Not hard to believe if your head isn’t lodged up your…root chakra. “You can even ask Ziggy. He knows about it. I’m not denying I filled in the rest of the information. But I did not sign her name, and I certainly didn’t sign it wrong.”
“I’ve just got a horrible feeling about the whole situation. Maybe we made a mistake with you. I don’t want to deal with another employee who is just out for herself and filled with defensive energy. It’s very prickly and hard to be around.”
“You’d seriously fire me over a receipt book I didn’t even ruin? But I—”
“If you’re going to continue to be so defensive, there isn’t going to be a place at Inner Space for you.”
My legs feel hollow, and I sit on the bed. I can’t lose this job when I haven’t found anything else out there. So I swallow back the outrage, burning with righteous indignation. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry, Fern. Just deduct it from my check.” It can’t be more than, like, twelve bucks for one of those receipt books. It’s the principle of the thing that makes me want to scream, but Phyllis was right about one thing—she knows how to work Fern and Ziggy.
And I can’t get even with her if I’m fired.
“Good girl. I’m so glad we cleared the air about this. And I’m all for taking initiative, but you shouldn’t have filled out the rest of her information either. That’s the responsibility of the therapists so that things like this don’t happen.”
My teeth are gritted so hard my jaw aches. “I hear you. I won’t overstep my bounds again.”
“Great. Oh, and I’m going to need you to come in tomorrow.”
“On a Sunday?” I swear I can feel her disapproval radiating through the phone, so I ask brightly, “What time?”
“Four o’clock—but just for a few minutes to talk to Blake. Ziggy booked a new client with him, but he can’t remember if he put it in the schedule. Or told Blake about it.”
Damn it. Blake goes by the online employee schedule alone, so if he wasn’t told and it’s not in the system, then he won’t show up. And there’s no guarantee he’d see a note left out for him. “You can’t phone him?”
“We’re not at the office anymore.”
And you can’t mosey back there? “And you don’t have an employee contact information list at home?” Silence. “Ah, I see. What was the new patient’s name?”
“Ziggy can’t remember the last name.” Of course not. “But he remembers her first name. Janine. Or Jolene. Maybe Jennifer.”
“And the appointment is tomorrow?”
“Either for tomorrow or next Sunday. He can’t recall.”
“I’ll take care of it.” At least it’s only for a few minutes.
“And we’ll need you to go in from nine until five on Monday as well. Actually, nine until six.”
My three-day holiday is swiftly evaporating. “I thought you gave me the day off.”
“Right, but if clients call to book, it would be best to have a real, live person answering the phones even if we’re gone. It shows them we’re always available to them. And you don’t normally get three-day weekends, so you’re not really missing out on anything.”
Disregarding that since I have to go fix Ziggy’s screw-up, I’m not even getting a two-day weekend—and I have to take Dad’s pills to him. He called in the prescription, but I couldn’t get there before they closed on Friday. I won’t be able to pick his pills up if I’m working nine to six since his tiny pharmacy closes at six on Mondays. “Fern, I can’t. I have to pick up my dad’s pills and get them to him.”
“We don’t support big pharmaceuticals. He should really find a homeopathic tincture or something holistic instead.”
“They’re for his heart,” I snap. “Aromatherapy or a soothing chant isn’t going to cut it!”
“We prefer if you keep your home issues at home to avoid clouding your work energy.”
“But—”
“Sarah.”
I blow out a breath. “It’s fine. I’ll take a cab there during my lunch break.”
“Oh, you can’t leave during your break. Since you won’t really be taking care of clients, you may have lunch at your desk, but we want you there the whole day.”
“But his pills—”
“Be there Monday at 9:00 a.m. and stay until 6:00, or don’t bother coming in again.”
She hangs up without bothering to hear my reply.
I turn my phone off. What am I going to do? They’ll be able to check the electronic records for the security system, so they’ll know when I disarm and arm it. I can’t leave the place open and go to get the pills. Especially since an hour is optimistic for traveling to the pharmacy at that time of day.
Bitter tears of frustration slip down my cheeks. I’m barely breathing, not wanting to make a sound and cry in front of Jack. I just got things back on track; I can’t let anyone know how perilously close everything is to going off the rails now. I have no choice but to make this job work.
Like that saying goes, would you rather be right or happy? Only in my case, it’s would I rather be right or employed. I’m going to renew my efforts to find a new job though. I’ve been a bit complacent about finding something else these past few weeks, but if this call was anything to go on, I’m not as “in” as I thought I was—and Fern and Ziggy are not as good as I thought they were. Naomi was right. I scrub my face. Jack won’t be here more than a few minutes. I only have to hold it together until he leaves. Then I’ll be pathetic for a few minutes and sort this out. If that’s possible.
One more deep breath and I stride into the kitchen like nothing’s bothering me. “Sorry about that.” I busy myself turning on the water in the sink and fussing with the two dishes that are in there like they need to be washed now.
He sets his glass down. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just have a lot to do this weekend. Thanks for bringing the box.”
“Sarah.”
My face heats up, and I let out the breath I’m holding. “If you could show yourself out, that would be—”
“Stop it.” His hands stroke my upper arms, and his body heat warms my back. “Tell me what happened.”
Tears of frustration leak from my eyes despite my efforts to hold them back. “I hate them so much, Jack.” My voice cracks on his name and he turns me around, pulling me close.
His arms wrap around me, blocking out the frustration and shading everything except his warmth and scent. “What happened?”
I summarize the phone call while sniveling into his chest.
He gives me a squeeze. “No problem. You quit working for those soulless pricks, and I’ll give you a job at my club.”
My heart soars for a moment before crashing back to reality. “No, that feels like running away. Besides, what am I going to do at your club? I can’t bartend or serve. Dishwashers don’t make enough money to sustain me, and I haven’t got the upper-body strength to be a bouncer.”
“You’ll be my new all-star DJ.”
“Jack.”
“You’re so fucking stubborn.”
“You know I’m right.” I pull back. “And I can’t let Phucking Phyllis beat me.”
He sighs. “Then you go to work Monday, and I’ll pick up your dad’s pills and take them to him in Bambi.”
Bambi is the old Civic Jack has had forever and parks in a private lot that charges more than the car is worth. He and Pete christened it Bambi after an unfortunate road trip upstate in high school when they discovered the car was a deer magnet. The deer were fine, but Bambi still has dents. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not. I’m offering.” He strokes my hair. “No, I’m telling you. You go to work for those assholes, and I’ll sort out the rest for your dad. And you will come home and look for a new job where the bosses aren’t evil assholes.”
Sinking back into his hug, I wallow in the comfort for a few seconds. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed having someone to give me a hug when I’ve had a shitty day—someone to t
alk to who isn’t a phone call away. But it’s not just missing a warm body. It’s Jack.
This feels really domestic for the guy I normally see across a crowded dance floor—and I like it. The fact that his biceps are on display doesn’t hurt either.
Kiss me, Jack. Just do it. “You’re a great friend, Jack. Thank you.”
He rubs my back and steps away. “No thanks needed.”
“Hang on.” I text him the address of the pharmacy. “It’s all paid for, ready for pickup. Thank you so much. For the job offer too.”
“Let me know if you change your mind. We’ll figure something out. See you later.”
I walk him to the door. “Bye.”
Feelings other than gratitude bump against themselves, knocking around inside my heart as Jack walks away.
I close the door and lock it.
Chapter 10
The lights are on and the security system is disarmed when I step into the clinic at three fifty on Sunday afternoon, cranky from the heat and the annoying number of assholes on Citi Bikes who I had to dodge on the way over. It’s Sunday—I should be lounging around without a bra on, but instead…
An attractive redhead is filling out paperwork. My computer is on as well, and I open Blake’s schedule and see the name of the new patient.
“Dannica?”
She looks up. “Yes?”
“You’re here to see Blake today?”
“Yes. He gave me the forms.”
“Perfect. Just checking.” I blot my upper lip with the back of my hand.
She smiles and goes back to the clipboard.
Ziggy was way off with her name. More annoyingly, I came here for nothing. Blake obviously has things under control, but I might as well stay and catch up on the last load of laundry from Friday night. I’m not eager to hop right back on the sweltering train either. At least it’s reliably air-conditioned in here. Funny, dishwashers are the machinery of the devil, but Fern and Ziggy are fine with air-conditioning.
Maybe chakras spin better in colder climates.
The first thing that catches my eye when I enter the kitchen is Blake, bent over and pulling the last towel from the depths of the basket. Damn, that’s a tight butt. “You’re doing the laundry again? I think I might keep you.”
He throws the towel into the washer and smiles at me over his shoulder. “Promises, promises. How are you?”
“I’m fine. You?”
“Pretty good. Not to seem rude, but why are you in today? I normally never see anyone.”
I lean against the door frame. “Ah. Ziggy and Fern weren’t sure if you knew about Dannica, so they asked me to come in and check.”
“Why didn’t they come in themselves?”
“Holiday. They went on a weekend retreat somewhere.”
“Nice.” His lips tweak into a wry smile.
“Yeah.” I notice the load in the dryer is almost done. “Have you been here awhile?”
“Long enough to do some laundry.”
“My shoulders thank you.”
“Hey, if they’re in bad shape…”
While the thought of him rubbing my tension out is actually appealing, it’s appealing for the wrong reasons and would end up being an awkward situation. “Maybe another time.”
“Let me know. I should get out there, see if Dannica’s finished the intake.”
“Yeah.” I move to the sink to do some dishes that were left after I cleaned on Friday, and Blake leaves. I hear the door to his room close as I dry the last cup and head back to the front desk. Blake is looking for something in the top left drawer and perks up when he sees me.
“Have you seen the label maker?”
“Yes.” I pull it from the bottom desk drawer and hand it over.
“Thanks.” He takes it with a wink and heads to the kitchen. I want a reason to follow to see what he’s doing with the label maker, but I can’t think of an excuse, so I sit and admire his butt as he walks away.
A moment later, the dryer’s buzzer goes off, and I scurry to the kitchen. In Blake’s hand is the special sugar for the teas. We keep it in a glass jar labeled “Fair-Trade Raw Sugar” so everyone knows how green and eco-friendly we are. I arch an eyebrow at him as I open the dryer door and pull out a towel. He turns the jar, and I immediately see no difference.
Then I realize that instead of saying “Fair-Trade Raw Sugar,” the little red label says “Forced-Labor Raw Sugar.”
“Forced-labor raw sugar?”
He scrunches up his face. “God, that label’s been bugging me for months. Yeah, fair-trade sugar is such bullshit. Fair pay would be worth promoting. Frigging hippies.”
I ugly-laugh at this unexpectedly delightful turn of events. Finally, an ally in this place. “And Gandhi forbid you bring in chocolate that isn’t certified organic.” I tap the jar. “You have no idea how much I love this. Why can’t you work here full-time?”
He grins. “Too much of a good thing? Don’t tell on me.” He nods at the jar.
“No way. It’s more fun this way.”
He disappears into his client’s room to get to work. I wonder how long it will take for the hippies to notice. But their anticipated reaction isn’t even the coolest part—it’s the inside joke, and also Blake changing the label in the first place. He didn’t do it for a reaction; he just did it for the sake of doing it. He knows the label is there, and that is all that matters to him. That the label bugged him enough to bother creating a new one for his own peace of mind is one of the funniest things I’ve seen.
Oh, I could like Blake a lot.
I decide to wait until the load of towels is finished in the washer. I’ll put them in the dryer and make a quick getaway to salvage the rest of the evening.
Might as well check out the Missed Connections while I’m here waiting. I normally wouldn’t surf the Internet at work, but since the hippies called me in on my day off for no reason, I feel a certain degree of latitude is warranted.
It was that look in your eyes.
I look at lots of people.
It’s uncommonly rare to find a woman in passing who will give you direct eye contact. Most avert their gazes, denying the smallest, yet most important connection two people can share.
Okay so far.
You walked in the north entrance of Fairway, and our eyes met.
Not me.
I guess it’s true though. I don’t look strangers in the eye for long, not wanting to encourage an unwanted interaction. Some guys skip being assertive and land in aggressive, and I’d rather avoid the awkward moment when I have to convince a guy I’m really not interested. The catcalling is especially out of hand now that it’s hot out. If one more strange man tells me to smile, I swear to God…
You, Polka Dots
I wore polka dots last week.
So just a few minutes ago at the deli at 3rd and 34th, you, polka-dot miniskirt, and I shared a long look. Wanted to get closer to you in line, but it didn’t happen. I left with another long look to see what would happen. Polka Dots, if you read this, we should do something about it.
Kind of cute how he calls her Polka Dots, but definitely not me.
Daniel. Barber. Nose Ring.
This one’s just someone looking for their old barber because they went to the shop and got a “mediocre haircut from someone else.” Guess I’m spoiled to have Pete at my beck and call when it comes to my hair.
For the Third Week in a Row
Could be about my transit habits.
For the third time in three weeks, the shower in the gym was crowded and my penis was the smallest. Needed to get that off my chest.
I snort, laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
Blake’s voice from behind me makes me jump, but the hands that begin rubbing my shoulders make me melt into a puddle on the desk. “Oh. I, uh… There was this thing; it was funny.” I close the browser and my eyes, sinking into the warmth of his strong hands. “Oh my God, you’re so hired.”
His
thumbs stroke up the back of my neck. “Wow. Your levator scapulae are some of the tightest I’ve ever felt.”
His hands feel so amazing that I’m pretty sure I’m drooling. “I bet you say that to all the ladies.”
He chuckles. “That’s not a good thing, Sarah. And your right trapezius is awful.”
“Your pillow talk needs work, but your hands can stay.”
“Whether it’s with me or not, you really need to book an appointment with someone.” His magic hands stop, and my sad groan brings me back to myself, allowing embarrassment to heat my cheeks as I turn back to him. “Done already? Your real client, I mean.”
“She just wanted half an hour.”
“Ah.” I pull up the billing system and begin filling in her name, marveling at how relaxed my shoulders are. I’d forgotten what having no neck pain was like. Guess I really should book a massage. I hadn’t realized how tense I’ve gotten.
Blake grabs a pen and scribbles something in Dannica’s file. “I can take care of that if you want to head out. No sense us both hanging out here.”
“I have to wait for the towels in the washer to finish.”
“I’ve got that too. You should go do some stretching—yoga, maybe—for that back.”
“Are you sure?” I’d love to get out of here, but I feel bad about leaving him. Then again, he does this by himself all the time.
“Definitely. I have one more client to take care of after this, but thanks. It was nice seeing you again, Sarah.”
“You too.” I like the way my name sounds when he says it. I grab my purse from beneath the desk and pass him.
“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.” He shows me those dimples again.
Maybe naked under a sheet on a massage table with his hands all over me. “Maybe.” I return his smile and walk out of the office.
Weirdly, for a few minutes there, I didn’t think about Jack once.
Chapter 11
His strong hands gently cradle my head, long fingers dancing across my scalp and winding through my hair. Tingles swirl across my skin, and I moan. “That feels amazing.”
Missed Connections Page 8
