Authors: Ingrid Reinke
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Cozy, #Women Sleuths, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Romantic Comedy, #Mystery & Suspense
Dead End Job (26 page)
Not a mention of the fact that he randomly macked on me hardcore in his BMW before I ran down the street like a mental patient, or even an expression of sympathy that I had been shot by a psychopathic gay for God’s sake. No—Clark was seriously welcoming me back to the office with a request for administrative help. What. A. Dick.
I put my head down and stared at the carpet in shock. Even though I felt like I had been directly punched in the uterus, I’m pretty sure that I managed to mutter an appropriate response, something along the lines of “Oh…I think that would be fine.”
“Thanks! Great to have you back!” Clark flashed me a million-dollar smile and bounded back into the conference room, probably to go find fucking Scott from fucking marketing.
I felt myself shaking my head and couldn’t prevent the eye-roll and muttering of “seriously?” under my breath as I continued my path to the elevators towards my temporary ass-airing-out respite. The award was obviously not only a total joke to me, but also to my fellow employees. A little band-aid meant to cover up the uncomfortable feelings that people got when they accidentally made eye contact with me in the hall and were forced to think about or actually acknowledge what I’d been through. Everyone just wanted to move on, have things return to normal and go about their day ignoring each other.
When the elevator doors finally opened and let me off on 29, I made a beeline for the ladies room where I balled up bits of toilet paper and dabbed my armpits, then, hoping to calm my still red cheeks, stood over the sink and splashed a few handfuls of cold water on my face. I half-expected Rocky to come and find me before he left he building, but also realized that this was less likely due to the presence of the ex-wife slash psycho-bitch. But because the morning had already managed to be a disaster of massive scale, I decided it would be better to avoid any unnecessary interaction, so I chose instead to wait it out on the pot for another few minutes until I felt that it was ‘safe’ to go back out and sit at my desk.
When I finally emerged from the ladies room, dry and no longer bright tomato red, the level of activity in the Legal department had pretty much returned to normal. As I walked through the front door to my desk I could hear the one-sided conversations of conference calls over the steady whirring of the printers. No one rushed over to talk to me or welcome me back. In fact, no one even looked my way as I passed by the offices and cubes—I was relieved that even after could always count on my fellow employees to show a comforting level of apathy. Sighing, I put my earplugs in, pulled up the latest episode of trashy reality TV from my online queue, picked up an IM conversation with Amanda, and went about wasting my day away.
Ingrid Reinke lives in Seattle, Washington with her patient husband, Karl. She divides her time between trying to make people laugh and trying not to drink too much wine. She frequently spills things.
Dead End Job
is her first attempt at a novel, and she hopes to write many more.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Memorandum: Your Life Sucks
Chapter 2: Stinky Cheese Towels
Chapter 4: Shock to the System