Page 1 of The Sweetmate
Chapter 1
Lisa
It’s three a.m. and I’ve been trying to figure out how I’m going to change my life by seven o’clock before leaving for work. This isn’t going according to plan. I thought for sure by the time I turned thirty I’d have it all figured out. It’s borderline embarrassing how naïve and overly confident I was up until this point. Reality is worse. Adulthood is highly overrated. Is it too late to start over? It’s never too late, right?
With my face buried into my pillow, I reach over and slap my hand around until it connects with my phone. Groaning I turn my head to the side so I can check the time. It’s now five in the morning and I’ve yet to have any type of grand inspiration. There’s also no point in trying to go back to sleep. I might as well attempt to shower the shame and feeling of failure from my body and chase my disappointment in my lack luster career away with
caffeine.
One of my many important tasks with Brunner PR is getting my esteemed and lovely coworkers coffee in themorning. I have the privilege of leaving the house extra early to beat the morning crowd at the coffeehouse. And since I’m feeling spiteful… I think I’ll have some fun this morning. Kidding. I’m not sure I know how to have fun. I want to. I just don’t think I’m very good at it. I’d like to be fun, cool, and a total badass. I want to be the villain, but I think I’ve only managed to become the villain in my own life.Look at me full of jokes today.This is the moment I become the villain in everyone’s story, this is my origin story. Bitter doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel, and since I have a bitter taste in my mouth…so will everyone else. Who else can deliver sixteen coffees and not spill a single one?Because that’s why I busted my ass through graduate school.And yet nobody – and I meannobody– even acknowledges me, much less appreciates anything I’ve done.
I’ve gone above and beyond at Brunner PR, and my position has yet to reflect any of my efforts. And not a single colleague can even bother to use basic manners. Which is why I ordered them all decaf coffees. Wicked, I know. I roll my shoulders, my own epic theme music playing in my earbuds as I saunter into the office all menacingly carrying a tray full of falsely caffeinated hope.
I wasn’t always like this. People pushed me to this point. I’m exhausted and fed up. Is that an excuse to resort to petty antics? Probably not. Worse, I know passive aggressive moves aren’t going to satisfy my thirst for vengeance. I’m losing patience, especially since this is supposed to be the year I finally get promoted.
But there’s still time.Keep telling yourself that.I foolishly cling to hope that thiscould still be my year.It has to be.I can’t really have wasted all those precious years for nothing. One way or another. I’m either getting my promotion or leaving the company. Lisa Vinton will be a name known in the world of public relations. I understand paying your dues and putting inthe hard work. I did it, and more. Every ridiculous task they’ve given me, I’ve excelled at. All the errands, taking notes, and scheduling meetings—crushed it. But for whatever reason, it’s been five years, and I’ve only moved up a tiny notch. I’m just barely above an intern.
But change is happening this year, one way or another.One. Way. Or. Another. I’m ready to have my own clients and campaigns. To take someone under my wing and elevate them to the next level in their career.
And I plan on achieving it this year.
My mind refocuses on the present as I place the coffee tray full of useless brown water,onto the break room table. Bodies nudge past me as greedy hands reach out to eagerly take a cup. Inwardly, I sing-song,You’re welcomeas I bring my fully caffeinated nectar of the gods to my lips, but before I can even take a sip, another errand is thrown my way. Then another. And another.
Coffee in hand, I hurry out of the office to go to the bank, then to pick up the boss of the boss’s dry cleaning, and then to the post office. Thank goodness I got my cup of essential survival juice. The worst part of all of this? I know I’m selling myself short. I deserve more, yet I allow others to treat me like a doormat. It’s a toss-up if anyone actually knows my name, and I don’t even have a real office or much of any personal workspace. My knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel of my car.
“It all changes today. I’m getting my promotion.” I try to manifest my goals into existence. “This is it. Today’s the day. I’m getting a client.”
I crank up my mix of 80s and 90s hip hop music to hype myself up. All my sacrifices to get to this point will be worthwhile. It’s a little depressing when I think about it, so I try not to obsess over it. Key word:try.Getting this promotion has become my entire life, to the point that I have no relationshipsof any kind. No social life whatsoever. I’ve spent all my time and energy trying to gain some ground with this company that seems to only see me as a glorified messenger. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old with no friends, much less a significant other, and a career that seems to be going nowhere. I left the hills of Tennessee to come to the city of Chicago to be a doormat. No thank you. I could’ve done that just fine back in the sticks. I literally could’ve had the same job and had half the cost of living. No. This must be worth it.
It’s a tough reality to face when I grew up always being an overachiever and perfectionist. Throughout school and in college, I was always at the top in academics and humanitarian clubs. Even on the university swim team, I broke records. I could’ve gone on to the Olympics, but swim was my outlet to release my frustration with life, not my passion.
Except now, no matter how many laps I take, I’m still angry and can’t clear my head. I lose sleep at night staring up at the ceiling asking the same question:Why am I not succeeding? Why am I failing? Why have crashed and burned?I’ve come up with every phrase of asking myself why I’m currently sucking at life.
The reality of becoming an “adult” is not at all what I was prepared for. In the real world, I’m mediocre. Whatever this slice of humble pie is, the server can take it and shove it up their rear. This can’t be my life.
I’ve considered sending out my resume and applying to other firms. Quitting and starting over. But I simply can’t walk away. Not yet. It would mean failure, and I refuse to fail. I will do whatever it takes, and Iwillget my promotion this year. Period. It’s happening. Maybe even today, who knows? I mean, why not today? Yes! Today.
Hitting the pause button on my internal spiraling life crisis and hype music, I answer an incoming call using the hands-free feature.
“Hello, Mom.” I force my voice to sound calm and pleasant. Everything is hunky dory in the big city.
My mother’s voice comes through the speakers like a lazy breeze, always sounding as though there isn’t a care in the world, and charming. “Lisa, darling, how are you?”
“I’m well. And you?”
I hate going through polite necessities with phone calls. I’d rather get to the point and be done. My mom calls once a week, but usually it’s on a Saturday. She’s by far the nicest woman alive and lives in her own happy little bubble. I admire her optimism despite also thinking she’s delusional. Mom can sometimes be too unrealistic and seriously unable to grasp that we don’t think the same way.
“Well angel we’re a little concerned.”
“Uh-oh. Why?”
“Dear, we were nervous about you moving away and being alone. It’s been years. Maybe…now don’t get upset… Maybe it’s time you relocate.”
“To where?”
“Here. Come home. Where you’ll be surrounded by love and people who care about you.”
That doesn’t sound appealing at all. She means be swarmed by her, her friends, and a line of potential suitors to marry me off for her irrational fear of me dying alone. Not everyone needs to be surrounded. I’m getting claustrophobic just thinking about it. Ick. Plus the lack of privacy. Someone lurking about my door. Then the forced pleasantries of inviting them in and offering a beverage. The small talk. Oh goodness not the small talk.
