by Emma Quinn
One of the warehouse managers greeted us the second we stepped through the building’s massive bay doors. I’d stepped into a Costco once or twice –I used to go with Rachel when we were both in college to stock up on ramen packs– but this place was maybe triple the size. There were rows upon rows of shelves, full to the brim with different packages as far as the eye could see. I stuck as close to the group as possible. If I wandered off too far, I may not be able to find my way out of this place.
The manager was a tubby man with stout legs and arms that were just as short. He was dressed in a light green crew-neck shirt with the Monteverde logo silkscreened onto the front. The fabric nearer towards his neck and between his shoulder blades was dark with sweat. Over this shirt was one of those reflective safety vests, and sitting atop his head was a hardhat that didn’t seem to serve any other purpose than to make him look hard-working.
“You’re free to take as many pictures as you’d like,” he said gruffly. “Just try not to get in the way of the workers. They’re a busy lot. You’re free to interview the ones that are on their break.”
“Thank you,” I said, already getting my camera out to take a few preliminary pictures to test the lighting.
There were huge windows running along the top of the warehouse around the perimeter, making the space appear even bigger than it was. It was nice to know Monteverde’s warehouse workers weren’t trudging away in the darkness fulfilling orders. On the surface, this place looked like a pretty cool place to work. I saw nothing but friendly faces, which I took as a good sign.
“I-I’ll set up the lights in the break room,” Stephen told me.
I nodded and smiled. There really wasn’t any need for him to tell me what he was doing. Maybe he just wanted to keep me informed. Good communication was essential for teamwork, after all.
“Okay. I’ll be down here for a couple of minutes.”
Stephen’s mouth opened, but then promptly closed, like he was unsure of what to say. In the end, he turned on his heel and started to move some of the heavier equipment upstairs.
I roamed around the front section of the warehouse, too intimidated to venture out much further. Warehouse workers were more often than not too busy to notice me, which made my job a lot easier when taking candid photos. The occasional employee would spot me and throw up a peace sign. I’d take the picture just because I thought they were being adorable. It was lively here, full of sound and movement. I’d heard through the grapevine that Monteverde employees were treated very well, given all kind of benefits and a generous amount of pay. It looked like it was paying off in the form of high moral and productivity.
I took a few pictures of their assembly line, fascinated by the efficiency of the machines used to package, scan, and sort deliveries. Every here had its place and function, moving together like the well-oiled gears of a complicated clock. It was impressive to get to see Monteverde behind the scenes. I made sure to take a few pictures of the lines, sure that our readers would find it as amazing as I did.
The break room was located on the second floor of the warehouse. It was a spacious place, full of comfy chairs and sofas, potted plants to give the area earthy feel, a couple of retro pinball machines tucked away in the corner, a snack station, and a large TV mounted on one wall. There were a couple of employees lounging around, resting their feet before they got back to work.
Stephen had set up a few filler lights closer to a blank wall, a stool already set up for a couple of employees to take a seat so I could grab their profile.
“Who’d like to go first?” I asked the room. “Do I have any volunteers for an interview?”
A tiny hand went up. She was incredibly young, with lavish chocolate skin and the softest brunette hair up in a ponytail. Her name tag read: Jonesy.
“Sure,” she said chipperly. “Maybe this’ll be my big break.”
I giggled and gestured to the stool. “You’ll be my model today.”
“So, how does this work? Would you like me to pose or something?”
“No, no need to pose. Just smile and be you. I’m trying to capture real people and their stories working for the company.”
Jonesy had an adorable button nose and a beautiful set of straight teeth. Her smile was gorgeous, the corners of her dark green eyes crinkling as she did. Maybe she was on to something. If she really was interested in modeling, I could suggest a couple of numbers for her to call. I’m sure there’s an agent somewhere in LA willing to represent a young beauty like her.
“I’m a little nervous,” she mumbled, though she still looked quite pleasant.
“Don’t be. Just tell me about yourself. No need to be too serious.”
When I was working with non-professionals, I liked to chat them up first. Models were always dead set on seducing the camera, so there really wasn’t a need for me to get too vocal. I’d occasionally direct them into more flattering positions, but I going to expect Covergirl-level expertise from a down-to-earth woman like Jonesy.
“How long have you been working here?” I asked, making mental notes to hand in to Rachel. She’d likely want to assign one of the company’s copywriters to work up an article.
“Only six months,” she explained. “I’m taking a little break from college.”
“What made you choose Monteverde?”
I snapped a couple of test shots without the flash. The room was already so bright that there wasn’t any need for it. Jonesy was a natural –effortless and stunning. I could already see her youthfulness springing off the printed page.
“A couple of my friends work here,” she explained. “They take real good care of their people here.”
“Is that so?”
She nodded. I snapped a couple more pictures. She was probably the easiest model I’d worked with in a very long time.
“And it helps that the hours aren’t too bad. And the CEO drops by every once and a while to check on us. He’s real easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean.”
I giggle. “I didn’t know a CEO would even take the time.”
“That’s what makes Mister Alexander so great, you know? He knows that happy workers mean bigger profit margins.”
My finger twitched, hovering just above the camera trigger.
“What did you say?”
“Happy workers mean–”
“No, uh… Mister Alexander?”
“Yeah. Nathan Alexander, the big boss man up top.”
“No, that… That’s…”
I swallowed hard at the sticky lump in my throat. Maybe she was referring to a different Nathan Alexander. Both first and last names were super common. What were the chances that she was talking about my Nathan Alexander?
“What, um…” I took a deep breath and tried to remain as calm as possible. “Can you tell me more about him? Your boss, I mean.”
Jonesy tilted her head at me. I’d completely given up on taking pictures at this point.
“Uh, sure. What do you want to know?”
“What does he look like?”
She shrugged her shoulders, threading her fingers together to lay her hands in her lap. “Tall, I guess. Very handsome.”
That wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. It was as generic as generic could get.
“Anything else?”
“Brown hair. Brown eyes.”
Again, this wasn’t super helpful. Lots of guys were tall, dark, and handsome. Nevertheless, the sinking feeling in my gut worsened. I felt like I was sinking into the floor, the tiles beneath my feet actually quicksand that was slowly swallowing me whole.
My hands were trembling as I accessed the stored photos on my camera’s memory card, flipping through until I found the picture of Nathan I took the night he first made me dinner at the Soup Kitchen. I turned the camera to Jonesy and showed her the screen.
“That’s him,” she said excitedly. “Do you know Mister Alexander?”
Bitterness consumed me. The disappointment that filled my stomach, rose up into my ches
t, and choked the air out of my throat weighed me down. I was too stunned to be angry. I was too numb to feel hurt. The soft chatter of the break room drowned out. I couldn’t even hear my own heartbeat. I was vaguely aware of Stephen talking just to my side, but it was like listening to him on the other side of a thick sheet of glass.
“Did she… Did she have a stroke?” Jonesy asked him. “Hey, are you okay?”
Stephen placed a hand on my arm, trying to get my attention. “Dianna, what’s wrong?”
I slapped his hand away. I really didn’t mean to. It was just instinct. A terrifying sadness swept through me, took control of my thoughts and actions. I wanted to disappear into myself. Close myself off. I’d been lied to so many times that I didn’t know why I was so surprised. I should have expected it. Men are all the same. They’ll lie as much as they need to in order to get what they want.
I turned to Stephen. “The van keys.”
“What?”
“Give them to me.”
“Dianna, why–”
“Now.”
Stephen fumbled for his keys in his back pocket and tossed them to me. As soon as I caught them, I ran out the break room, down the steps, and dashed toward the parking lot. I got into the driver’s seat and twisted the key in the ignition, engine rumbling to life.
I needed to see him. With my own eyes, I needed to confirmation that Nathan was a liar.
14
Nathan
I
wasn’t in the best of moods. I should have been over the moon after finally getting to sleep with Dianna last night, but I wanted nothing more than to put my head through a wall. It wasn’t like I didn’t have opportunities to tell her. I knew better than to come up with excuses. But everything happened so fast and I didn’t want to ruin the moment and betray her trust.
Maybe I was overthinking things. Maybe Dianna wouldn’t be that mad. It was one small lie, and it wasn’t even completely untruthful. I was web developer. That’s how I got my start. I just happened to have a shit ton more responsibilities and almost a thousand people working beneath me.
To make matters worse, everything at head office seemed to be seconds away from falling apart. Several of the interns called in sick –all at once for some reason– so the majority of the minor paperwork hadn’t been filed yesterday. It wasn’t a huge issue that it wasn’t done, but it was a giant pain in my ass that backed up my workflow. My work phone wouldn’t stop ringing off the hook, my inbox was loaded with unanswered emails, and I was nursing the worst stress migraine in existence.
“Dude, want to hit up a party this Sunday?”
Oh. And Matty’s here, too.
“No,” I grumbled through clenched teeth.
“Why not? You can finally introduce me to your girl.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t try that shit with me. You’re just embarrassed of me, that’s why you don’t want to introduce us.” Matty pretended to wipe a tear away despite both of his eyes being perfectly dry. “Why are you like this, Nate? I thought we were friends.”
“Don’t you have some place better to be?”
“I could take Dad’s yacht out for a spin, but it’s no fun to go sailing alone. You should take the rest of the day off and join me.”
“Not going to happen.”
“I know, I know. You’re a busy businessman.” Matty furrowed his brows and pouted, lowering his voice a register or two. “Must make money.”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure building up behind my eyes. “Please, Matty. Just get out.”
“Will you at least think about coming to the party with me? That’s all I ask, man.”
“Fine. I’ll think about it. Will you please get out of my office so that I can–”
Outside, the loud bang of a door whipping open shook the air. A few startled gasps reached my ears, followed by hard, hurried footsteps against the hallway tile.
“Excuse me, miss?” Alison said, a mix of urgency and incredulousness in her tone. “You can’t go in there. You need an appointment. Miss? Please, stop. I’m going to call security.”
In a blink of the eye, Dianna appeared from around the corner. I could see her clear as day through the glass walls of my office. She remained outside, breathing hard as our eyes locked. Her hair was a mess, like she’d run all the way here. Her cheeks were red, and her brow was sweaty. Her baby blues were clouded over with a mix of rage and sorrow, shock and horror.
“Who’s this little lady?” Matty mused. “Angry one-night stand?”
Worse.
I fully expected Dianna to storm into my office and scream. I could tell just by looking at her that she must have found out the truth somehow. And even if she hadn’t, my name was written on a plaque that was glued to the exterior wall: Nathan Alexander, CEO. Dianna looked up at it, seemed to study the engraved letters like they’d been written in a foreign language. After a few agonizing moments, she looked back at me and shook her head. She pressed her lips into a thin line, took a deep breath, and turned to walk away.
Matty threw a glance over his shoulder at me. “What the fuck was that about?”
I didn’t answer him. There wasn’t enough time to explain.
My legs carried me forward, bounding down the hall after Dianna.
“Wait,” I called after her. “Wait, Dianna. Stop.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” she said as she continued her brisk walk, heading straight to the elevators. She pressed the call button and stood before the doors, anxiously picking at under her fingernails.
I tried to reach out to her, place my hand on her shoulder in the hopes of gaining her attention. She pulled away like I’d burned her. I might as well have.
“Dianna, please, just listen to me.”
“No.”
“I wanted to tell you. I swear I did.”
“When? Before or after you fucked me?” She spoke clearly and loud enough for surrounding colleagues to hear. Her words were vitriolic, but I couldn’t blame her.
“Dianna–”
She jabbed her index finger against my chest. “I told you that I hate liars. My ex-boyfriend lied and lied and lied. I confided in you, learned to trust you. And what did you do?”
I set my jaw. “I was just trying to protect myself. I was being selfish.”
Dianna shook her head, an exhaustion glazing over her eyes. “If you can’t even tell me about your job, what else are you going to lie to me about?”
I grasped her hand, gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Nothing. That’s it. I swear.”
“How am I supposed to believe you, Nathan?” She cast her eyes to the floor. “You were trying to protect yourself because you didn’t trust me. I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t trust me. That’s not a healthy relationship.”
“Give me a second chance, Dianna. I’m–”
“No. I gave Tommy a second, third, fourth chance. He made me look like an idiot. I’ve learned my lesson.” Dianna pulled her hand away, fingers slipping from mine as the elevator doors slid open. “I’m not going to let you make me a fool,” she grumbled as she stepped into the elevator car.
I stood in the way of the doors, preventing her from leaving. “Look, can’t we just– Let’s talk about this, Dianna. I can explain everything. I wanted to tell you who I really was. Things just happened so quickly and I didn’t realize I was falling for you. I would have told you the truth eventually.”
Dianna refused to look at me. “Eventually?” she echoed. “You shouldn’t have to tell me the truth eventually. If that’s how you deal with things, we’re never going to work.” She pressed the ground floor button, illuminating it on the control panel. “Move,” she ordered.
“No.”
“Fine. I’ll take the stairs.”
“I made a mistake, Dianna. It won’t happen again.”
The woman standing before me was completely detached, a wall of ice bet
ween the two of us. Dianna looked different without her usual bubbly smile. She didn’t sound the same without the lightness of her laugh. Her shoulders were slouched in defeat, like she was trying to crawl into herself to hide from the rest of the world. It hurt me to see her like this.
“Move, Nathan,” she said firmly. I’d never heard her so cold.
People were starting to gather and stare. I wanted to tell them all to the shut the fuck up even though none of them had even said anything. This was a battle I couldn’t win. Sooner or later, I was going to be the one to give in. I couldn’t stand in the way of the doors forever.
I took a reluctant step back and watched as they slid closed.
Dianna didn’t look at me once.
15
Dianna
I
did this thing where I’d deep clean the apartment after a particularly bad break up. It was just something I did to feel better, like I was forcefully giving myself a fresh start. After Tommy, I threw all of his things in garbage bags and dumped them out on the curb. I used the toothbrush he left behind to scrub the tight corners of the toilet. I emptied out the fridge and got rid of the beers he’d stored in the far back. With the exception of a few pictures I’d forgotten to take down, I effectively erased his existence from my apartment.
But this time around, it was too hard.
We hadn’t been together long, but removing Nathan’s presence was almost impossible for me to follow through with. He left one of his shirts behind. It smelled of pine and sandalwood, the scent doing little to calm my mind and relieve the ache in my chest. I really wanted to toss the drone he’d purchased for me, but I couldn’t. Maybe it was because it was the most valuable thing I owned. Maybe it was because it was a seriously sweet gift, and nobody had ever given me something of that grand caliber. The leftover dinners that Nathan had prepared for me, cooked for me with his own two hands, remained on the middle rack in the fridge –to delicious to simply throw out.
