Calm. Chill. Zen. Todd isn’t worth it, and Dad isn’t either.
I have a petty urge to tell the florist not to bother sending flowers to Dad anymore, but I control the impulse, which will pass. Mom asked me to be nice to Dad because he doesn’t mean to be neglectful, and I’m going to honor her wish.
Plus, it makes me a better person. There’s no reason to stoop to his level.
I breathe deeply some more, until all the tension from the call from Dad dissipates. I don’t want to take negative energy with me to work.
I open my eyes and glance at my phone.
6:45
Oh shit!
I hop off the bed. Crap, crap, crap! It took longer than I expected to shake off the bad mojo from Dad. Argh! I rush through a shower. No time to dry my hair all the way, so when it’s dry enough, I just rub some hair gel through it and twist it up. Skewer the topknot with a black chopstick and I’m good to go.
Then I throw on the first dress I happen to grab—bright lavender with mustard accents—and slip on the nude sandals from yesterday.
“Good enough,” I say, then run downstairs and jump into my Ferrari.
Driving to work, I put on my makeup piecemeal at the red lights. A little bit of concealer. Mascara. Finishing powder. Lipstick. Presentable enough.
The dash on my Ferrari says I’m on time. Grandma always told me being punctual is paramount in setting a good example and achieving success in life, and I don’t want to be the kind of boss who comes in late for no good reason.
Plus, I have a morning meeting.
I park and trot across to the lobby, my huge purse slung over a shoulder. Thankfully, Todd isn’t here to scream my name. He probably has a lecture or something today.
It is lovely to enter the building without some horrific spectacle. Wouldn’t it be great if Chuck put Todd on some committee that meets in the morning every day? I swore to myself I wouldn’t interfere with Todd’s career, but the temptation is so, so strong.
Dan waves. “Good morning.” His smile is extra broad. He must’ve gotten lucky this morning. Not that I monitor my employees’ sex lives, but his wife told me he gets that special, sappy smile when she lets him have her in the shower. Yes, it is TMI, but she was drunk when she told me at our New Year’s Eve party two years ago.
“Good morning,” I say, smiling back and acting like I don’t know why he’s so mellow and happy.
“Go you.” He gives me a thumbs-up.
“Um, go me…? Thanks?” What’s that about?
I ride the elevator with two other people—Spence and Jack from marketing, who are holding hands. They announced their engagement three months ago, and I’m happy for them, since they make a handsome couple. They grin at me, their eyes eager.
It’s a little freaky. The last time they looked at me like this, I had to mediate an argument between the marketing team and the product development team. I really don’t want to get stuck between them again.
On the other hand, they keep giving me that expectant look. Fine. I might as well get this over with.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Tell me you’re getting along great with the product development team. Tell me you’re—
“I like how you trade up,” Spence says with a wink.
“Me?” I haven’t bought a new car or home. Heather hasn’t bought me new office furniture.
“Don’t act coy. We all know.” Jack pats my shoulder. If gestures came with vocal cords, this one would be saying, You go, girl! “We’re one hundred percent behind you.”
“Woohoo!” Spence pumps his fist.
“I see. Thanks.” I smile back, hiding my unease. Dan and now Spence and Jack. What’s going on? What did I trade up while I was sleeping?
They step out of the elevator on the fifteenth floor. When I reach my floor, Barbara is at her desk, reading something. Then she pulls back and punches the air with her fists. “Yes!”
“Good morning, Barbara.” I smile. “Did Michelle nail her audition?”