Page 40 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
I gingerly massage one aching thigh. “Jogging.” When Shasta looks unimpressed, I add, “And really aggressive stretching.” Her eyebrows lift. “Like, torture stretching.”
At the mention of torture she looks interested. “Cool. Hard-core stretching is good for sex. My boyfriend is super limber. He likes to hold a backbend while I ride him like a bull.”
I nearly swallow my tongue at that piece of TMI but force a smile because I don’t want her to think I’m a prude. I will, however, be spending the rest of the afternoon trying to scrub my brain of the image of Shasta in chaps and a cowgirl hat, astride her naked U-shaped boyfriend.
“You’re a lucky girl.”
She doesn’t notice the undertone of sarcasm in my voice and grins. “Totally. D’you want to see a picture of him?”
Before I can be forced to lie about how cute Shasta’s bendy boyfriend is, I’m saved by the appearance of Portia, who’s wearing a face like someone just executed her cat.
“Joellen,” she says, drawing out the syllables in an exaggerated fashion. She’s probably mocking me, but I count it as a win because it’s the first time she’s gotten my name right in the entirety of my employment at Maddox Publishing.
“Portia,” I reply, just so she knows she’s not the only one who can pronounce a name.
Her lips pinch. “Will you please follow me?”
My heart lurches, and Shasta and I share a worried glance. The only reasons I can fathom that Portia would ask me to follow her anywhere are if I’m about to get fired or she’s taking me to the roof so she can push me off.
“Um . . . is everything okay?”
“You have a meeting with human resources.”
Panic unfurls inside my chest like a writhing ball of snakes. “I do? Since when?”
“Since now,” she replies through gritted teeth. She spins on her heel and strides away before I can ask any more questions, like Does my severance package include ongoing health insurance? and How did you get that stick stuck so far up your ass?
Being the steadfast friend she is, Shasta focuses on the important stuff. “If you’re getting fired, I call dibs on your new chair.”
I frantically search my memory for any incriminating past behavior that might lead to my termination but come up with zilch. I’m always on time, I never miss a day or a deadline, and if I’m not exactly beloved by my coworkers, at least I’m generally tolerated.
Except by Portia, who would obviously like to suspend me by my ankles over a bed of burning hot coals until I’m dead.
“You better hurry up, Joellen. Portia looked like she was about to bust a nut.”
Ignoring Shasta’s odd male orgasm reference, I rise from my chair, grimacing as my thigh muscles howl in protest. I hobble through the cubicle maze toward the human resources department, which is on the other side of the floor, past the executive offices. I notice Michael isn’t in his office, which is lucky because I’d probably throw myself at his feet and beg for mercy.
I don’t have much in the way of savings. If I get fired and can’t find a job right away, I’ll be sleeping on my parents’ sofa by Valentine’s Day, contemplating which suicide method would leave the least amount of mess for the coroner to clean up.
“Come in,” says Ruth, the HR manager, when I arrive at her open door.
A woman the word zaftig was invented for, Ruth is voluminous. Next to her, I look slim. But she dresses in lovely feminine outfits and always has her nails and hair perfectly done, and pulls off the whole Rubenesque look with grand style. If she has any qualms about sitting four feet away from glossy, greyhound-skinny Portia, she doesn’t show it.
Skinny body, skinny heart, skinny love.
Cam’s words echo inside my head as I take a seat opposite Ruth’s desk. I smile at her because if Cam is right, Ruth has enough love inside her heart to heal the world, but Portia’s love is as thin and dry as a stale cracker, crumbling to dust when you put it between your hungry teeth.
“Are you all right?” Ruth’s brow creases with a frown as she watches me wince when I cross my legs.
“Yes, sorry,” I say, embarrassed. “I just started working out, and I’m a little sore.”
Ruth beams at me. “Good for you! Regular exercise is the best way to maintain your health!”
Portia, sitting across from us in the small office, makes a small noise in the back of her throat. It’s a muted laugh, dripping with disdain. When Ruth glances at her sharply, I know I’m not the only one who isn’t a Portia fan.
Opening a manila file on her desk, Ruth thumbs through a stack of papers. “I understand you’ve just passed your ten-year anniversary with the firm, Joellen.” She looks up at me for confirmation. When I nervously nod, she goes back to perusing the file. “And in that time you’ve missed . . .”
Her index finger skims the length of one page, stopping at a figure at the bottom. She glances up at me again. “One day.”
