Page 2 of Cruel Fate

“Your name is Stella?” she asks, smoothing her skirt. It doesn’t need smoothing. There isn’t a hair out of place anywhere on her body.

“It is. Stella Mayfair.”

“How long have you worked for us?” Zarah asks, and I stiffen.

Indirectly, she’s my boss, and she just reminds me of it. Casual, but it’s there.

Lovely.

I loosen my jaw. “About six months. After I graduated from high school, I worked a day job and took accounting classes at a tech school near my apartment at night. I’m still taking classes online. I hope to get an MBA someday.” I don’t elaborate. Not because it’s none of her business what my plans are, but I don’t want her thinking I’m not qualified having only a lowly associate’s degree. She can obviously see how young I am.

Part of my welcome packet contained the history of the company, and I read her father dropped out of college and started Maddox Industries at nineteen investing five hundred dollars he borrowed from the parents of the woman who would eventually become his wife. I wonder if Zarah feels unaccomplished, or if she doesn’t care.

Stepping to the side, I show her the small breakroom. “Simon always has coffee on, if you like.” I mean, if she can handle a simple cup of coffee with cream and not a seven dollar cappuccino.

Half-heartedly, I point to where the restrooms are. I don’t think she’d lower herself to use our toilets—she’ll go upstairs where she belongs. I would bet a paycheck on it.

Everyone watches her follow me to the dark corner where my desk is tucked away. Last hired, I get the crap cubby—at least, that’s what everyone says. But I think no one likes Connie. She’s okay, though. Mostly, I listen to music to drown out her bitching.

I find Zarah a spare desk chair, roll it over, wedge it next to mine, and wake up my computer. My wallpaper is a picture of me standing next to an older woman, her arm around me while I smile wearing my high school graduation gown.

“Is that your grandma?” Zarah asks, scooting the chair closer. The wheels squeak.

“No.” Suddenly tears fill my throat, and that’s all I can say.

I swallow hard and open our accounting program. It helps not to see Maryanne’s face.

“You know we work in payroll,” I start. I have no idea what Zarah knows about her father’s company. Well, her brother’s now.

“Yes,” Zarah says, shifting on the uncomfortable office chair. She’s short, and even wearing heels, her feet don’t touch the industrial carpeting covering the floor. A common problem petite women have, and one I deal with everywhere I go.

“We make sure everyone in this building is paid on time, and in the correct amount. That may sound easy, since everything is on a computer, but we need to abide by state and federal laws and stay in touch with HR to make sure we know about things like maternity leave and FMLA. We make sure vacation time accrues correctly, and that it’s paid out if taken. Things like that.” I turn to her, and her eyes have glazed over. “Are you going to school?”

“No. I’m taking time off to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.” She smiles faintly. “My brother suggested the tour. To get a feel of what I could do if I wanted to work at the company.”

Must be nice, I think bitterly. Take two years off to fuck around while Mommy and Daddy pay all my bills.

Only, Zarah’s an orphan now.

Like me.

Zarah was raised with a silver spoon in her mouth...I was raised with a wooden spoon to my backside. I push the thoughtaway. We pass the rest of the day easily enough, even sharing a joke or two, but she isn’t cut out for payroll.

We don’t have much in common, either, but once I let go of the chip on my shoulder, I find she’s not so bad. She’s been holding in her grief extremely well. Maybe she feels a kinship with me because when the tone of the afternoon changes and my coworkers start shutting down their computers, she says, “Come up to the penthouse. We can have a drink.”

I don’t point out we’re too young. She’d say something like, we’re old enough in Canada, which is true, or, she’s turning twenty-one in a few weeks, so what’s the harm? I don’t have anyone to buy me booze, no temperature-regulated wine room in my apartment, so even if I wanted to soak in the tub and sip a glass of wine, I make do with a cup of coffee and a book from the secondhand store. I bought a large stack with my suit. I had a coupon—buy one book, get one free. Can’t beat a deal like that.

It’s Friday afternoon, and Connie has already taken off, but I work right up until five, sometimes later. I like a fresh start on Monday, and well, what else am I going to do on a Friday night?

I fill in a spreadsheet and buy myself a few moments to think. I can’t decide if I want to accept Zarah’s offer, but I remind myself she’s my boss, and if I make her unhappy, she could complain to her brother and have me fired.

I force a smile. “Sure. Let me wrap up so I don’t worry about anything over the weekend.”

“You take your job seriously,” she says, watching me submit files and close out projects.

“I need to. How do you get anywhere in life if you don’t?”

“Marry up,” Zarah teases, smiling.

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