Just One Week (Just One Song) (2 page)

She takes a sip of her Appletini and winks at me. “You going to see your little drummer boy while you’re in California?”

The men inches from us turn their heads in our direction and the guy sitting on the same side of the table of me leers at me in an appreciative, yet used car salesman, sort of way. I want to take the olives off the plastic toothpick in my martini and stab him in the eye with it. He’s also the same guy who I heard talking about cheating on his girlfriend, so I think it’d be totally justified.

Her nickname for Chase always makes me smile. He may be a drummer, but he’s anything but little. His biceps are about as big as my head and he towers over my tall five foot eight frame. He’s got these large hands that seem too big to be coordinated for anything other than lifting weights, but he’s the best drummer in the rock world right now, and he’s incredibly talented in so many different ways. Every single muscle on that man’s body is defined to perfection and one side of his chest is covered in tattoos. I never thought tattoos were sexy until I met Chase and trailed my fingers across his biceps, chest, and back muscles, outlining the ink all over him. On Chase, tattoos are sexy as hell.

Marcia likes to tease me about him so this is the nickname she uses so no one in the office knows I’m sleeping with someone from Zack Walters’ band.

“Yeah, he’ll be there. He’s also the best man.”

“Aw … how cute. You two get to walk down the aisle together. Maybe it’s prophetic.”

I snort. The idea of me getting married is hilarious. I’m sure if Nicole was here right now she’d be practically on the floor laughing her cute little head off. Marriage is great, I guess, for people who want to feel all settled down and raise their kids and what-not, and while I’m one hundred and fifty percent thrilled that Nicole gets her second happily ever after and that Marcia’s been happily married for over thirty years, it’s just not for me. Ever.

“You know my stance on marriage, Marcia,” I say with a shake of my head and take a large sip of my drink.

Marcia just wrinkles her nose at me like she’s smelling sour milk. “I think someday you’ll change your mind about that. You just need someone strong enough to make you see reason.”

“Do you ever stop mothering people?”

“Nope. And you know that moms are always right. There’s really no point in arguing with me about this.”

I laugh as she gestures into a fake crystal ball in front of her and her eyes go all hazy like she’s actually seeing my future. She even throws in a few humming sounds for dramatic effect.

“I predict hot, wild sex for you in the upcoming weeks.” She closes her eyes and hums some more. I almost want to stop her, but then she opens her eyes and laughs with me. “Don’t let me down, either. You’re young, gorgeous, and it’s every old married woman’s fantasy to have some torrid affair with a rock star. You’re basically living my dream.”

“Shut up,” I say through my laughter. I inwardly roll my eyes at her but don’t let her see it. She doesn’t know that Chase and I haven’t talked in six months and I have no plans to tell her why. Most people would think my reasons are stupid. A hot guy wants a girl and she refuses to give him anything more than sex. What woman would do that?

Me, apparently. Because that’s exactly what happened the last time I saw Chase. I learned long ago that the odds of a relationship working out are pretty much slim to none, so what’s the point in trying when someone always leaves?

It’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Chase didn’t get it so I called it quits on the best “friends with benefits” relationship I’ve ever had. I don’t think refusing to be someone’s occasional hook-up is running, but I bet he would. Nicole definitely does.

Two weeks after I began avoiding his phone calls, I saw him kissing some actress outside a restaurant in L.A. on one of those late night gossip shows. I felt this strange sense of jealousy boil inside me that only reinforced my decision to stay far away from Chase.

It’s not that I don’t like him. I do. I just think relationships are so much easier to manage when emotions aren’t involved. The fact that I felt jealous, or anything at all, by seeing Chase draped all over someone who was recently nominated for a Best Actress award simply reinforced my decision to stay far away from him.

Marcia spends the rest of our lunch telling me all about her boys and their plans for the Fourth of July weekend. I listen closely and ask lots of questions in order to keep the conversation far away from me. By the time our lunch is done, my mood has improved – possibly due to the help of the second martini I didn’t turn down – and the reminders of my morning blunders are far behind me. If bad things happen in three, then I’ve already doubled the quota for one day. What else can go wrong?

“Good afternoon Devan,” I say as I sit down and hold out some client files that I’ve finally finished.

I nicknamed my boss Devan the Devil within the first two weeks of arriving in New York. I swear if she were to ever smile you’d see fangs, or a forked tongue. She’s sharp as a tack, serious about her job, and she demands the most of her employees, which is great. I love a challenge and I’m good at my job. I’ve just always thought you could have those qualities as a boss without being a complete bitch, but I think Devan missed that memo.

Without acknowledging my greeting in any way, shape, or form, she leans back in her chair and rests her chin on her hands. They’re clasped together with both index fingers pointed up and tapping against her lips. It reminds me of the nursery rhyme I learned as a child.
Here is the church, here is the steeple; open the doors and look at the people.

I bite back my own chuckle, knowing Devan wouldn’t appreciate it. I’m also willing to bet she has no idea what the inside of a church looks like.

And then I realize she’s just staring at me. Her dark blue eyes practically feel like they’re piercing into me. Her dark brown hair is pulled back into a severely tight bun. She looks a little scary.

Usually I’m not afraid of anything, but something about her posture and the serious look on her face instantly makes me nervous.

I swallow slowly, fighting the instinct to pull my eyes from her. Never show your opponent fear, I practically hear my high school tennis coach tell me.

“Devan?” I ask, quietly and hesitantly. Maybe she’s just having an exceptionally pissy day.

“The economy isn’t approving,” she finally says and sets her hands against her desk, rhythmically drumming her fingers on a bright blue file on the center of her desk.

I nod and lean back in my chair a little bit. We’ve had this discussion before in regards to Callie’s profitability over the last few years. As department stores go, we’re the newest and have tried to set ourselves apart by being a high-end trendy store that appeals to a young clientele that possesses the most disposable income.

“I understand,” I begin and open one of the files I brought in, “which is why you’ll love that I realized with these particular clients, I’ve discovered if we alter the timing of our purchases through them …”

Something flips in my gut as she watches me, and without even knowing I’m doing it, my hands start shaking. She doesn’t give a shit about the client files I just brought in. The knowledge sinks into my pores and weaves its way through every nerve ending in my body and I have the sudden urge to throw up.

This isn’t good. In fact, I have a feeling this is really, really shitty.

“You don’t care about the Les Belles Chausseres file, do you?” I ask, already in knowing that she does, in fact, not give a shit about whatever I’m holding in my hand.

She slowly shakes her head, pushing the file on her desk towards me. She’s expressionless, which makes my stomach churn again. I’ve only seen one expression on Devan in the last two years, which is an equal mixture of ice queen and bitchy rolled into one terrifying glare, but now there’s just … nothing.

“What is this?” I ask, slowly putting my hand on the file as it moves across the desk towards me. Whatever is in this file, I don’t want to see it. I know it.

“Your severance package.”

The nerves that were tingling just a few minutes ago explode into a ball of flames and I feel my entire body get so hot I actually think I may be on fire. Time completely stops as I repeat the words that were just thrown down over and over in my head until I’m sure I must have misheard her. Severance. Severance Package. There has to be another meaning that I’m not understanding as I stare at the blue file my fingers have frozen over.

They’re just hovering over the file, shaking like I’ve had two dozen too many cups of coffee over my lunch hour. My fingers are also bright red, which solidifies my theory of my body being on fire. But bodies can’t just burst into flames in the middle of the day unless you’re a vampire. And since I’m most definitely not a blood sucker, I must be dreaming.

It’s the only logical explanation I can think of when I finally stop staring at the file on her desk and back into Devan’s eyes.

She doesn’t say a single word as she looks at me. One eyebrow raises a little bit and I instantly feel the urge to lunge across the desk and smack the living shit out of her. But she still doesn’t move and I think maybe my dream has frozen. Maybe I’m a witch and have learned to freeze time. Maybe Marcia really did work some weird voodoo magic at lunch with her imaginary crystal ball and this is all just one big crazy joke to play on me before I leave for vacation.

I furrow my eyebrows and cock my head to the left, still certain this isn’t happening. I left my entire life and family in Minneapolis for this job. It’s my dream job and I gave up everything for this opportunity. It’s not being ripped away from me without any notice or warning at all. It can’t be.

I finally realize that my mouth has just been hanging as if it was broken and I’m missing the joint to close it, so I snap it shut before I start drooling.

“Pardon?” I ask, my voice suddenly dry and raw and all sorts of scratchy.

“You were given six week’s severance, which is highly unusual and very generous.”

“You can’t be serious,” I respond to her. The reality of the fact that I have just lost my job starts pressing down on me.

Devan doesn’t move at all while she begins speaking. She’s like a marble statue, unmoving and cold as stone. Her face is void of any expression. I always knew she was a bitch, but I’ve worked hard ever since I arrived in New York to earn her respect.

“The market isn’t bouncing back as quickly as we’d like it to. We’ve simply had to make some cuts and you were one of the last people hired.”

Oh my god. I’ve just lost my job. She’s still talking, but I don’t hear anything. I have my apartment, my bills … my health insurance. Shit. I have enough savings to last awhile, but holy hell, this is not about the money.

I just lost my dream job. And Devan is correct in regards to the economy and the fashion industry. It’s been hit hard over the last couple of years and it’s difficult to find a job anywhere right now.

“… Besides,” Devan’s voice rings through the foggy haze in my brain and I realize she’s still talking. “You’re leaving us at the busiest time of year. Clearly your career isn’t as important to you as you originally led us to believe.”

My jaw drops open again in shock, but I quickly snap it close. “You’re firing me because I’m taking a vacation for the first time in almost two years?”

This time she shrugs. One shoulder shrug is all I get as she ignores my question. “Human Resources has delivered a box to your office. You may clear your stuff out by the end of the business day. Enjoy your vacation.”

My hands tighten into fists as I realize this conversation is completely over. She’s done with me. I have never wanted to hit anyone more in my entire life than I do right now.

Without another word, I stand up and finally take the blue file into my hands. I almost expect my body to burst into flames as I pick it up. She has to be the devil. I leave her office, closing the door quietly, although it takes every ounce of self-control I have to not slam it so hard the glass shatters into a million jagged pieces all over the plush carpeting.