by Cassie Mae
I’d been taught my whole life that in order to be a leader, you had to work for it and respect the people who got you there. What happens when you fall ass backward into the leadership position, and you can’t respect the person who pushed you in?
I slump onto the edge of my Serta, sinking into the memory foam as I tug on the ends of my work-haggard hair. No more thoughts of work tonight. I promised myself I’d leave it at the office doors before that label ruins my life more than it already has.
It’s not just the fact that the label has ripped me away from my careless freedom. The label was damaging long before I finally heard those missed messages on my phone.
A booming bark vibrates under my feet, jolting a surprised laugh from my lips. “Pepper!” I stomp on the carpet. “Damn it, boy.” He most likely has to piss a river; he’s not used to being locked up all day. I really should hire a dog walker or something. Making a mental note of it right now.
“All right, all right,” I tell him as soon as I’m in comfortable clothes and I’m back downstairs. He claws at the doorframe, his nails putting several new scratches in the wood. I let him—I don’t give a shit that the place cost my father half a mil, and that the doorframe was most likely thousands alone. Something in here needs to look like it’s mine, and I ignore the giant piano in the sitting room that I’ve done one hell of a job skirting around since I moved in. Maybe someone’s in the market for a grand piano. I make another mental note to put that up online as soon as I find the time.
I throw my hood up as soon as we’re outside, not in the mood to be recognized or followed by pesky cameras today. A few weeks ago, I hadn’t blinked twice at the thought of the paparazzi, sometimes even purposely giving them a show. People get bored of the gossip surrounding me after a while, though the one article about the secret engagement to an eighty-year-old was hilarious, even if my father didn’t think so. I had to assure him several times that the picture of me holding hands with an elderly woman was because I was offering her my car service after some bozo stole her cab, and she needed help getting into the backseat. Heaven forbid that I actually show some chivalry, just because I’m a “privileged snob.” Luckily Reg, my driver, vouched for me on that one.
But yeah… it’s not as funny anymore—being followed around and reading ridiculous stories surrounding my lifestyle. The reality of how short life is came in a brutal way, and even though Dad and I didn’t get along, didn’t really have a relationship, I’d always thought that he looked at me and wished I’d just stop acting so Bruce Wayne and grow the hell up. In hindsight, he probably had a point. I’m starting to get serious now at twenty-seven. About damn time.
I turn the corner where the light has burnt out and cross a busy street, laughing at the way Pepper is panting like he’s walked across an entire desert. My ploy to get him to exercise gets me a nasty look as he turns and pretty much asks in silent dog why I didn’t let him just pee in the yard.
“Your gut is hitting the ground, ya porker.”
He pays me back by squatting right there on the sidewalk—in front of a pair of gorgeous women walking past at that—and takes a piss. I shake my head, just grateful it wasn’t something I have to use a bag to clean up.
One woman giggles at the face I make, and the street light glints off one of her long dangling earrings. I don’t know why, or how my mind jumps to the image it does, but I’m suddenly thinking about a ring that fit so snugly on a plump red lip today at the office. Damn, Paige really is beautiful. Not normally my type, either, which is probably why my stomach feels so taken aback.
But she’s got some lip, no pun intended. I just hope she’s worth the fight I assume I’ll have to put up with while I try to act the hardass. I haven’t had to fire anyone yet, and it leaves a sick taste in my mouth thinking about how I probably should if she talks like that to me again.
No matter how much I like that lip, pun intended this time.
I let out a long breath and turn back toward my place, pulling on Pepper’s leash. It’s time I get work off my mind completely with some mind-numbing comedy show that has only a laugh track or a live audience so I don’t have to listen to a score or background music. I can’t keep letting my mind drift down where it was heading—I can’t think of an intern that way, or any employee, and it’s not like it would go anywhere if anything did happen. She’s fire, I’m ice, that much is apparent just from our clothing, and when we open our mouths, it just confirms that theory.
Yeah, I’m keeping my distance. She’d be more likely to mess me up than put me back together anyway.
My calf muscles burn as I make my way to the first floor for the second day. I must’ve walked up and down these steps at least ten times today. Two of which when I was sent to retrieve Ethan’s lunch again. I loathed doing it, but if it was the worst thing I had to endure to get me to where I wanted to be, then I would do it with a smile, and I did.
I think the smile threw him off a bit because he gave me a double take. Those dark gray eyes raked across my face like he hadn’t seen it before. There was something about being the object of his attention that had me shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
The intensity in his eyes makes me believe there’s more beneath the suit, and a hell of a lot more beneath the tabloid stories. Not that I’d ever have the opportunity to find out. He is Ethan Davis, CEO, and I’m Paige Teller, the intern.
I walk out of the building, welcoming the warm California air, leaving another day of work behind me, and head down the street to my favorite coffee shop. The one that has the best cold brew in a thirty block radius.
Two extra shots of espresso, and I‘ll be good until at least midnight.
I pull out my on-the-go peppermint toothbrush that I’ve become addicted to and quickly glide it over my teeth as I walk toward the coffee shop. There’s a garbage pail a few feet away, and I chuck the brush in there before continuing on my way.
My phone rings, and I look down to my older sister’s face flashing on the screen. Mia has been calling every day to check on me, but pretending like she’s not by coming up with ridiculous reasons for having to call. Yesterday was to ask if I left my skis behind at Mom’s because she was thinking about taking a trip to the mountains. I may have believed her if it wasn’t the middle of summer.
I answer, wondering just what nonsense she’s come up with today, but it’s not Mia’s voice I hear on the other end at all. Tears prick my eyes as my three-and-a-half-year-old niece says my name.
“Hi, Abbie baby. I miss you.”
“When are you coming home?”
“Not for a while, sweetie.”
“Why not?”
“I’m working.”
“Do you not love us anymore?” she asks in her adorable high-pitched voice. I swallow down the rising lump and fight through the tears that want to push forward.
“Of course I do. Why would you think that?”
“Cindy’s daddy stopped loving her mommy, so he left.”
My heart sinks at how innocent she is. It makes me want to package her up in bubble wrap and hide her away so she never has to know the world as anything other than how she sees it right now.
“I could never stop loving you. Tell you what, I might not be able to come home to see you, but I can see you through my computer tomorrow if you want.”
She lets out a falsetto of a squeal that wraps around the sadness in my heart and warms it.
“Why don’t you put your mommy on so I can set it up, okay?”
“Okay!”
“Abbie baby, remember that Aunt Paige loves you very much.”
“I love you, too,” she says, and then I hear the rustling of the phone as she hands it off to my sister.
“Paige,” Mia says like she didn’t just pull out the big guns and try to destroy me.
“That was low.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about?”
“Using my own niece against me. That’s just cruel.”
&nb
sp; “I swear I had nothing to do with it. She asked if I could call you so she could say hi.”
“Sure.”
“So how are you?”
“Not much has changed since you called me yesterday. Did you find the skis?”
“What skis? Oh! Yes, I did. Thanks. I left them at Mom’s. I don’t need them right now.”
“You don’t say.” I stop outside the coffee shop and lean against the brick building. “You don’t have to keep checking up on me. I’m fine.”
She goes silent for a moment, and I’m sure she’s biting the corner of her nail—a bad habit she never grew out of. “I know. I just worry. After everything, you were so lost, and I want to make sure you’re happy and you didn’t just leave because of—”
“Mia, I left for me. It was time to try something new. To do something for myself without the ties to my past holding me back. I can do that here. It might take a while, but have faith in your little sister, okay? I got this, trust me.”
Mia laughs softly on the other end. “I do trust you. I always have. I’m just worried about the people you trust.”
“I learned my lesson. That will never happen again.”
“I guess I should stop calling you to check in.”
“I don’t mind you calling. I just hate when you play the Mom Card. I get that enough from her.”
“Who would have thought one day I’d turn into our mother? If I ever pick Abbie up at school in my pajamas and go to talk to her friends, please hit me.”
“Oh my God, I wanted to kill her that day.”
“You? At least your crush wasn’t standing there. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he said, ‘Is that really your mom?’”
“But he got over it and married you.”
“Yeah, twelve years later!” My brother-in-law was a little slow to figure things out, but he made my sister very happy when he finally did. “Took him long enough that’s all I’m saying.”
We both laugh, and it feels good. I guess not all memories from home are bad. They’re just easily lost amongst the crappy ones.
I hear a loud crash in the background and then Mia yelling to Abbie. “I got to go. Your niece just made a mess.”
“I love how when she does something bad, she’s my niece, but when she’s adorable, she’s your daughter.” Another loud crash and more yelling. “Video call me tomorrow. Bye.” I hang up the phone and close my eyes, thinking about what Abbie got herself into now. She’s a curious kid, that’s for sure, and sometimes that curiosity leads her to trouble, but with her blonde hair and bright blue eyes, it’s nearly impossible to stay mad at her. I smile, thinking about her adorable face, and then turn to head into the coffee shop.
The door opens, and I side step my way in, avoiding the five-foot-eleven super model walking out. Jimmy the barista, and my newfound friend, spots me and winks in my direction. His hair falls across his forehead, and he does a shake to get it back into place. Cute guy with awesome taste in music… too bad he’s gay. Just my luck. Not that it matters. The last thing I need is a relationship. My career is too important to let some guy destroy everything I’ve worked for again.
“Your usual?” he asks as I step up to the register.
“Yes, please.” I rest my bag on the counter and pull out my hot pink wallet, retrieving my last five bucks. Thank God this internship pays, or I’d be on my way back to New York, admitting defeat and having Mom and Mia look at me with pity in their eyes. I can’t bear to go through that again. As far as they’re concerned, everything is great. Perfect actually.
They worry, and I get it, but it’s the last thing I want. Life might have thrown me an unexpected curve ball that hit me right in the gut, but it isn’t enough to keep me down. I’m stronger than ever because of it—more focused and determined, and there’s nothing they need to worry about. After our conversation, I hope Mia finally understands that.
“What places you hitting up tonight?” Jimmy asks, handing me my little piece of iced-cold happiness.
“Java Lounge, Black and Brew, and probably end my night at JoJo’s.” I bite my lip ring—bad habit—and hand over the last of my money.
Jimmy looks down, and I quickly snap my wallet shut to avoid revealing the nonexistent contents.
He shakes his head slightly before pushing my hand back. “It’s on the house.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Take my money.”
“It’s a cup of freaking coffee. Don’t worry about it.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not some charity case.”
“Tell you what,” he says as he walks over to make my coffee. “When you become some big wig in the music world, you can take me out for a cup.”
“I’ll do one better. Coffee and cupcakes.” My lips quirk up, and I nod, a smile spreading across my face.
“Deal.” He hands me my coffee, and I take a sip, savoring his coffee making skills—he manages to get it right every single time.
In the two months I’ve been in the city, Jimmy has become my friend, which is more than I can say for any of my four roommates. “We still on for tomorrow?” I ask, walking away from the counter before heading home.
“You know it!”
My apartment isn’t exactly within walking distance, but I don’t mind. I like being outside; it reminds me a little bit of home. Even though when I left, I swore I would never go back, it doesn’t mean I don’t I miss it.
I miss my family, seeing my niece every few days, and my family dog, Rockstar, the cutest Boston Terrier alive. But there’s nothing left for me in New York, so I pushed my personal ties aside and made the decision to leave the only place I ever called home to try and start a new life. A new beginning where my past can’t control me anymore.
What happened…that day is engrained in my mind, tainting everything. The place I grew up will never be the same because the memories, the regrets, the pain is too strong to ignore.
I pop my earbuds in and hit play on the screen, letting the soothing tone of Etta James’s voice calm me.
I love all types of music, but there’s something about the old school powerhouses that are as relaxing as lying on a beach.
The stress of being broke and missing home slowly starts to slide away as the climax of the song hits.
Five more songs and I finally make it to my place. I take the elevator to the sixth floor, having had enough of the stairs for one day. The unmistakable sound of bad pop music floats out into the hallways, and I know without even taking a step away from the elevator it’s coming from my apartment.
My roommates have the worst taste in music. If it’s not auto-tuned or a disaster of random beats, they want nothing to do with it. Unfortunately for me, they like to listen to that garbage on full blast.
I roll my eyes at the horrible lyrics and push into the apartment. Blasted with a mixture of perfume and hairspray, I watch as all four gorgeous girls, tall and rail thin, dance around the living room and the couch—my bed. Until Sasha notices me. Her tiny black dress barely covers her ass cheeks, and the five-inch strappy stilettos make her impossibly tall.
“Paige!” she says, throwing her hands up, spilling wine from the bottle she’s holding. Bianca, Veronica, and Marcia turn toward me. “Dance with us. We’re celebrating.”
“I’m actually running in and out.”
“What? I can’t hear you?” Sasha says with a tilt of her pretty head. Out of the four girls, Sasha has always been the friendliest.
“I’m leaving.”
Sasha motions to her ears, so I walk over to her iPod dock, lower the volume, and try again. “I just came here to grab something. I’m heading back out. What are you celebrating?”
Sasha twirls, her long dirty blonde hair whipping around her, and she settles her hands on Bianca’s shoulders. She pushes Bianca forward, her black hair cascading in waves onto her shoulders. “Bianca got a commercial!”
“Congratulations,” I say. “What’s the commercial for?”
She blinks her green sul
try eyes at me. “Yeast infections.”
I try not to choke on my iced coffee that is now completely watered down. “That’s fantastic.”
“I know,” Bianca says matter-of-factly, but I don’t take offense. After living with her, I’ve learned that she has no social skills whatsoever.
Veronica grabs the bottle out of Sasha’s hand and overfills her glass. Her blue eyes look almost fake as she blinks long black lashes at me. “Farrah Fawcett did a commercial for Noxzema shaving cream before she was a Charlie’s Angel.”
I nod my agreement before looking back to Bianca. “Absolutely. You have to start somewhere.”
“I know,” Bianca says.
Figuring I’m not going to get any other words out of Bianca’s mouth, I go to the small three-drawer end table that also serves as my dresser and retrieve the notebook I came here for.
The music is turned back up, and the four girls start prancing around the apartment again. I step toward the bathroom to freshen up before heading back out and watch them for a moment, thinking how it looks like a scene from a music video.
After I brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair, I make my way through the dancing queens.
“’Bye, girls.”
“Don’t wait up for us,” Sasha sings.
“Oh, you’re going out?” I’m grateful for a place to sleep, even if it is just a couch, but my roommates traipsing in and out at all hours of the night make it impossible to get a good night’s sleep.
“Of course we’re going out,” Marcia says, running a hand through her hair. “We have to celebrate.”
“I thought you were celebrating.”
“We’re pre-gaming,” she explains.
I don’t want to be a complete and total downer, but I have work in the morning and can’t be late. I also can’t be a walking zombie. The only way I can prove myself is if I’m on top of my game. Even if I stay out till midnight, the girls won’t stumble in until three or four a.m. “If you guys could just try to be quiet when you come in, that would be great.”
