Thirty-Two Going On Spinster (The Spinster Series Book 1)

by Becky Monson

  I guess there’s no time like the present to go on a break with Brown. I send her a quick email to which she quickly replies back, and we’re outside by the smoking area five minutes later.

  “Something crazy is going on,” I say quietly to Brown. Even though we’re the only ones outside, I don’t want to take the chance of being heard.

  “Oooh, do tell!” she says, excited for the gossip.

  I tell her about what I heard and saw earlier in Mr. Nguyen’s office explaining everything in detail, including the no smile return from Jared, which I’m trying desperately not to take personally, but I can’t help my spinster self.

  “Wow, that is crazy,” Brown says, and then she takes a long drag from her cigarette, contemplating what I just told her.

  “I know, right? I don’t know what to think of it. Something fishy is clearly going on there.”

  “You’re going to have to get Jared to talk tonight when you finish up the report,” she says, basically taking the words out of my mouth.

  “Hopefully he’ll talk, but I don’t know.” Although, he loves getting gossip from us, he tends to be a little tight-lipped on his end. It’s a bit unfair, really. I mean, he is in HR, he should have tons to share. But instead, he just wants to hear info from us and then doesn’t offer much in return. Although, the one time he tried he was quickly shot down because we already knew. Maybe he thinks there’s no point since we seem to know it all anyway.

  I promise Brown I’ll do my best with Jared tonight, and we head back in the building and back to work. I don’t really have much to do, which is kind of odd. Mr. Nguyen’s office door is shut when I get back upstairs, and there are no voices this time. I think about knocking and asking him for something to do, but then I think otherwise. I don’t want to be rudely shooed away like usual, and why would I go and ask for work anyway? If he has something for me to do, he can let me know. This is shaping up to be a crazy Monday, that’s for sure.

  ~*~

  Promptly at five thirty, I get my stuff and head up to the conference room to finish the report. I’m sad that this is my last night. There’s no way to extend it any further without making myself look totally inept.

  The conference room door is open as I approach it. I can see Jared sitting at the head of the table working on his laptop. I tap lightly on the door, and he looks up at me.

  “Hey, what’s going on Jules?” he says as he looks back down at his computer screen, no smile either.

  “I just came up here to finish the report,” I say still hanging in the doorway.

  He looks up quickly at me. “Didn’t Calhoun get ahold of you?”

  “Get ahold of me for what?”

  “We don’t need you to finish the report. We have it covered,” he says, looking back down at his computer.

  He’s acting so strange, almost cold and aloof. Did Friday night freak him out or something? It’s not like anything happened. We just had dinner. But maybe he thinks I’m reading into it or something? He probably thinks he’s leading me on and doesn’t want me to get any ideas. Well, whatever. Two can play this game.

  “No, he didn’t tell me. Sounds good, though. I have other things I can do tonight,” I say as coldly and detached as I can, even though this is a total lie. There’s a big black pit in my stomach that’s making me feel ill.

  He doesn’t look up, he just keeps looking at his screen and typing every once in a while. I throw out a “see you later,” then turn around and head out the door.

  “Julia, wait,” he says as I go to leave. “Come in for a second. Sorry, Calhoun has me crazy busy today.” He smiles faintly at me.

  Relief sweeps over me instantly. He doesn’t hate me! He’s just been busy. I don’t know what I would’ve done if this thing between us—whatever it is—were to end. I mean, I guess I’d go back to being my spinster self, but there’d be nothing to look forward to. Work would go back to being just work.

  I stay at the door. No need to look ridiculously needy. “So, what does Calhoun have you doing?” I ask, trying to keep some conversation going.

  “It’s just a bunch of boring junk,” he says as he leans back in his chair, hands in his lap. He pauses for a minute, looking at me. “Hey, I want to ask you something.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, my interest piquing.

  “Come in, have a seat.” He motions to the seat just next to him. I come in and sit down, placing my purse in my lap.

  He looks at me for a moment like he’s deciding whether or not to say something. “Do you like it here?” he asks after what seems like a long moment of that nervous where-to-look-with-my-eyes feeling. “I mean, do you really like it here?”

  “Um,” I say and look around the room, not meeting his gaze. “That’s a loaded question. I guess there are parts of it I like.” I pause, looking down at my hands, which are nervously twiddling the straps of my purse.

  “Really?” He sounds surprised. “What parts?

  I think for a second. There really are parts I like, like Brown and Jared. Okay, there are two parts I like. Other than that, there’s not much.

  “I don’t know, I guess some of the people.” I smile faintly at him.

  A small smile appears at his lips. He knows what I’m trying to say. Does the smile back mean he likes working here because of me, too?

  After a pause he opens his mouth, “Okay, but what about what you do. Do you like what you actually do here? You told me once before that ‘it’s a job.’ Is that how you really feel?”

  I squint my eyes a bit at him. “Now, tell me, Mr. Moody, why would I admit anything to you when you’re in HR?” I tease him, my smile brightening as I see him smile.

  “Yes, yes, I can see how you could feel a little uneasy about that. How about you just talk to me, as a friend.”

  And there it is, the dreaded F word. My heart sinks a bit in the realization that this is all we really are … friends. I know I’ve said I would take it, but the honest truth is I want more. Of course, I do.

  I look away, the disappointment might be too easy to read on my face, and I don’t want him to see it or pick up on it. “No, I guess there isn’t much else I like about my job.”

  “Have you ever considered changing jobs?” he asks. I can feel his gaze on me, but I don’t look back.

  “Not really.” I look back at him now. “I don’t know what I’d do. I have a mortgage payment now, so I’m in a position where I actually need this job more than I ever did.”

  Did he flinch at that? It seems like he did. Now it’s his turn to look away, out the window. He looks back at me with resolve in his face. “Can I tell you something, as a friend?”

  I could slap that F word right off his face. Stop rubbing it in already. I force out a “sure.”

  “You’re better than this place,” he says with a serious tone to his voice. What? My gaze moves quickly to his eyes, which are looking intently at me. That was not what I was expecting. “You are, Julia. You’re better than Spectraltech. Don’t you feel like you have more to offer yourself—the world—than sitting up in a small office, working for Nguyen?”

  I don’t know if it’s the fact he keeps using the dreaded F word (which really shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it digs deep to hear it) or if I’m just feeling a bit PMS-y or something, but I find myself feeling mad. Who does he think he is? Does he think he knows me or something? He doesn’t actually know me at all.

  “Why do you care?” I spit out and then immediately want to take it back when his face looks as if I’ve just punched it.

  “Why do I care?” he asks like I should know the answer already. But I don’t. I have no idea why he cares so much about whether I like my job or not. He shakes his head, frustrated. “I don’t know, I guess I just want to see you doing something you want to do, not be stuck here.” He looks at me like he’s trying to read my expression. “I guess I overstepped. Sorry.” He turns his focus back to his computer.

  The word “stuck” resonates with me all of a sudden.
I always thought I was stuck—I’ve been leading the same life for the past ten years—but I didn’t think anyone else cared to notice that about me. I sit there silently thinking to myself, messing with my purse straps.

  “No, you didn’t overstep. It’s fine,” I finally sputter out. “You’re right, I guess.” I look at him and wait for him to look back at me. “I’m … stuck. I guess I’m just not very good at getting … um … un-stuck. The ‘proverbial’ creature of habit.” I smile slightly at him, hoping my little proverbial insert lightens the dampened mood.

  It works. He smiles back at me and the feeling in the room changes. He leans toward me and reaches for my hand and grabs it. My heart starts to thump in my chest, and I try really hard to slow it because I know this is just a friendly gesture.

  “I don’t peg you as a creature of habit.” He looks down at our hands together, and I silently pray he can’t hear my heart thumping in my chest. “I just think you could do better than Spectraltech, that’s all.” He squeezes my hand, looks up at me, and then quickly lets go. He looks toward his computer in a way that feels guarded, like holding my hand was too much and he shouldn’t have done it. I wish he wouldn’t have let go, friendly gesture or whatever it was.

  “What about you? You could do better than Spectraltech, too.” I surprise myself when I say this. Where did this boldness come from?

  “No place is really good enough for me,” he says, the smirk back in full effect.

  “Well, aren’t you confidential?” I mimic the smirk back at him. And then suddenly my eyes bug out, realizing my error.

  “You meant ‘confident,’ right?” he says, holding back a little chuckle.

  “No. I meant confidential. I stand by it,” I say, trying my hardest not to crack a smile, which I fail miserably at. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. Shoot,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

  “What the heck happened in Nguyen’s office today?”

  Jared puts his hands behind his head and sighs heavily, looking as if he’s contemplating. Probably trying to figure out what he can and can’t tell me. HR and their secrets.

  “Come on, with all the gossip I tell you …” my voice trails off as I see him smiling slightly at me.

  “I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell Brown, okay?” he says with a serious look on his face.

  Yikes. Not tell Brown? She’ll surely quiz me about it tomorrow, and I know I could/will cave. Maybe it would be better if he didn’t tell me.

  “Of course, I won’t tell her,” I say, my gossipy senses taking over my mouth before I can even finish talking sense to myself.

  “There’s something going on there, Jules. He’s hiding something. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I think he might be stealing money from the company.”

  “What? Really?” I stammer out. Oh wow, how the hell am I going to keep this from Brown? I’ll have to skip all breaks tomorrow. It’s just too risky.

  “Seriously, don’t tell Brown or anyone.” He looks at me sternly. Clearly he already doubts telling me this, probably because he knows my love of gossip and my need to tell Brown everything. I don’t blame him.

  “Can you think of anything suspicious that you’ve seen from Nguyen?”

  I ponder that question for a moment. “I don’t know, I guess so. He’s been acting weird for a while now, I mean weirder than normal, and I guess when I’ve done some of the reports he has me do, I’m feeling, I don’t know, a bit of a déjà vu feeling.”

  “What do you mean?” He turns his body toward me.

  “Um, I guess it kind of feels like I’ve done the same report before, that I’m repeating my work. That probably doesn’t make any sense.” I look down at my lap again. I don’t know how to explain it exactly.

  “No, actually, that makes sense.” He nods his head, looking down. His hand moves up to rub his temples. “Would you do me a favor?” He puts his hand down and looks up at me directly with his deep blue eyes, making my heart race. Just friends, Julia. Just friends. I have to keep reminding myself.

  “Yes, of course,” I sputter out.

  “Will you send me some of the reports he has you do?”

  “Um…” I drift off, not sure what to say. I mean, of course, I’ll give him the reports, but I also have the feeling of guilt gnawing at me. Why? Why would I feel any remorse for Mr. Nguyen? “Sure, I can do that,” I finally say. “Just don’t ever let it get back to Nguyen.” This is a redundant thing to say because, of course, he wouldn’t do that. He’s in HR. But I felt the need to say it, nonetheless.

  “Of course,” he says and smiles slightly at me.

  I nod my head toward the door. “I’m going to go. You probably have lots of work to do still, and I don’t want to keep you any longer.” Plus, I need to call Anna immediately so we can discuss him holding my hand, and his incessant usage of the F word. I’ve also got to figure out my strategy to avoid any and all questions Brown will probably ask me tomorrow.

  He doesn’t try to stop me from leaving, which is disappointing and relieving all at the same time. I get up from my chair and head toward the door, turning around to say goodbye before I step out of the room. He smiles at me, and I smile back. I shake my head to myself as I walk to the elevator. I’m not sure how to feel about any of that conversation. Hopefully Anna will be around to help me sort it all out.

  ~*~

  I give Anna all the gory details as we sit in our pajamas in the living room of the basement apartment. We’re eating fresh brownies that I just made and drinking milk. Anna comes downstairs practically every night and I make us a treat to eat, then we sit and talk about the day’s events. I would never tell Anna this, but it’s become something I really look forward to and will really miss when I move to my new place.

  “Wow, that’s crazy stuff,” she says, totally enthralled in my description of what happened. “He’s really giving such mixed signals.”

  “Right?” I say, and take a big bite of my brownie.

  We eat in silence for a bit, chewing over the brownie and the details of my rather odd conversation with Jared.

  “Hey, did you ever give that guy my resumé?” She asks, clearly not thinking about the conversation as much as I was.

  “Yeah, I gave it to Mr. Calhoun. I’m not sure he ever saw it, though. The guy is a bit of a disaster. I could ask Jared to make sure he sees it.” I love it when I have a good excuse to talk to Jared.

  “Okay, cool. I think I’d rather work in that kind of setting. It would be much safer than retail.” I nod my head in agreement. Anna working in retail is like letting an alcoholic work as a bartender—not a good idea.

  “Any word from the creditors?” I ask nonchalantly.

  “Shhh! Not so loud!” she says in hushed tones, looking toward the stairs like mom and dad are just waiting there, listening to our conversation. I’m pretty sure they have better things to do. “Yes, I’ve heard from them a ton. Mostly messages, though. I’ve figured out their M.O., so I know when to answer the phone and when not to,” she says with confidence in her voice, which is unfounded. How can you be proud of that?

  “It’s not going to be long before Mom and Dad figure it out, you know,” I say, using my best big-sister-tone.

  “Well, I was thinking maybe I could have my mail forwarded to your new place? That way I wouldn’t have to keep an eye on the mailbox here,” she says with a pleading look on her face.

  “Anna, I don’t know …” I fade off, knowing this is not a good idea. It feels like a betrayal to my parents.

  “Please? It won’t be for long. As soon as I get a job, I’ll start paying everything down, and I bet I could have it all paid off in a year or less.”

  What kind of job does this college-major-jumper think she’s going to get? “Well, I wouldn’t be too sure of that. It’s tough to find a job out there.”

  “Well, I’m sure it won’t take me too long. Please, Julia? Please?”

  She looks so pathetic and desperate, I can’t help m
yself. “Fine. But not forever, okay? And I’m not your babysitter. You have to be accountable for your mail. That means coming to pick it up at my place, not me bringing it to you. Okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” She rolls her eyes at me. “I can’t wait to come over and hang at your new swanky condo, anyway. It’ll be good to get out of this windowless dungeon.” She looks around the basement like it’s a trap she’s stuck in. In many ways, I suppose it is.

  When I finally go to bed, my head is swimming with thoughts of the day, ranging from the craziness that ensued regarding Mr. Nguyen, to the conversation leading to the hand-holding with Jared. And to top it all off, and the scariest part of all, how to keep this juicy piece of gossip from Brown. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I must.

  CHAPTER 9

  I’ve been able to avoid Brown for the better part of the morning, telling her I have too much work to do. She’ll catch on soon enough because she knows very well I’d never use work as an excuse to miss our breaks. Well, rarely ever, that is.

  I am actually busy, though. Nguyen has me doing a few reports, and I’m finishing them up and sending them back to him, and then to Jared as well. I’m feeling a little hesitant about it, but I guess if he’s stealing money from Spectraltech, then it’s my responsibility to help.

  One fairly exciting thing in this spinster’s life: I actually have plans tonight. They are certainly not the plans I’d like to have, but plans. I got an email from my brother Lennon this morning, wondering if we could all get together for dinner. He rarely invites us all out, mostly because he’s so busy with work, but I also suspect that his wife Jenny doesn’t enjoy going out with us that much. We Dornings can be a bit loud, and we like to laugh and crack jokes (some of them inappropriate—ahem, Dad) when we’re together. Jenny is more of a reserved type. It still amazes me that Lennon married her. She’s really nice, but not like us—not the best fit. Maybe that’s the reason he picked her.