The One I Want

by Scott, S. L.

  Turning all the way around, I take him in from feet to neck and then spend a little time on his face. “You look very nice too, Andrew.”

  He chuckles, and says, “Thank you, Juni. Speaking of, that’s a very interesting name.”

  “Thanks. My mom loved it.” Sure, he did the polite lead-in comment like so many do, but I don’t feel like delving into my past right now. My name is too tightly woven into that topic. So I leave it be and find relief that we’re called to the counter.

  I expected Barry to greet me, but I get the new barista—Jen. Barry doesn’t even make eye contact with me, much less with Andrew. Apparently, I’ve gone and destroyed his dreams of us being together. I can only hope the poor kid will go on to find his soul mate in another customer.

  I order, and then say, “I’m buying.”

  “No, she’s not.” He leans in, and the magic of his smile makes Jen blush. “You see, Jen, Juni here won a jinx yesterday, and I owe her a coffee. So this is on me, okay?”

  Jen gives him a wink. “I’ve got your back.”

  “I knew you would,” he adds. “Also, make that two muffins, and I’ll have a regular coffee.”

  “Your name?”

  “Andrew.”

  He pays, and she slips his credit card back to him like she’s slipping her digits across that counter. “Thank you, Andrew.”

  I move along. When he joins me near the pickup counter, I say, “Don’t let me keep you.”

  His chuckle is loud, completely not appropriate for a coffee shop or anywhere inside at this hour. By the evil glares we receive, I think he’s woken the dead, or maybe their caffeine finally kicked in. From where he stands beside me, his elbow fans out to tap mine. “You’re not jealous, are you, Juni?”

  “I barely know you.” I kind of hate that he might be right. Yet here I am, completely lost as to why I even care.

  By the lines beginning to leave their marks on the outside of his eyes, he scowls more than he should. Or maybe it’s from smiling so much, but I doubt it. Each smile of his seems to be hard-earned. He’s just so confusing. One minute, we’re flirting, and the next, we’re going back to our own lives like complete strangers.

  Wait, we are complete strangers.

  I think the most I’ve gotten from him is his first name, that he seems to be obsessed with crisp, white shirts—expensive, I might add—and he drinks his coffee black. No surprise there.

  Leaning over, he whispers, “This is true, but maybe—”

  “Andrew?” Jen is holding his coffee and the bag of muffins in the air for him.

  I’m tempted to roll my eyes, but . . . nah, I roll them. I take my coffee from a pouting Barry, who tries to ignore me, and then I maneuver around Andrew to leave. He’s picking up his order when he says, “Thanks, Jen.”

  I don’t stick around to hear their cute little banter. It’s fine. It doesn’t bother me at all, but I don’t need to be subjected to it either. Feeling snarky, I mutter to myself, “Here’s your coffee, Andrew, all perfect and hot like you. Oh, and you’re a stud muffin like this banana nut.” What am I doing? I’m losing my mind, that’s what. Outside, I take a deep breath, exhale, and then pluck the top off my coffee to sip.

  The sidewalk is bustling with people trying to get to work. Leave it to Andrew to stand out like a superstar on a red carpet that’s been rolled out just for him. He hands me the bag, and says, “I hate to run, but I have a conference call I can’t be late for.” Signaling to a car at the curb, he adds, “I can drop you somewhere if it’s on the way.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be. Anyway, I’m not in a hurry, so I think I’ll walk.”

  “If you’re sure.” He leans on the top of the door, looking at me for what feels like an hour. It’s mere seconds, but the lingering stare carries weight with it. “I—”

  “It’s okay, Andrew,” I say, letting him off the hook. Raising the coffee cup, I suck in a breath. “Debt paid, and I scored a muffin.”

  “All right.” He nods once, his gaze staying locked with mine. “Goodbye, Juni.”

  “See you around.”

  He dips inside the car and closes the door. I could stand around hoping for some big moment, a grand gesture, or a sign that we’re meant to be friends, but that only happens in the movies. So, I click my heels together and head to my job. But hey, I got a free coffee and muffin out of this morning. Slightly better than Jen, I suppose.

  5

  Juni

  The elevator doors open wide, revealing a desk with gleaming brass letters hung above the receptionist’s head. Although her eyes meet mine, a headset mic blocks most of her smile. “It’s a great day to invest in your future with Christiansen Wealth Management. How may I help you?”

  That’s a mouthful. “I’m here to see—”

  A finger cuts through the air, silencing me. She waves me forward and then holds that finger up again when I reach the front of the high counter. Her gaze dips down, and she punches buttons before releasing a hard breath. “Sorry about that. The calls are endless this time of day with clients freaking out about early market projections. I get it, but the New York Stock Exchange hasn’t opened yet.”

  “I thought this was a financial advising company?”

  “It is, but CWM bought Manhattan Financial to get a foothold in New York, which was a brokerage firm. They’re headquartered out of Los Angeles.” She quirks her mouth to the side and taps a pen against her cheek. “Though since Mr. Christiansen, the eldest Christiansen son, moved to New York, I guess this is the headquarters. At least for now.”

  That’s a lot of information in the span of two minutes. I like this fast talker. She stands and adds, “Now that you’re all caught up on the company business, how can I help you?”

  “I’m Juni Jacobs. I’m here for—”

  “For my job. I’m Melissa.” Smiling, she rubs her belly. “I’m off for maternity leave in a few days, so we need to get started right away. There’s a lot to learn.” She pulls a drawer open and points. “You can tuck your bag in here. It’ll be safe. There are cameras everywhere.”

  I set my bag in the large drawer.

  Wasting no time, she pushes the drawer closed with the tip of her block heel and then clips a box to her belt. “Follow me.” As soon as we start walking, I see her press on the box, and then hear her say, “It’s a great day to invest in your future with Christiansen Wealth Management. How may I help you?”

  She looks back over her shoulder, holding her mic to cut off the sound, and quieter than a whisper, she mouths, “This is the atrium. Assistants, researchers, and data entry all sit here.”

  I nod just as she says to someone who’s called, “I’ll transfer you.” Pointing to our right, she says in a normal volume of voice, “This is the conference area. Conference room one through five. They go from smallest to largest. One being the smallest. Employees have to book the rooms in the main operations dashboard for CWM. That way, there’s never any confusion as to who has it when.” She stops and turns to me. Grasping my arm, she sighs heavily. “It used to be my job. God, am I glad I don’t have to mess with that anymore.”

  Her back is to me again, and not breaking stride, she waves her finger in front of her, crossing out something I can’t see. “The mailroom and brokerage division are housed one floor up. It’s noisy and a different environment from down here. The stockbrokers watch the market like they’re standing on the exchange floor. Technically, they should be, so yeah, it never made sense to me why they play the screens at such a high volume.”

  “Maybe for them, it’s like staying in character. Method stockbroking.”

  “Ah. You mean because of all the yelling they usually do down at the stock exchange? They do like noise.”

  “Yes.”

  She ponders the thought, and then a smile slides into place. “Probably. Never thought of it that way. The cave is on the opposite side of the atrium.” She starts whispering, “The accountants and HR are in this area on the left. They like quiet at all ti
mes. It’s like a library over here. I’ve been shushed a time or two. And the financial advisors take up the offices on this side. The window offices.”

  Answering a call, she skips right over an office that appears to take up the space of two. The plaque reads CEO, but there’s no name attached. There’s also an open-door policy sign posted. “Last but not least, our legal department.” Pulling me into the break room, she whispers, “Are you single?”

  “I think that’s against most company policies to ask.”

  “Oh, I know, but we’re friends, right? My point is if you are single, there are so many hot guys. Some sexy married guys too, but that’s against my personal policy.” Rubbing her baby belly, she laughs. “Well, before and after I was married.”

  “It’s a good policy to live by, no matter what your status is.”

  Opening the fridge, she pulls out a yogurt and points it at me. “I’d kill Kellan if he cheated on me.” I’m thinking she veers easily from topic to topic. “As I was saying, if you’re single, it’s not against policy to date a coworker is all I’m saying, though they do frown upon it.” After grabbing a spoon from the drawer, she hip-checks it closed. “Do you want a coffee or anything?”

  “No, thank you. I finished one just before I arrived.”

  “I think that’s it for the office layout. Each door is labeled, but if you do need help, you can ask almost anyone. Most people around here are nice. There are a few moody members of the CWM team, but we’re careful not to talk about them.” Cupping her hand to the side of her mouth, she rubs her belly again. “At least not until we get to happy hour. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to The Watering Hole, though. Any questions so far?”

  “About the office layout or happy hour?”

  “Either.” She laughs. “You’re hilarious, Juni.”

  “Thanks.” I give her a nod of appreciation, and then say, “I noticed there’s no plant life.”

  She waves it off as if that’s insignificant, as if breathing fresh oxygen isn’t the basis of survival. “The last receptionist left a plant behind. I think it was a fern. Big leaves with a long vine.”

  “Sounds like a philodendron.” When she doesn’t blink, I wave my hand between us. “An ivy.”

  “Oh! Yeah, I don’t know. It sat here on the counter until it died.”

  “Did you water it?”

  Setting down the yogurt and spoon, she begins sorting through the papers left on a table. “Guess that mystery is now solved.” With a burst of energy, she waggles her thumbs in the air. “Did you say you’re all good with the office?”

  “Yep. All good.”

  Marching past me with her snack in hand, she says, “All right then. Let’s get back to the front desk and start on phone protocol. I have a baby shower to get to in the atrium before lunch. You think you’ll be ready to cover the front?”

  I have faith I can handle it. “I’ll be ready, and you can enjoy the shower.”

  “That would be fantastic. We thought we’d have to move it to the reception area while I answered calls.” And then she answers another call. “It’s a great day to invest in your future with Christiansen Wealth Management. How may I help you?”

  Although my temp career has had me working everywhere from offices to retail to once being hired for the Big Apple Circus for a week as a stand-in ballerina (all those dance lessons my grandmother insisted I take for poise paying off), I’m not sure what to make of this one.

  I only took this job as a favor to the temp agency. They begged. Apparently, it was big money, and they wanted to land this account for future opportunities. They’ve had two others rotate through, but neither was a good fit. Now they’re sending me, the best they have.

  Agreeing to something steady for six to eight weeks will be a change in pace. I prefer variety to my days, and this job is feeling a lot like commitment. The last thing I want to dedicate my time to is something with the potential for permanency. That never works out well for this soul.

  But I made the commitment, or had my arm twisted, I should say, so I’ll follow through.

  It’s only six weeks, max eight, depending on when Melissa wants to return.

  Weeks. That’s it.

  Not for a year or for life.

  After completing Tuesday’s task of organizing the supply room, we return to the front desk.

  I’m told we restock the break room on Wednesdays.

  We are supposed to verify conference room appointments and make sure they’re ready to go next week.

  And it sounds like I prepare to repeat the week’s duty next week by ordering everything for delivery on Monday.

  My ability to learn quickly growing up served me well on the junior circuit, my mind a sponge for information, my memory as sharp as a thumbtack. At least back then. It’s not too shabby now, I must admit, but I’m not competing anymore.

  The little reassurance doesn’t do much for my stomach. I’m not sure what’s making me a little queasy, but I swallow it down. As if that is an accomplishment in and of itself, I pride myself on being present in the moment and not letting fear take over. “I push this one and then transfer here, but add their employee number?”

  “Exactly. The automation takes it from there.”

  Judging by how busy this position is, time is going to fly. She’s already had me running the reception desk for two hours. She grabs her purse from the drawer and asks, “Are you ready?”

  “Guess we’re about to find out.”

  “You’ve got this, Juni. I’ll be right inside if you need anything.”

  One hour on my own. Easy peasy. While I work, the entire office showers her with baby gifts. I can hear the laughter and her squeals of excitement all the way in reception. Barely able to hear my calls over Melissa’s raving about Mr. Christiansen’s gift, I get up to shut the door.

  From my research, the directory lists two Christiansens, who I suspect are the owners, considering the company's name—a lawyer and the CEO. Apparently, one of them is winning the day with their gift.

  Although I’m curious what it is, it’s much quieter with the door closed.

  Melissa practically floats through the door, leaving it wide open again. She taps the screen of her phone, bringing it to life, and then says, “It’s lunchtime. This is how we shut everything down when we leave the desk for an hour or at the end of the day.”

  She goes through each step and then has me do it. When I get it right the first time, Melissa confides in me that she knew I’d catch on quickly the moment we met.

  We ride down the elevator together. It’s crowded, so we move to the back. She whispers, “The boss just gave me a silver baby’s rattle from Tiffany and two extra paid weeks off. And here I thought he was the moodiest man I’ve ever met. Today he’s my favorite.” The herd exits the elevator, but I remain, my knuckles whitening around the railing.

  Just outside the elevator, she turns back as if she just realized I’m not beside her. “Come on, Juni.”

  I move at the sound of my name but then stop in the lobby. “Does that mean you’re taking eight or ten weeks for your leave?”

  “Ten.” She carries on as if she has no cares in the world. “My last day is Friday, and I cannot wait to work on my tan.” She turns around again and waves me to her. “And nest, of course.”

  “Of course,” I reply, going through the motions. Ten weeks is suddenly sounding like forever. Am I ready to take that on? Do I even want to? I need to call the agency again.

  Outside the building, Melissa jets off to meet her husband for lunch, and although she was kind enough to invite me, I decline. I brought my lunch from home, but more so, I need a minute or fifty-five to wrap my head around this change in plans.

  No matter how much this city changes, some things always stay the same. If memory serves me correctly, there’s a park two blocks up and one over.

  Satisfaction sets in as soon as I see tall trees and soft grass covering the ground. I remember coming here with my grandmother wh
en I was little since it was near the dance studio. I’d dance barefoot, and she’d clap as if I was the star of the ballet. I wasn’t. I was quite terrible. I could blend in at the circus since the audience was watching the acrobats and the trapeze artists.

  I find a spot under a tree and reach inside my satchel to dig out my lunch. My hand hits paper that crinkles under my touch, and I pull it out. I’d forgotten about the muffin because my morning has been so busy, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find the treat. Looking inside the bag, I find two. I’d forgotten he’d ordered one. Apparently, he forgot as well.

  And now he’s on my mind again. Too bad he’s not here, or I’d share. Taking a big bite, too big to be proper, I attempt to chew.

  “Juni?”

  With him on my mind, my heart races, and for a brief second, I think it might be Andrew. It wouldn’t be a total surprise since I feel like we’re stalking each other at this point.

  I am disappointed, though, when I discover it’s not him. Unfortunately. If my mouth wasn’t so full, I’d be able to say his name, but seeing a beautiful brunette on my ex’s arm has me chewing a little slower. This muffin is a good excuse to hold my tongue.

  Raising my hand, I mumble with a full mouth, “Hi.”

  When it comes to Karl, etiquette goes out the window.

  I once trusted him. Of course, I did. He was the boy in the spotlight beside me, the one standing next to me on every stage as we presented our findings, the plant species we were studying, and whispering words of reassurance when my knees knocked from nerves. It didn’t matter that he was also my biggest competitor.

  I may not have set out to become a prodigy in the field, but it was in my blood to follow in my parents’ footsteps. And from his own sheer determination, he was right there with me. We were young and talented in a field populated with botanists much older than we were. When no one else understood what we were going through, we relied on each other.

  He’s also one of the reasons I struggle to get too deeply involved—with work or in relationships. I’ll never know if it was greed, ambition, or fame going to his head that made him do it, but I’ll never forget what true betrayal feels like.