Page 3 of Love From the Ashes

“Armand. Good morning. I see you have my new employee with you,” the woman said.

“I do. This is Sofie Fletcher. Sofie, this is our marketing manager, Krista George.” Mr. Kingsley nodded toward Ms. George.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, crossing my fingers I wasn’t going to regret my words.

“Same here,” Ms. George said, giving me a tight smile, her true feelings seemingly displayed by the cold look in her eyes.

Mr. Kingsley loudly cleared his throat, gaining Ms. George’s attention. “I have a meeting in a few minutes, so I’ll leave Sofie with you. Sofie, feel free to contact me if you have any questions or concerns.” With that said, Mr. Kingsley turned on his heels and exited through the same door we entered.

“Ms. George, where would you like me to sit?” I said, breaking the silence between us.

“Sofie, I prefer you call me Krista. Ms. George makes me sound old. Seeing how Armand sprung your presence on me on Friday, my schedule is already full, and I have no time for you today. I’ll assign Della to get you settled and show you what to do. Della, where are you?” Krista called out.

“I’m here.” A woman with pink hair swept up into a ponytail appeared from around the corner. “What do you want her to work on?”

“Have her sort the mail. I have some phone calls to make. She’s in your hands.” Krista abruptly strode away, disappearing around the corner without saying goodbye.

I stood there staring at the space where she had stood, stunned by her urgency to push me off on someone else. “I know I just got here, but did I do something wrong?” I whispered, turning to Della.

“No, you didn’t. It’s not about you. It’s the way management filled the position,” Della said as she scratched the back of her neck. “I heard from someone in sales that Krista’s upset the company’s owner went to whatever placement service you’re with and brought you on board without her input or approval. Krista wanted to snag Alice from human resources for the position, but the owner didn’t let her. Just ignore her. She’ll get over it.”

“That might be hard to do if my new boss doesn’t even want me here.”

“Don’t worry about it. Krista can be a witch anyway. Just stay away from her, and you’ll do fine.”

Now my head was reeling. This whole scenario was a nightmare. A coworker I hadn’t officially met had just labeled my new boss a witch and recommended that I stay away from her. That was on top of informing me I’d taken a job that was supposed to go to someone else. If things didn’t turn around for the better, I doubted I would last the week, and at this point, my immediate hope was to get through the day in one piece. Thinking these people were odd, I eyed the woman next to me. She was dressed in orange pants and a bright flower-patterned blouse and wore neon purple nail polish and plum lipstick. Her rose-scented perfume smelled unexpectedly fresh, which was the opposite of the cheap and overpowering floral fragrances my mother always wore. If I had to guess, I’d say the woman in front of me liked to stand out in a crowd.

“Wow. I didn’t even introduce myself. That was rude,” the woman said with a cackle. She stuck her hand out. “I’m Della Nash. I’m one of Krista’s marketing analysts. There’s two of us, me and Chad.”

I shook Della’s hand, eyeing her warily. “I’m Sofie Fletcher, but you probably already know that. So where is my workstation?”

“Behind you. You’ll be working at this desk.”

I walked around the counter and sat in the chair, stashing my purse and lunch bag in one of the drawers. My workspace had a computer, printer, adding machine, and a variety of office supplies. An inbox sat on the counter, and a row of cabinets was against the wall behind my desk. “So, where do I start?”

“With the mail. That task will be one of the easiest parts of your job,” Della said, standing on the other side of the counter. “The girl that had this job before you moved out of state. She created an SOP for each of her duties before she left.”

“What’s an SOP?” I’d heard the term but wasn’t sure what it stood for, especially since this was my first office job. All my earlier positions had been in the retail or hospitality industries. I’d gotten my first job watering plants at a nursery when I was fourteen. After that, I’d bagged groceries and miscellaneous merchandise, moving up to stocking shelves and eventually cashiering. When I couldn’t get one of those jobs, I’d worked in restaurants, busing tables or waiting on customers. Although I’d had more jobs than I could quickly count, I had managed to stay employed most of the time, with my only periods of unemployment being when I moved from one place to another, which my husband and I did abnormally often.

“SOP stands for standard operating procedure. It’s a document that outlines the step-by-step instructions for a task. That white binder next to your phone is the manual Trudy created before she left. It’s pretty detailed, so you shouldn’t have any problems. Krista wants you to process the mail. That pile to your left is what’s left over from Friday. With no one at this desk, staff steps in when they can to do the tasks. Now that you’re here, everything should get back to normal.”

I grabbed the binder and leafed through it, seeing that the SOPs placed inside were in alphabetical order. Flipping to the M tab, I found the instructions for the mail. Trudy’s instructions were clear and easy to follow, so I was sure I’d manage just fine.

“So, are you from around here?” Della said, leaning against the counter and appearing eager to chat. “Krista didn’t tell us anything about you.”

“No. I recently moved here.”

“From where?”

“A couple of different places. I moved a few times.”

“Are you married? I’m single and still looking for Mr. Right.”

Now Della was getting too personal. Since I had moved so often, I’d never had a close friend or confidant. And I wasn’t about to feed my private information to a gossipy chatterbox because she was curious.

Della glanced down at my hand. “You’re not wearing a ring, so I assume you’re not married.”

Annoyed at her prying chitchat, I closed the binder and placed it on the desk. “I’m not in a relationship. Now, if you don’t mind, I should work on the mail. I want to keep from making Krista more irritated than she already is.” I could imagine the direction our conversation would go if I mentioned my husband had died tragically in a house fire. It would be even worse if I told her my marriage had been far from stable or happy.

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