And instantly, he was the only thing I could think about. He obliterated every other guy went to high school with. I even canceled my prom date because it just seemed so idiotic to go with Kurt Wellerman in his dad's station wagon when I had August sitting at my dining room table, being all… perfect.
Even the smell of him blew my mind. It was just something the guys in high school couldn't reproduce. They didn't smell like men. It's not like you can buy that in a bottle. He smells like exertion, like experience. Like a grown-ass man.
I swipe my card at the door and push on the handle when I hear the bolt unlatch. As I walk in I can see a yellow trapezoid of light outside Lori's office and wonder if the cleaning people are still here. I set my purse on my desk and walk toward her office to say hello to Marguerite, the night shift cleaning lady.
To my surprise, Lori is already here. She sits at her desk with her elbows perched on the edge, holding up her chin in her hands. She scowls angrily at a sheaf of papers spread out on the desk in front of her, then looks up when she notices I'm already here too.
“Oh, good morning, Dahlia. You're here early,” she remarks. She slides her glasses from her nose and sets them on top of the papers.
“Oh, you know, I usually try to get a good start, first thing,” I reply, secretly pleased that she finally noticed. “There’s usually nobody here. Is everything all right?”
She doesn't answer right away, breathing through her nostrils and shaking her head from time to time. I can't make out the spreadsheet that's in front of her, but it doesn't look like good news to me. There are circles and lines in assorted colors of highlighter, making an abstract graffiti.
“Come on in, won't you?”
This doesn't sound good. I enter quietly, sitting on the cocoa-colored velvet chair in front of her desk, right on the edge. I smooth my skirt over my knees and try to appear attentive and receptive.
“How long have you been here, Dahlia?” she begins, without raising her eyes to meet mine.
I swallow hard. My throat feels tight.
“About six months, I think,” I reply quietly.
“Yes, that does seem about right,” she answers. “August was good to send you to us. You’ve been a quick study. Are you enjoying your time here with us?”
I nod silently, then remember to answer. “Yes, very much. I'm learning so much.”
She finally looks up, narrowing her bright blue, intelligent eyes at me. She has this icy, clear stare that looks like it goes right through you, calculating the weight of your soul instantly.
“I'm happy to hear you say that. Do you think you are ready to take on something more?”
I try not to appear too excited. So I’m not in trouble? Thank God.
“Actually, I was just thinking the same thing, Lori,” I smile, relieved. “I'd love to expand my responsibilities here. What sort of things do you think I could do?”
She leans back in her chair, staring at the ceiling briefly and steepling her fingertips in front of her chest. Another ex-Marine like August, Lori Coleman was a tremendously decorated veteran of the Afghanistan war. An injury that she doesn't like to talk about removed her from active duty. People around here mention it in hushed tones from time to time, but I’ve never been able to get the details.
The word is, she was one of the rising stars in her unit. She could have been very highly ranked, eventually working in the White House. She’s beautiful and obviously brilliant too, so politics looked like a possibility, or maybe a stint as a PR person or political pundit on CNN or something. But unfortunately, her career was cut short. For some reason she chose to stay out of the limelight and not go into politics at all. She stays on the fringes, working from the shadows.
This company is very much her project, her baby even. She built it from the ground up, August told me. I can see from her pained expression that whatever she is looking at is troubling her deeply.
“Well, Dahlia… I'm just going to put it to you straight,” she begins. “Some of our contract negotiations broke down, and we're forced to find other sources of revenue. To put it in the starkest of terms: if I don't find new business soon, we’re going to need to be looking at cutting back.”
“Cutting back?” I repeat meekly.
She nods, sighing. “I have a few options on the table, but if I don't find replacement contracts to substitute for those ones that the goddamn LRD brothers stole out from under me, things could get rough. So one way that I can control costs is by asking everyone who's here to do a little more.”
“I would do anything you needed,” I agree brightly. “All you have to do is ask, Lori. What can I do to help?”
She knuckles her chin, scowling. “To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. Like I said, I lost a few contracts and I don't have signatures on the few that are in queue. I'd love to give you more responsibilities, let you take on a deeper kind of work, but…”
I shake my head helplessly. “I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Lori.”
She looks around, then finally sighs for a long time. “I think I need coffee,” she admits. “I'm not really sure what to ask you for here either, Dahlia. I'm just grasping at straws at this point. It's not like you're going to be able to invent new business out of the middle of t
he air, right? I'm going to have to solve this problem myself. But I am glad to know that you're willing, Dahlia. That means a lot.”
I push myself up to standing, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot as she directs her interest back to the spreadsheet in front of her. I wish there was something I could say, and I wrack my brain, wondering if there's anything I can do to help.