Page 14 of Boss of Me
I drag myself out of bed to shower and wash my hair. After a quick blow-dry and makeup job, I slip into a white button-down shirt and slim gray slacks. The office dress code is super casual, so most of my coworkers wear jeans and flip-flops. Not me. Igrew up watching my mother march off to work every morning in a power suit and heels, her designer briefcase swinging at her side.
You have to dress for success, she would tell my sister and me.If you want to be taken seriously as a professional, you have to look the part.
We both internalized the message. But Ember went a step further and became an attorney, following in our mother’s footsteps. That’s why she’s the apple of her eye and I’m not.
Grabbing my purse and a yogurt from the fridge, I head out to catch my bus. My old car gave up the ghost the week I moved here, so I’ve had to rely on public transportation. Thanks to heavy traffic compounded by two accidents, I end up being thirty minutes late.
As I hurry into my work area, there’s an undercurrent of tension in the air. People are huddled around their cubicles, whispering among themselves and glancing furtively around.
Reaching my cubicle, I drop my handbag on the desk and poke my head over the cubicle wall to speak to Quinn, my coworker and bestie who’s tapping away at her keyboard. She has long lavender hair and sparkling brown eyes outlined in black.
“Hey.” I don’t know why I’m whispering. Maybe because everyone else is whispering.
Quinn looks up at me. “Hey.” She sounds nervous. “You’re here.”
“Yeah. Traffic was really bad. What’s going on?”
She glances around before saying in a hushed voice, “Apparently management had an emergency meeting late Friday night.”
“About what?”
“No clue. But, um, Barbara was looking for you.”
Shit! Of all days to be late!“I left her a voicemail?—”
“I don’t think she cared about you being late,” Quinn interrupts. “She just told me to send you back when you get here.”
The fine hairs on my arms prickle with unease.Am I in trouble? Is she going to yell at me for standing Dawson up?
Quinn gives me a look I can only describe as sympathetic. “Good luck.”
I can feel everyone staring at me as I walk through the maze of cubicles, heading in the direction of the supervisors’ offices. I feel like a condemned prisoner marching to the scaffold.
It seems an eternity before I reach my boss’s office. The brass nameplate beside her door readsbarbara yoon, cnp, ph.d, director of events. Through the glass panels, I can see her sitting behind her desk with her phone to her ear.
I knock hesitantly on the closed door.
She looks up and waves me inside.
I step into the office and close the door behind me, then cross the room to sit in the chair facing Barbara’s desk.
She ends her call and sets the phone down. She looks stressed out, strands of black hair coming out of her usually neat ponytail.
I lick my dry lips. “Sorry for being late?—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Her smile is strained. “How was your weekend?”
“Um. Not great.” I decide to address the elephant in the room. “I don’t know if you’ve already heard, but Dawson and I didn’t meet on Friday night. There was a mixup and I, uh, left the bar before he got there.”
Barbara nods. “The bartender told Dawson that you left with another man. Is that true?”
“Yes, but it’s not what you’re thinking,” I say in a rush. “I mistook the guy for Dawson, and he didn’t correct me.”
Barbara raises an eyebrow. “He let you think he was someone else?”
“Yes!” My face burns with renewed anger. “As soon as I realized he wasn’t Dawson, I told him off and got away from him. I was too upset to call Dawson back, so I just went home.”
I can’t tell if Barbara believes me or not. She’s looking down, her manicured fingernail tapping a card on her desk. It’s one of her business cards.
