Page 12 of Obeying His Rules

Janelle is not the kind of woman who would send a long chain of texts badgering me about getting to the office or asking me continuously why it is I’m not there yet. She feels it’s beneath her to do something like that, so a single text is all I get. And if I’m being honest, a single text from her is somehow more terrifying than a thousand from any other boss I’ve ever worked for.

I drop my phone and scramble for my clothes. I guess today will be a no-shower-ponytail day.

I grab my bag and my shoes and race into the kitchen where there’s still some coffee left in the machine. My roommate, Christine, must have made it before she went off to work. She and I are both so busy that we never end up seeing each other, and mostly end up communicating via text, notes, and who leaves who leftovers or coffee on the counter. But we both are on time with the rent, and neither of us throws crazy parties or trashes the place, so it’s worked out well for the last eight months.

I’m out the door in seven minutes and running for the subway. My normal routine would be to take my time, stop at the local coffee shop for an espresso and a muffin, then mentally prepare myself for a day of working for Janelle while I eat and drink on the train to work. But today is not a normal day.

Today I’m in high gear the whole way with a crappy homemade coffee in one hand, a protein bar that tastes like chalk in the other, my purse and my bag bouncing and bashing me in the back as I sprint through Manhattan.

I manage to just make my train and even find a seat next to a nice-looking old lady wearing a sea green cloche hat that some hipster from Brooklyn would love to thrift–this lady of course has probably had it for decades.

“I like your hat,” I tell her.

She looks at me and simply smiles, and I realize she has ear buds in and probably didn’t even hear what I just said.

High-tech grandma.

I’m so filled with anxiety that my hands are trembling as I step off the train at my work stop. And it’s definitely not the coffee. Whatever brew Christine made was insanely weak compared to the stuff I normally get. All I can think about is how things are going to go when I get upstairs and have to face an angrier than normal Janelle.

I have to stop myself from chewing the inside of my cheek on the elevator ride up. It doesn’t make it any easier that the entire time I’ve been racing across Manhattan, I’ve had this extra soreness between my legs thanks to Mr. Marlon from last night.

The elevator doors ding and open to the sea of bustling bodies. I catch the eye of one of the secretaries, a tablet in her arms, and I see a look of confusion come across her face as she sees me step past her.

She must be wondering either what I’m doing here so late, or how the news that I’ve been fired hasn’t gotten back to me.

Let’s hope it’s not the second one.

I make a beeline for Janelle’s office, which is in the very back, and step through the door to find her with Randy, one of our sample sewers, staring at a rack of clothing samples he’s brought up from downstairs.

Randy may only be forty-six, but he carries himself with the wisdom of an old sage or a wise grandpa you just always want to be around because he’s so warm and loveable.

Janelle glances over at me as I come in. “Ah, look who decided to grace us with her presence!” She pokes Randy in the arm and points at me. “You see, Randy? It’s my wonderful assistant, Wind. That was your name, wasn’t it? Or was it Tornado? Or Hurricane?”

I wait, expecting her to move on. She obviously knows my name. I’ve been working for her for months.

But she doesn’t move on. She simply stares at me, waiting for me to speak.

“Rain,” I finally say.

“Ah.” She snaps her fingers. “That was it. Rain. And when it rains it pours, doesn’t it? She’s late, she comes bearing no latte for me like she knows is her duty every morning.”

I sigh and fight the urge to look down at my feet. Above all, Janelle values confidence and strength. If I show weakness now, it could be the end of me.

“I’m sure she has a wonderful story for why she’s late and does not have my latte, Randy. And I’m sure we would both just love to hear it, wouldn’t we?”

Randy and I have always been friendly, but he’s in a tough spot and we both know it. He gives me a commiserating glance and shrugs.

“We would.”

“There was a fire,” I lie. “One of my roommate’s cables for her laptop or something. Fire and smoke everywhere. I think the fire department might still be there actually. I got over here as soon as I could. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I was just in such a hurry getting everything together.”

I’m sweating.

My womanhood is throbbing.

Between last night and this morning, I feel like I’ve been thrown around like a football during pre-game warmup.

Janelle stares at me, lowers her glasses, then pushes them back up onto her nose.

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