There’s only half an hour until the meeting starts. Every muscle in my body is tense, my bones so heavy I feel as if I could fall through my chair.
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. If I’m going to do this, I need to get into that meeting room now.
But just as I’m about to lift myself up, Caitlin huffs and bangs out of her chair, grabbing her phone and barreling back toward the boardroom.
“Don’t go in there!” Rhonda calls right when Caitlin reaches the threshold.
“I’m just going to sit for a while,” Caitlin says, sighing. “I need a break.”
There’s something off about her—she sounds worn, her lips thin and chin bent low.
Rhonda shakes her head, her hanging earrings jangling. “Not in there. Gregory’s got a meeting soon and I need to set the waters up.”
Fucking hell. I forgot that Gregory has Rhonda treat his meetings like he’s the CEO on Mad Men. She’d be only too happy to wheel in a whiskey cart if the custom still applied.
Caitlin sighs again and pauses for a second like she’s debating her response. “Whatever,” she finally says, and returns to her desk, stuffing her phone back into her five-hundred-dollar basic black purse. I know the cost only because when Kyle gifted it to her for their anniversary, Garret held it up and announced it to the whole room.
I need to get in there. But with Rhonda keeping watch, I’ve got no chance. And judging from the fresh steaming cup of tea on her desk and the Excel grid I can see open on her computer, mouse hovering on the first row, she’s there for the long haul.
I need to distract everyone, and fast. And I know only one thing that is guaranteed to get everyone up from their desks in a matter of seconds.
Before I can think too hard, I’m out of my chair. I head toward the bathroom, then pivot and speed walk down the hallway to the elevator. As soon as the doors open to the lobby, I race toward Artistic Coffee, the café next to our building. One only makes a purchase here out of desperation. The “artistry” from its namesake must be performative: keeping a straight face while serving diarrhea juice.
Mara, the alleged barista who has been working here since I started, doesn’t acknowledge me as I walk in. I move up to the counter and call, “Are your scones your cheapest pastries?”
She nods, finally turning to look directly at me. Several piercings rise with her brows as she eyes me up.
“Great, I’ll take three please.”
The clock is ticking. Three forty-seven p.m. She bags them up and hands them to me with her heavily ringed fingers. The scones are hard as rocks and probably dry as shit, but that’s for the best. This can’t be too flashy; anything too good, like Cliff’s donuts, and the entire floor would be up in an instant, marking me as the outlier.
I make my way back up to the office and swipe myself into the big lunchroom. Luckily, it’s completely empty, the lights off. I drop the scones onto the center of the table and head back to the pods.
Armin is drooping so low in his chair it’s a wonder he doesn’t fall face-first onto his desk. Caitlin is slowly clacking away. Rhonda is taking a sip from her mug, humming to herself as she moves her icon from row 2 to row 3 of her grid.
How to get them up without alerting the entire office?
I sit down at my desk and go into my email, clicking open a blank message. My mouse hovers over my name to the option beneath it in the “From” section. I’ve used the admin account only to read other people’s emails, not compose one of my own. I suck in air through my teeth and summon my most admin of admin voices:
From: Supershops Admin
BCC: Caitlin Joffrey; Armin Habib; Rhonda Staples
Subject: Thank you for your great work
Dear Supershops employee,
To express our appreciation to our most hardworking employees this quarter, we’ve sent special gifts to lunchroom number 417.
Please collect your own gift ASAP. One per person.
Regards,
Management
I hit send, and it’s instantaneous. Before I can even indulge in my dread, I hear the distinctive double tap of Rhonda opening her email. My heart is attempting to break from my rib cage and sprint across the office.
After a beat, Rhonda shrugs and stands up, heading toward the lunchroom. A few seconds later Caitlin gets up too. I’m somehow both relieved and scared shitless.
Armin doesn’t go, but the good news is he might actually be dead with the way his lifeless body is leaning on the desk.
This is my chance. Through my pounding heart and dry throat, I make my way into the boardroom. Panic closes in while I’m scanning for a spot to leave the phone. It’s too barren to hide anything well.
I rush to my desk, pull the tissue box from my bottom drawer, drop my phone in, and sprint back to the boardroom to leave it on the table. I’ll have to hope nobody has any cold symptoms.
I emerge just as Larry Goodwin passes. I stop in my tracks in the threshold like a deer in headlights as he walks around me. A half second later, Gregory exits his office.
I’m going to shit my pants.
I put on my best neutral face and trot back to my desk. Just as I sit down, Caitlin and Rhonda round the corner, a scone each in hand.
Caitlin smiles and says way too loud, “It’s so nice to have our hard work recognized.”
Larry Goodwin halts in his tracks, dripping a slosh of water from his freshly filled bottle. “You guys got praised? What for?”
Caitlin speaks louder, chin jutting out. “Oh, just some of us got a little something in recognition of our hard work. It was in an email.” Her eyes tilt my way as Larry’s narrow on the scone in her hand.
Armin jostles awake, squinty-eyed. He clicks his mouse and views his screen.
Larry huffs; it’s incredible how quickly the sweat can accumulate on his temples. “What, from Gregory?” He wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. His attention draws to Marla, who’s walking from the printer room with a stack of papers in hand. “Hey, Marla, did you hear? Some people are getting recognition scones from Gregory!”
I’m dying. Sweat pools in my pits while I stare at my hands.
Marla gives him a confused look while Armin says, “Hey, Lar, if you want you can go have mine. I don’t want it.”
Larry lets out a disbelieving puff. “You got one too? Oh my god.”
He marches back to his office double speed. As he disappears around the corner, I spot Cliff coming from the other direction. He walks right past my desk but doesn’t even look up to say hi, just stares down at his phone. Heat flashes across my cheeks. Gregory suddenly turns to stare straight at me. Our eyes catch and he looks at me appraisingly. There’s something mysterious in his gaze, like he’s thinking something messed up, and it makes my skin prickle. I swing back around to look at my monitor.
Caitlin calls, “Oh, hi, Gregory. Thanks for the scone.”
His brow twists. “What?”
I turn to stone.
I need to step in. I need to say something, do something—
A buzz suddenly tears through the room. Caitlin darts for her phone and stabs at it to turn it off. “Sorry, my fiancé’s just trying to plan a weekend thing and—” Her shoulders drop as her phone starts ringing again in her hands. “I’ll remind him that I can’t talk during work hours.”
Gregory smiles. “Young love is exciting. But it’s smart to not let it distract you when you’re here.” And he leans closer. “Might be how errors sneak into the building.”
She shrinks into herself and nods.
Cliff walks into the boardroom and Gregory follows behind him, closing the door.
My hands are shaking so hard I can barely move my mouse across my screen to fake work. It’s taking so much effort to rein myself in, I almost don’t notice Armin watching me.
A DM for Caitlin flashes across the screen. I can barely look at it.
Armin: Hey, didn’t Jolene get a scone?
Caitlin: I guess not. Ha!
Caitlin: So the “exciting incentive program” Gregory mentioned at the meeting was . . . plain scones from Artistic Coffee? And to leave them in the lunchroom like that—what the fuck?
I blink several times, trying not to twitch or do anything weird with my face.
Armin: That’s Gregory’s brand. He’s always giving us rewards that are secretly punishments to put us in our place.
Caitlin: I mean true. Remember the “pizza party” we “won”?
Armin: I almost punched the guy when I caught him bogarting all the microwaves to heat the shit up.
Caitlin: I guess this is better than Kirkland brand pizza pops. The cheap prick.
I stifle a chuckle. I remember the lead-up to that party that Greg kept selling us on: the printouts with graphics of actual pizza-shaped food—a defining moment about this place. Caitlin thanked Gregory for the pizza about a million times at the party. She sold her enjoyment so well that I genuinely worried for her.
I knew she was good with the BS, but I guess even I can’t see through everything about her.
Thirty minutes pass in silence. I drag my mouse across my desktop, making grey boxes on top of my default wallpaper. I open the calculator app and type in random numbers.
Finally, the door to the boardroom clicks open. I don’t turn around, but I can sense the two of them emerge. Gregory’s footsteps sound behind me, heading back to his office. A moment later, I glimpse Cliff walking past. Again, he keeps his head down, eyes on his phone, until he disappears around the corner.
I can’t just go and grab my phone right away. So I wait another fifteen minutes in agony.
Finally, once I’m certain that everyone is thoroughly entranced by the light of their monitors, I head to the boardroom.
When I step back out, I halt when I clock Armin watching me. His eyes shift, before he turns back to his monitor and throws his earphones back over his head.
I stand there for a beat, clutching my phone. There’s no way he noticed I didn’t walk in with it. I’m sure I’m just being paranoid.