment, probably because she had so many other appointments. Then I'd needed to put down a deposit right away to make sure that I wouldn't lose out on the opportunity.

Anyway, at the time that I'd signed the lease, I'd been able to afford a one-bedroom with an office, and I'd bought great furniture to fill the space. Now I was living with two roommates and with the parties they threw, the furniture was taking a beating. The office, which I'd always thought was cute but more like a closet, was now my section of the apartment. I kept most of my work clothes on a bar in the back seat of my car so I didn't get a contact high from wearing them. I also kept the window in my closet bedroom open almost all the time no matter what the weather was like so that I could get some air, even though the traffic noise was very loud on the second floor.

Anyway, since that drunken night, I was embarrassed and constrained around my boss, and clearly my sister Addie agreed that I had good reason to feel that way. I watched as Beckett and the interviewee sat across from each other in his office. I had to give her credit; her body language was totally relaxed, like she wasn't scared of him at all. That just wasn't true about the other people in this department, though. A woman two doors down from me had quit on Monday and I'd seen several other people cleaning up their desks and taking home plants. It made me believe there would be more departures shortly, which absolutely sucked for all of us who would be left because it wasn't as if the workload would decrease even if we shrank in numbers. So, if Beckett decided to hire this woman, this well- dressed and attractive woman with an advanced degree which made her a valuable asset in a company, not disposable at all…

I rubbed my forehead. What? I'd lost my train of thought, which had been happening frequently. There was just a lot going on and I was having a little trouble keeping everything mentally straight. Besides the threat of even more to do here at my job, I was also monitoring the situation in California. My mom and brother were still there and so, of course, was his baby, Esme. She was due to be discharged soon from the hospital but there were so many other problems to deal with. My brother's landlord had threatened to sue him over damage to his apartment and back rent; neither he nor Mom had been able to deal with those issues. I had, after looking up the relevant California statutes and some particular to that city and county, and by using some of the legal terminology I'd learned in my years here at Whitaker Enterprises. I was careful never to represent myself as an attorney, of course, since I'd seen how that had gone for Annis.

I turned again in the direction of Beckett's office. He'd also been wary of me since we'd had our dinner, and I thought I understood why. He probably had a new concept of who I was, one that was far removed from the well-dressed, hard-working woman he saw at the office. He'd gotten an unfortunate, up-close view of the drunk, sloppy version of Juliet and then he'd gotten to see my party-house apartment. That had led him to keep his distance from me, but doing so totally isolated him in our department since I was the only person who voluntarily spoke to him.

And I kept thinking about what he'd said at our dinner about being an adult. What surprised him? The loneliness. I remembered his expression after he'd said it, too, as if he'd surprised himself with the words. I looked through the walls and thought about it, and suddenly Beckett looked back at me. Our eyes locked for a moment before he quickly turned his head toward the woman across the desk from him. He nodded slightly at something she said.

From beneath the folder where I'd hidden it, my phone chirped softly and I slid the paper so I could see who was calling—and then I was so curious that I had to answer. Knowing her, I lowered the volume even further.

"Gigi?"

Even with the phone turned down, she was still too loud. "Hey, mama!"

Mama? "How do you have my number?" I asked. We had never texted or talked.

"Annis let me read everyone's personnel files. You wouldn't believe the shit I know about the people in that office, including you," she answered. "What's going on? You had fun the other night, right? You're fucking welcome for the extra shots! Did you screw the boss or what?"

"What do you want?" I responded. It was hard to hold a conversation without moving my lips.

"No need to be a bitch," she informed me, losing the happy tone she'd had before and sounding a lot more like the woman I'd worked with for two years. "Come down to the coffee shop."

"I'm busy right now."

"Fine," she said. "I guess I'll have to find somebody else who wants to make a shit-ton of money under the table."

There was a short silence before I asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Come down and find out," she answered, and hung up.

I stayed at my desk, though. If she had a magical path to making large amounts of untaxed income, then she wouldn't have been working as a waitress. Right? Right. No, I wouldn't go talk to her, because she was a liar whom I'd never liked. What kind of "opportunities" would she actually have? None. Right?

My phone chirped again and I lifted a corner of the folder to see…no, not that. My hand went to my chest because the stupid pressure…

I watched Beckett and the potential hire stand and then he opened his office door for her. They walked toward the elevators, still talking, and neither of them glanced at any of the rest of us. They disappeared around the corner and I waited, staring at the clock on my monitor until two minutes had passed. Then I grabbed my coat off the back of my chair and I went to go see what the heck Gigi was talking about.

"I knew you'd come," she congratulated herself when she saw me.

I took the chair across from her at the little table. "Why did you call me?"

"We're girlfriends," she said. "We help each other out."

"No, we're not friends and I know you don't want to help me. I don't need it, anyway."

She took a drink from the paper cup in front of her and I silently admired her new nails. "Yeah, you do, and I have an opportunity that could be good for both of us, like quidditch."

"What? The Harry Potter game?"

"Are you stupid? It means giving a favor to get a favor. I'm offering something to you and it's good for me, too."

"Explain what you mean," I said.

She did, but only vaguely. Her man was looking for help with his business, she told me. She didn't say exactly what that business was, but the job she was offering to me was so easy. I'd be delivering envelopes to different places around the city, that was all. Just deliveries.

"No, thanks," I said, and stood up. "I'm not going to be a drug mule."

"It's not drugs!" she insisted, as if I was supposed to trust the woman who'd previously stolen from the tip jar at this very coffee shop…I looked behind the counter, because if the same manager was here and noticed that Gigi had come back, then there was going to be a very ugly confrontation.

"It's not drugs, it's just information stuff," she continued, just as vaguely. "They need a courier because it's too secret to send a text or say it on the phone. You'd probably get tips, too." Her eyes also went to the register where the jar sat, the one she'd dipped into to pay for a very fancy drink when she was short on funds. "I thought that was for everyone," she'd yelled as that manager had told her to get out and that she was banned.

"Ok, so it's a legit job," I said, although I didn't believe it. "And you thought of me…" I let the sentence trail off as I raised an eyebrow.

"Have you ever been arrested?"

"What? No, of course not!"

"Of course not," she mimicked, and shook her head.

"I almost got in trouble in college. Once, I talked my way out of a big speeding ticket," I said.

"That right there," she said, nodding. "You've never had any real problems because you have that prissy, suburban, stick-up-your-ass way about you."

"I'm not from the suburbs. I'm not prissy!" I defended myself. "I've done plenty of bad things. And I do have problems."

She only rolled her eyes at that. "You're trustworthy, too," she told me. "You get your shit done. I told them that they can depend on you."

"Who is ‘them?'" I asked, but she didn't want to answer.

"You could do it after work, weekends, whenever. It's time-sensitive stuff so sometimes you could go out during your lunch break," she continued. "Depending on how many runs you make, you could bring home a couple thousand." She paused. "A week."

"Are you kidding me? For bringing envelopes of ‘information stuff' that definitely isn't drugs, I could make a couple thousand dollars under the table?" I stood up. "See you, Gigi."

"Come on, Juliet! I get a finder's fee if I bring in someone who works out. You could just try it and see where it takes you."

"I think it would take me straight to jail. Bye." I heard her swearing, saying that I had wasted her time, and that was probably true except I also knew that she wasn't someone to worry about productivity or deadlines. But those things were definitely part of my own life now and I should have stayed at my desk. Why had I bothered going to meet her, anyway? She was either trying to scam me or get me in trouble.

A couple thousand a week. I thought about that, about how much I owed to my sister Sophie, to my credit card companies, and to others. Before, I hadn't kept track of what I was spending or where it was going, but I'd forced myself to figure it all out (despite how it made me sick to look at the problem in black and white). So now, I maintained a spreadsheet on my phone with all the latest numbers, including interest and late fees, and next to each line I put my evaluation of the threat level, too. I looked at that as I rode the elevator back up to the twentieth floor and I read the text of an hour ago that I had ignored, the message that said my name and address and one other word: "Pay."

Beckett wasn't back at his own desk yet, and I bet that he, the new lawyer, and probably some important people from the thirtieth floor were going out to a nice lunch together. Well, that was what happened when you put yourself into a good position by studying hard and getting an advanced degree that was worth something. She was receiving the treatment that she deserved. I took out a bag of stale pretzels from my bottom drawer, chewed on those, and felt sorry for myself, even though I was fully aware that I had been the careless architect of my own precarious position.

I made one of my running trips to the bathroom, and when I returned, Beckett was in his office. Before I even sat down, I got a message to join him there, which I did after grabbing a notebook. After several of these meetings, in which information came rapid-fire, I always went prepared.

He nodded at me when I took a seat across from him, and I nodded back. Then he frowned at one of his screens for a while and mentioned, "I don't think the Monday treats are having the effect I was after."

"Oh, did they quit?"

His chin jerked around and now he stared at me. "Who?"

"Uh…"

"It's Harpreet," he said. "Or is it Marek?"

I didn't want to say that it wasn't only those guys. "The brownies are great, but I think you're right that they're not enough."

"They should be happy to hear that we will extend offers to an attorney and two experienced paralegals," he said. "I anticipate them all accepting."

"Is the attorney the woman who was just here?"

"Yes," he said, and outlined her education and experience for me. It sounded great, and I said so.

"I agree," Beckett answered. "Camille seems to have worked to her potential, which I appreciate. She actively sought opportunities and made the most of them. Internships, academic societies, clubs. She's exactly where she should be in her career."

I shifted in my chair. "Good for her. Is that why you wanted me to come in? To tell me about this new lawyer?"

"I also wanted to go over the contract you worked on for the Troy complex," he said, and he had a lot to show me. There were at least twenty errors that he called to my attention, some glaring and some small, and most I hadn't even known were mistakes at all.

"I'm not a lawyer myself," I said when he paused for breath. "I'm doing the best I can."

"It will be better for you to have more supervision," he agreed, nodding. "Camille can also be a role model for you."

"A role model?"

"A mentor," he amended. "Someone you could emulate."

"I feel like usually mentors are old people. Older," I also amended, when he frowned.

"That's incorrect. Anyone who can provide a positive example and cogent advice could serve as a mentor. Anyone who has progressed in her career so quickly and efficiently, and who has been able to meet and exceed expectations. As Camille has," he explained.

I thought about my brother's baby, that tiny little red girl in the hospital in San Francisco. Maybe this Camille could stand in as a mentor for her, too. "I'm fine without that," I stated. "I don't need one."

"Again, that's incorrect. Mentors are extremely useful, especially for someone who lacks direction and has no clear-cut goals. Someone in your position."

"That's not my position!"

"What are your objectives?" Beckett asked. He leaned over the desk toward me. "Name them." He paused briefly. "Are you interested in furthering your education?" he prompted. "Are you interested in becoming a paralegal, a lawyer? Do you have any aspirations beyond your current position?"

"Are you trying to get me to leave, too?" I asked. "Is that your career goal?"

"I've already met several of mine," he informed me. "Years ago, I created a spreadsheet with carefully considered steps and timelines."

"You'd like my sister Nicola. She does that same kind of planning, and then you know what happens? Life," I said testily. "You get messed up by stuff that's beyond your control."

"I'm aware of that," he said, and although his tone didn't change very much, I could tell that he was getting testy, too. "I'm perfectly aware that things rarely go exactly to plan, but everyone should have goals."

"Who says I don't?" I challenged.

"I say it," he answered. "You've been here for years and yet you haven't made a single move to advance in this company. And after I saw how you live, in that dirty flophouse that smells like a dispensary went up in flames—"

"That's my personal life, and it's none of your business," I said, and stood. "As long as I'm doing my work, then you don't need to concern yourself with anything else. Are we clear?"

His jaw dropped, and I recalled that I was, in fact, speaking to my boss.

"I'll see myself out," I said, and walked very fast back to my own office. Then I picked up my phone, wrote two texts, and got to work again—with my heart pounding, and waiting for the moment that Beckett would tell me that he and HR needed to talk to me, and to get a cardboard box ready for the stuff in my desk.

I didn't hear that, but there was a lot of reaction to the messages I sent. "I don't understand what you mean," my mom wrote. "I thought we'd decided that you'd move home to help! Why are you backing out of our arrangement when your brother needs you?"

I'd never said that I would move back home when they returned with the baby, but I'd known that she really wanted me to. "I can't," I wrote to her. "I'm getting stuck with a lot more responsibility at work from that boss I hate so much. I'm hardly going to have much time at all to help out."

She kept texting, getting more and more upset, but finally I said that I was going into a meeting because I couldn't think of any more excuses to give her. It was much easier to deal with the other answer I'd received, but that was also more humiliating.

"I knew it," Gigi wrote back, with a string of laughing emojis. She sent an address and told me to meet her there after work.

The other big news of the day came at the end, when both Harpreet and Marek quit. It was a good thing for me, because there was no way that Beckett would have been able to fire me, even when I had spoken to him in a way I didn't think he'd ever heard from an employee before. I'd certainly never talked back like that to a boss, coach, or teacher, not to any "superior," although I did believe that he deserved it. My apartment was not in a flophouse, and the Falstaff was a very desirable building for people my age. And so what if I hadn't done anything to advance in this stupid company? I'd been busy with other stuff, having fun and living life, unlike him. All he did was sit in his office and then pretend like that was something to be proud of, like we all should try to emulate the lonely guy who wasted his time on Earth at a job where his employees were afraid of him and hated him.

As I packed up my bag at the end of the day, I was aware of him starting down the hall towards my office. I ignored it, but I was aware. I left and walked to the elevator and didn't pay attention to him following behind me until he said my name.

"A moment of your time," he added, and held out his hand toward the lunchroom. I went in when he held the door, and then we stood there and looked at each other across the table.

I broke the silence. "I apologize for snapping at you. It won't happen again."

He nodded. "Thank you. I understand that I shouldn't have insulted your apartment building. I was shocked by its state of disrepair and the unbelievable odor of weed. I had no idea that you lived—" He stopped. "I found it upsetting but shouldn't have commented on it."

He'd found it upsetting? Well, he hadn't fully apologized but we were partway there. "Ok. Good that we cleared everything up."

"No, we haven't. I'm not sorry that I suggested that you need a mentor. I think it would be extremely helpful to you," he stated. "I also want to address our meal the other night."

"What about it?"

"It won't happen again. It shouldn't have happened in the first place."

"No, I didn't mean to get drunk and I'm pretty embarrassed." Right at this moment, I could feel my face heating up to demonstrate those feelings of shame and also anger. Obviously, I hadn't meant to act like an idiot. Obviously, I had, but why did he have to rub it in my face?

"I was embarrassed for you, too," he explained.

"Oh. Thanks," I told him, and he nodded and missed the sarcasm.

"We shouldn't have gone out together. We're not friends," he informed me. "I'm your superior at this company and while we can be work acquaintances, that's the extent of our relationship."

"Have you been thinking that I was after more from you? I'm not—no way," I sputtered. "That's disgusting."

"Disgusting?" he repeated.

"You're a lot older than I am, a lot."

"Eight years," he put in, but I kept going.

"The idea that I would date my boss—no. That's a totally weird power imbalance and would probably lead to both of us getting in trouble. There's a whole section about that in the employee handbook."

"You really read that?"

"Anyway," I continued, "I'm not looking for a relationship with anyone. I've never wanted that kind of thing. Why would I tie myself down to only one person? I won't."

"If you did, that person wouldn't be me, your superior," he added.

I didn't want to hear "superior" come out of his mouth, not one more time. "If I did want to settle down, then the guy would have to be pretty amazing. He would have to be the kind of person that I would want to spend time with, not someone who makes me check my phone every second, hoping and praying that a lion escaped from the zoo and is in the elevator on the way up here, or that a sinkhole is sucking down the city of Detroit and will take me with it."

"You're hoping for an emergency? That's why you continually check your phone when we meet?"

"I would want someone fun and interesting," I persisted. "Someone who likes to do things other than work, someone with hobbies."

"Hobbies? Like making bracelets or collecting stuffed animals?"

"I would want someone who saw me and immediately knew that I was the person for him."

He winced. "Sweet Jesus, like a cartoon movie? Does a glass slipper have a part in this story?"

"No! I'm talking about reality. In reality, I would never be with a guy with no life outside of going to the gym and making people hate him," I concluded, and I knew that I'd gone way, way too far. He was glaring.

"Um, I have an appointment," I said. "I have to go."

"We'll discuss this more tomorrow," he said as I was on my way out the door, but I definitely would not be doing that. I had other things on my mind, ones that were making me anxious enough that I could hardly breathe from the pressure.

But it would be worth it. "It's a piece of cake," Gigi assured me as we walked toward the warehouse. "You'll make a few trips and get a huge payout. You'll never do less for more money."

"I have no idea what's in these packages," I stated. "I just want to say that."

"What, like to cover your ass legally?" She laughed. "Bitch, if this goes sideways, I'm not sticking around to testify. They'll be trying to call me and I'll be on a beach in Brazil. I think it's summer there right now because they're upside down."

This was the woman I was putting my trust in? I opened my purse and felt the pepper spray, and I stopped walking.

"I already got part of my finder's fee for recruiting you," she said. "Look." She unzipped her purse, too, and pulled out a thick stack of bills. "Piece of cake."

I looked at the money in her hand. I'd swum the five-hundred-yard freestyle (not my best stroke and definitely not my best distance) at a meet while I had mono, because my team needed me. I wasn't a person to give up when life got tough. If I made these deliveries, things could get a lot easier, too.

"Let's go," I told Gigi.

She laughed. "I never thought you were pretty, but all this desperation makes you even uglier. Yeah, let's go get your money."

We walked toward the warehouse and I started praying again. I hoped that I wasn't veering off toward yet another terrible choice. But…

Sugar. Maybe I was only making things worse.