Heaven Help Me, Or Hell Have Me (Heaven Help Me #1) (2 page)

It’s an effort, but I
grumble, “Throwing me off my game, furball. New torture?” He gets a
much deserved glare. “Devil incarnate.”

Two steps back and a
not-so-graceful spin takes me back to the kitchen. My mind wanders,
doing its own sluggish, warped journey while I blindly go through
the motions of making coffee. And I slowly realize something is
off. My eyes shift one way, then another, ‘cause I’m too lazy to
move my whole head. But I don’t see what’s what. Then I pin it
down. I have a sense of... What do they call it?
I don’t know. Like the other shoe is about to
drop. Foreboding?

I groan. “Big word. Hurt
brain. Need coffee.” And stare at the coffee maker. “Need faster
machine.” And ‘cause I don’t have the patience to wait for the
brew, I grab a Double Shot to tide me over, chugging it on my way
to the shower.

I feel itchy and shifty in
my own skin (or maybe that’s the residual from The
7
^th
Circle), a little
off balance, and there’s this vague nagging in the back of my mind
like I’m missing something major. Something obvious. It’s spazzing
me out ‘cause I
never
feel like this. I’m a roll-off-my-back type of girl. Whoa!
And did
that
sound wrong! I just meant I let things roll off my back, not
that I... Nevermind.

Anywho, stuff doesn’t bug
me. Things go wrong. That’s life.
My
life, in particular. It’s the way
it is, the way it’s always been, and I make the best of it. So, let
the other shoe drop. What do I care? I’ll take it in stride like I
always do.

Even still, I resist the
urge to glance over my shoulder, as if that other shoe is about to
biff me upside the head. Yeah, and who’s throwing it?
Cat?

Ducking into the bathroom,
I briefly wonder if it’s possible to have a bad day hangover.
Surely, there’d be some residual effects. And then I know exactly
what those effects are, ‘cause I just looked in the mirror. And
eyed up the towel still wrapped around my head. And I don’t want to
take it off. Ever.

Wonder what kind of
fashion statement I’d make if I shave my head. I could get some
cute hats, or something. Maybe superglue some bows in place. I
could start a trend. It could happen. Ooo…upside: Mr. Hands-On
would be Mr. Hands-Off! That alone would be worth it. Of course I’m
pretty sure it’s not my hair he’s after.

I squeeze my eyes closed
and yank off the towel. I don’t wanna look. I don’t wanna look. I
don’t wanna look. And then I look. Blink. Look again. Then actually
find the need to brace myself against the mirror and lean in. Look
again.

I expected a knotted-up
nest of brown gooeyness, maybe even a twig in there to complete the
effect. What I didn’t expect was this. After a quick fist-grind
against my eyes, I look one last time. Okay, now I have little
white dots in my vision (guess I didn’t need to grind so hard), but
even through that, my hair remains the same.

Not knotted. Not gucky.
Not even a little sticky. But shiny. Silky. Lustrous? Who ever
heard of someone’s hair actually looking like the
commercials?

I snagged the bottle of
shampoo off the shower ledge and study the label. Yeah, like that’s
going to tell me anything. Which I figure out pretty quick with an
eye roll, and a snicker. So, Head and Shoulders... Eh, who
knew?

I smile. And then it fades
with a quick glance to the shower. No way am I getting this hair
wet! But, man, am I ripe, so I wrap my hair in a crappy, old,
clean…ish towel (sooo need to do laundry), and take a deep breath.
I’m no fool. I
remember
what this shower did to me last night. Traitorous
plumbing. And so I hide behind the curtain as I flip the
lever.

Water works fine. But of
course it does. I’m not
in
it. So I bite the bullet and dive in. And it
still works! Groovy!

No sense tempting the
fates (again), so I rush through my shower. Quick scrub here,
gentle scrub there, rinse, and voila! Then I chug a cup of coffee,
slap on my face, chug a cup of coffee, get dressed, chug a cup of
coffee, get my lunch together, and chug a cup of coffee. After
that, I eye up the coffee pot with longing before deciding I need
to leave or be late.

And we all know what
happens if I’m late.

So I dart into the hall,
grab my keys, grab my stuff, trip over Cat, stumble into the wall,
and kind of do this flailing-slither thing as I slip right off it,
spin, and land on my back. As soon as I can breathe again, I shift
and glare at the moose. “
Now
you trip me?” And I wonder again what the hell
happened to our routine, and why does
he
get to change it. That’s quickly
followed by another thought: Was
that
the other shoe
dropping?

And then I’m feeling it
again. That something’s-not-right feeling, making all the little
hairs on my arm stand on end. I launch to my feet and glance
around. Nope. Nothing there. But did I expect there to be?
Umm…apparently so, ‘cause I look again.

I’m an idiot. Evidently a
paranoid idiot ‘cause as I leave my hovel, I
still
feel like the something that
doesn’t really exist is
not
existing
right behind me.

Shrugging it all off, I
put on my happy girl face and traipse down the stairs. Yup,
traipse. I have a bounce in my step, a smile on my face, caramel
macchiatos dancing through my head (Coffee!) and I’m ready for the
day, no matter what it may bring.

Now,
this
is what I’m used to. This is
what feels right. This is me.

And I’m good with
that.

Chapter 3

I first realized my day
was looking up when I approached Larry. I
know
! Who ever thought those words
would fit together? But it’s true! I blink a few times to make sure
I’m not imagining things, that it’s not some seriously bizarre
trick of the light. But it isn’t.

Larry bathed.

And I was right. He
is
blond! I smile as I
get closer. Can’t help it. And he smiles back.

I don’t know why I do it,
but I say, “Aww, Larry. You have a nice smile.” But I keep
the
now that you’ve brushed your
teeth
off, ‘cause, ya know, that would
probably derail the whole compliment part.

He doesn’t say anything,
but smiles wider and reaches for the front of his coat. And
suddenly I’m afraid he’s about to prove if he’s a
natural
blond or not.
“Hey, look, Larry. You have a nice smile, but isn’t
that
nice. No need to
share what God gave you.”

He laughs, and pulls out a
bracelet instead. “I made you this, sweetheart.”

I take it, timid-like,
afraid he’s going to bite or something, and then study it. I weigh
it in my palm. It’s heavy, made of polished stones, beading around
and linking to a thinner, flat stone. An infinity symbol is etched
into the surface of the oval gray stone. It’s beautiful.

“
It’s beautiful.” Nope, no
mental filter here.

“
Let me help.” He reaches,
and I let him clasp it around my wrist.

I think about the
near-flashing. “Sorry for the assumption, Larry.” Though I’m sure
he wasn’t surprised by it.

“
That’s okay, sweetheart.
I have to admit, the thought did cross my mind from time to
time.”

I point at him with a mock
scowl. “I knew it! Dirty man.”

“
Off with you. Your
gorgeousness is going to scare away the other ladies. Let ‘em have
their chance, sweetheart.”

And then I’m on my
way.

***

When I get to the office,
I’m still flying on the buzz of getting a free coffee at Starbucks.
Score! But then I’m standing and waiting for the elevator with the
masses, flashbacks of sizzling computers and stinky
7
^th
Circles pulsating through my brain. And I hope to God, or
whoever else might be listening, that my computer is fixed and the
File Room burned to the ground. Then I think, does it matter? Nope,
not really. I’ll do what I need to do.

Even still, I can’t help but chant
“Thank God it’s Friday” under my breath the entire ride up,
inciting several of my elevator buddies to follow suit. By the time
I hit my floor, I’m feeling pretty damn good about facing my day.
With a wave and a smile, I’m off to my desk, knowing I have plenty
of time before Gropey does his rounds.

I’m humming under my
breath, just a little ditty I made up, when I punch the power
button of my computer, already knowing (somehow) it’s going to play
nice. It hums, it whirls, the screen flashes to life. Game
on!

“
Kasandrae Dane?” The
voice belongs to a short, squat redhead with a portfolio tucked
under her arm, a pen bouncing off her thigh.

“
That’s me.”

“
Come with me, please.”
And she turns and walks away.

Huh?

I roll my chair out and
tip sideways, look down the makeshift cubicle hallway, see her
stopped a ways down with a raised brow and a scowl, and then she
clears her throat. Whoever she is, she’s not kidding.

I scramble to catch up,
and I can’t stop the thought. Is
this
the second shoe? And I shoot it
down with my own scowl. Stupid brain.

So I’m following Grumpy
Red and wondering where she’s taking me. From the looks I’m getting
from the other cubicle zombies, they have no idea who she is
either. She seems oblivious to the gestures and shrugs passing
between everyone, myself included, and makes a beeline to the
elevators. I glance at the office in the corner, wondering if Mr.
Hands is gonna clock this, and then I eye up the woman again. I
decide I’m more afraid of her than him, and stay tight on her
heels.

Two floors up and I’m following Red
right into HR.

Well, crap.

“
Sit down, Miss
Dane.”

I do as she says,
quick-like, and immediate feel like I’m back in the principal’s
office. What did
I
do? Nothing. Umm...except piss off my boss on a daily basis,
break my computer, and dump a shelf full of files. But, hey, I
picked up all the papers. Even peeled the one off the air return.
Was it my fault they were all dusty and crinkled? I think not.
Besides, other than that, I’ve been the epitome of the perfect
employee.

For the most part.

I smile at the mean
redhead. “Can I ask why I’m here?”

“
It’s
regarding Mr. Heaton.” She settles behind the desk, dropping her
portfolio with a
smack
. And I thought
I
was dramatic. “Let me
ask you, Miss Dane, were you having an affair with Mr.
Heaton?”

My jaw drops. I know this
‘cause I feel it hit my chest. And I’m not breathing. I know
this
‘cause the room is
getting all swimmy. A choking sound escapes, then I start gaping
like a fish. It’s not attractive, but effective.

“
I’ll take that as a no,”
she says, a glint of amusement in her eyes.

The words that were
failing me finally rallied. Big time. “You can take that as
a
Hell no
! What
in the world would make you think I’d let Gropey Hands Heaton
anywhere near me, much less take the creepazoid as a lover.” I gag
at the thought, interrupting my rant. And it was just long enough
for Red to cut me off.

“
I apologize. I had to be
sure.” She gestures to her portfolio. “For the paperwork, you
see.”

I straighten a bit and
stare at the portfolio, as if willing it to flip open and reveal
its secrets. But it doesn’t, and I curse my lack of superhero
powers. “What paperwork?”

“
Mr. Heaton is no longer
with the company.”

I grin. “Say again.”

She grins back. “I see there’s no love
lost there.”

“
Riiight, like I’m going
to miss playing Ring Around The Bosses Desk every other
day.”

She picks up on the analogy and goes
with the flow. “I’d heard you were his favorite playmate on the
playground.” And I’m thinking I like Red after all.

“
Yeah. Lucky
me.”

“
Forgive me. I had to be
sure it wasn’t mutual.”

I stare at her. Just
stare, don’t say anything, and wonder about her sanity. “You
have
seen
Mr.
Hands, right?”

She laughs—loud, boisterous, and
contagious, ‘cause I’m laughing a little too. “I’ll give you that.
Well, good. Now that we’re on the same page, we can get to
work.”

“
Work?”

“
Building our case against
him.”

“
Case?” And when did I
become a parrot?

“
For his dismissal. He’s
threatened to sue, so we just want to make sure we have all our
ducks in a row.”