by Samie Sands
LOCKDOWN
By Samie Sands
LOCKDOWN
Copyright © 2016 by Samie Sands.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: May 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-592-6
ISBN-10: 1-68058-592-4
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For Grandma
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
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CHAPTER ONE
Okay, it’s official. I’m dead. I’m actually going to be killed.
Then I’ll lose my job, my super important position and my beautiful nameplate, complete with ‘Leah Watton’ written across it in shiny silver print. Of course, this will cause me to get kicked out of my flat and I’ll end up living in some cardboard box on a skanky street corner, drinking cider and trading war stories around a bin fire.
Or the much worse option, I’ll be forced to move back to my parents’ house.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
All for one idiotic joke. I can’t believe it. I’ve nearly wrecked my career already, and it was only just beginning. I can really feel the panic welling up in my stomach now. After those three long years at university studying journalism, the thing I was so sure I was destined to do with my life—which in the end it turned out I actually hated. Those long, depressing months of sending out CVs to every stupid newspaper, magazine, and supplement going—my parents had always made it very clear that they expected me to use my degree sensibly, especially as they may have helped me now and again, financially, after I got into a bit of credit card debt. I got rejected time and time again, even by a cheese periodical. Seriously, they said at the interview my lack of passion for the subject was apparent. I mean, what sort of person is passionate about cheese?
Finally I got a chance, well, more like a small teeny tiny stepping stone, one that would actually go down well with my family. A news researcher. I mean, it’s for the least watched local news program ever, in a small rural part of the country where nothing exciting ever happens, but it totally counts. I was so relieved, but definitely not happy to get this job. Still, I can’t afford to lose it.
I’m such a fool. I only did this to impress Jake. Damn it. I’ve been trying to get his attention since I walked in on my first day and saw him smiling into the phone and twisting his hair in that cute way he does when he’s concentrating. He’s absolutely gorgeous—tall, dirty blond hair, blue eyes, a smile that lights up a room. I was instantly smitten, and have since spent my days catching any glimpse of him that I can.
He definitely likes to think he’s the joker in the office, so after flirting and dressing to accentuate my best features—which believe me isn’t easy if you’re five foot three, with a figure that could do with losing about ten pounds—I thought I’d try a different approach to getting his attention.
He’s one of those guys constantly emailing stupid YouTube videos to everyone, often with a fake news story attached, usually mocking one of our more recent, tedious projects. So I found a great one of a ‘zombie’ attack. It’s brilliant. It looks so realistic, and although it’s in a foreign language and you can barely make out any words, the narrator sounds terrified. It made me laugh when I found it, and I knew Jake would find it funny, so I set it up.
But then came the error. I feel icy and uncomfortable even thinking about it. I accidentally sent it to Jamie King, the big boss. With a whole bloody news story attached.
He doesn’t understand humour and I’m sure he’s never heard a joke. He seriously does not tolerate messing around in the office. This can only mean he’s either going to think I’m serious and I think this should actually go on television, on the news, like some idiot who doesn’t deserve this job, or he’s going to see it for the joke it is and instantly sack me. Oh God, I don’t know what’s worse, I can’t cope with this.
I’m such a klutz. If I hadn’t been talking to Michelle about the new blue high heels I bought over the weekend to go with my black swishy dress, and I was actually concentrating on what I was doing for a change, then none of this would have happened.
She’s still talking to me about them now, and about a night out she’s planning for someone’s birthday, but I can’t focus on a word she’s saying. I’m just filling in all the pauses with “yeah” or “oh right,” which seems to be satisfying her for now. She always was the talker in the friendship.
The waiting is almost worse than the inevitable boot. I’m on the edge of my seat, tapping my fingers and shaking my legs nervously. I keep seeing Jamie pacing up and down in his office, but not once has he come into the main room. I’m so scared I could throw up. I can’t concentrate on anything. I keep logging on to Facebook just to calm down, which is actually just going to add to my bollocking, I realise as I quickly shut the Internet down.
Okay, this is getting ridiculous now. It’s been hours and still nothing. Maybe he just hasn’t checked his email yet, or maybe my ideas are so insignificant he deleted it without even reading it. This idea bucks me up a little bit. In fact, now I think about it, he’s been on his phone all morning, chattering away quickly and nervously. He looks really stressed out, and actually kinda sweaty. Gross. I screw my nose up in mild disgust. This man is far too important to be worried about some silly email from little old me, isn’t he? I start to chuckle to myself. I feel relieved, almost hysterical.
“What’s up?” Michelle interrupts my thoughts.
“Oh, er, nothing.” I realise I’ve been laughing quite loudly. My face flushes red and I pretend to be engrossed in a press release on my desk.
God, press releases are boring. If I worked in PR I’d attach some freebies or something eye-catching with everything I sent to anyone in the media. Surely that’s a way to ensure you’d get on the news? I’d find out who worked at each news studio and send them something they’d specif
ically like. For example, for me I’d send a nice new bag. Or, no, that might be a bit much; maybe some new bath salts or something. If someone sent me that I’d make sure their product or story got on the news, even if it was really dull.
“Leah.” Jamie’s voice makes me jump out of my seat. Damn, I’d forgotten all about that email for a minute there.
I quickly close down Facebook. How did I end up on that website again? I’m reading everyone’s gossip and not even realising it. I walk quickly to his office with my head down. Everyone is staring at me, which makes me feel awful. Mind you, if I was sat amongst them I’d be staring at me too.
“Sit.” I sit down very quickly. This is the end for me, I can feel it.
The silence lasts for what feels like forever.
“I need you to explain this email you sent me.”
“Well, it was just a, um, joke really. I was just…erm.” I can’t stop babbling, my heart is pounding, and my face is getting hotter and hotter.
“Where did you find the video?” he asks me as if I’m about five years old.
“Um, well, I found it on YouTube. On my own time, of course. I was only messing around during lunch, trying to get a laugh, lighten the atmosphere a bit.” I let out a strangled giggle; this could not be going worse. “I would never misuse company property. Except, well, the email. But that was just um, I didn’t mean to.”
“So, it’s not something you have been working on for a story?”
“Er, no, I don’t thinks it’s, you know—” Don’t say it. Do not say it. “—real?” Damn it! Why would he need that obvious fact clarified?
“Hmmm, well, I want you to send me the video link so I can see what it is you lot are really doing when you’re supposed to be working.” The look he gives me makes me feel about two feet tall.
I’m shell-shocked as I walk back to my desk. What the hell just happened?
“What was that about?” Michelle whispers.
I shrug my shoulders as a confused reply. Jamie is furious. That much I can see. I can’t tell if he really wants the link, or if he was just messing with me, trying to freak me out more than he already has, so I’ll never do anything bad again. Well, it’s working, but I think I’d better do what he asked, just in case.
I suddenly look at Michelle’s face and realise she’s actually pissed off with the fact that I haven’t given her any details to gossip about and help pass the day quicker. I feel totally sympathetic, so I fill her in on all the details.
CHAPTER TWO
The next few days are uneventful, which is such a relief, but I’m still constantly on edge. I thought there’d be some kind of comeuppance from Jamie for committing such a heinous work crime. At one point I even had myself convinced…anyway, I might as well put it from my mind because everything is back to normal.
As the clock finally hits five on Friday, I stop typing immediately mid-sentence and close down my computer. Michelle and a few others from work, including Jake and I, are going out tonight to celebrate that birthday she was planning. I think Michelle said it’s for Sasha from the legal department, but to be honest, I don’t think she particularly cares who it’s for; she just wanted an excuse for a piss up. I need to look amazing tonight. This is my first real chance. The first time Jake will see me out of work in a relaxed environment and he can see the real, such-amazing-fun-to-be-around me, which he’s obviously going to love.
***
This is a disaster. I frown as I look in the mirror. I’ve tried on at least a hundred outfits, but I think the stress has caused me to gain weight—on my hips of all places—and everything looks weird on me. I’ve also managed to develop teenager-style spots. People seem to assume that a vegetarian diet immediately leaves you thin with amazing skin. Oh, how wrong they are. How could anyone ever like me? My hair is limp, my legs are chunky, and I can never get my eye makeup to look good, however many times I practice it.
But there’s not a lot I can do now, it’s time to go, so predictably I end up in the first outfit I tried on—the black dress and blue heels. What a waste of two whole hours. I feel so panicky that I need a drink just to steady my nerves. Luckily I’ve got a little bit of white wine left over in the fridge, I can’t even remember when from, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Michelle—who looks effortlessly fantastic as usual in a navy knee-length dress that offsets her long legs and rich caramel skin perfectly—and I finally reach the pub where we’re meeting everyone, and it turns out we’re the first here, so we head straight to the bar and get drinks in. We’re just gossiping about the comical new ‘super-secret but everyone knows about it’ hook-up between the married anchor girl and the lighting guy—who everyone had previously assumed was gay—when everyone else turns up. I feel a frizzle of excitement at the possibilities of tonight and smile.
Everyone is having such a great night. Drinks are flowing and we’re all laughing. I’ve made sure I’m sitting next to Jake—death stares can work wonders—and to top it off, we’ve actually been having almost-intelligent conversation. I mean, he keeps laughing at me as if I’m joking every time I make what I think are insightful comments, but it’s in an endearing way, so I’m sure it’s fine.
For example, the guys were all talking about the budget cuts and how it affects the recession according to the latest reports—I know, why do they have to discuss work when we aren’t even there? Still, that’s what you get for going out with a group of people who only have their job in common—I piped up and said that I thought everyone should stop saving their money and just go out and spend it. Surely, that would get the economy moving quicker, right?
I don’t know if Alisha is purposely trying to embarrass me when she laughs and points out that the whole point of the recession is people don’t have a lot of disposable income to spend frivolously, but I can feel my face burning brightly. I have had my suspicions for a while that she’s also after Jake, so her comment stings badly. I just can’t tell if it’s meant in a bitchy way or not—I’ve never been great at detecting things like that. Luckily someone intervenes and attracts the attention away from me quickly, so I can sit quietly for a while, trying to regain my confidence.
As the night goes on, after Sasha pukes and bails (typical, it’s always whoever’s birthday it is that ends up worse for wear) people peel away and join other groups or simply go home, until finally it’s just Michelle, Jake, and I left. Last call is announced and Jake starts putting on his coat, making a move to go. Michelle raises her eyebrows at me and I look at her, confused, because I’m not really sure what she means. The drink has made my brain feel too fuzzy to decipher wordless codes. She starts mouthing something frantically to me which I still don’t understand. I suppress a giggle as Jake looks at me, clearly bewildered by my bizarre behaviour.
Suddenly my brain clicks into place; of course, we discussed this plan only yesterday.
“Oh, um, are you getting the bus home, Jake?” I question innocently. I’m sure he lives right around the corner from me.
“Nah, I don’t live far, just a little way down there.” He indicates in the direction my home is too. My heart skips a beat and screams with joy. This is it!
“Oh right,” I quickly interrupt. “Me too. I might as well walk with you then, saves us both walking alone.” He goes quiet. Nerves kick in. Oh God, what if he can’t even stand to be around me long enough to walk home? It’s only about fifteen minutes away. How can he dislike me that much? Is he trying to let me down gently? Have I been obvious? I’ve tried not to be too much. Oh God, it’s because I’m ugly. I’ve got that weird kink in my hair at the back, that doesn’t go away however much I straighten it, and to top it off I’ve definitely got an annoying laugh. I can’t help these things, he must know that. I mean, no one is perfect. How embarrassing. I’ve been trailing around making idiotic attempts at flirting and he—
“Sure. That would be cool.” He smiles, shaking my thoughts away. My brain has gotten so tied up in knots that I totally forget to smile b
ack.
We’ve been walking along for about five minutes now, chattering effortlessly, and I feel like I’m in a warm happy bubble. This could actually happen. He could actually like me. In fact, I’m almost convinced he does. I know, I know, there are so many complications to an office romance, like trying to keep it a secret—we all know that never works—or being silently furious with each other after a row at home about whose turn it is to do the dishes, or even the awkwardness of breaking up. But right now, in this moment I can’t focus on any of the negative possibilities. Only the wonderful romance ahead. I can even see the wedding dress I’ll wear. Ivory lace, strapless with a long train and wonderful stiletto heels. Of course, Michelle will be my bridesmaid, she’ll absolutely love that.
As we reach my door, I force myself to stop thinking. My heart starts to beat so hard that I’m sure he can hear it, and if he can’t, I’m certain he can tell that I’m trembling all over. The flush in my cheeks must be obvious as much as the nervous giggle—which has somehow become more annoying than usual. I can see Jake’s lips moving, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. All I can concentrate on is the buzzing in my brain. I should not have had that last shot. I knew it was a bad idea.
Then, the panic melts away as I start to get the impression that something is about to happen…
***
As I fall into bed later on, I can still feel his warm lips against mine, his stubble against my chin, and his breath against my cheek. I can even recall exactly where his hands rested on my waist as he held me close. It was such a perfect moment, better than I could have ever hoped for. I feel so happy and relaxed, like I’m on cloud nine—a saying I’ve never understood until now. I can’t get this massive smile off my face. It really did happen.
