Claustrophobic Page 7

  I drew my replacement tiles, smiled, and focused on what was most important: my victory.

  One of the joys of Scrabble was the moment the last tile was drawn from the bag and everyone scrambled to get rid of all their tiles. We made it around the table twice before I managed to clear my rack and score a measly six points, placing me as the undisputed victor.

  Julian’s mother bowed her head and sighed. “She really beat me. She beat me, and she saddled me with the damned Z. I gave birth to a cruel, cruel son, bringing my bane to his home and inviting me over to play Scrabble.”

  “She played me, too. She even told me she hated to lose and would wager on it. I didn’t listen.” Julian laughed, and after the final tally, his father had fallen into last place. “Tonight is not a complete loss. I beat Dad.”

  “Only because your mother kept sabotaging me.”

  Julian grinned and saluted his mother. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Any time I get to help your father lose, it’s a good night. Now, go take Chloe home so you’re not a zombie at work tomorrow. I’m even going to be nice and not make you drive her home tomorrow night; I’m going to need a little extra time to pay back my wager.”

  Julian groaned. “You really wagered with my mother?”

  I stuck my feet out and wiggled my booted feet. “They’re really mine now. I won them fair and square. It’s not my fault she underestimated me. Also, the only reason I’m good at Scrabble is because I memorized all the high-scoring words and I try to use those, and I only win if I can wipe out my tiles, which means I need to get lucky. Or stockpile the good letters and pray. I did a lot of praying,” I admitted.

  “We all do.” Julian got to his feet, stretched, and rolled his shoulders. “I’ll get your leftovers out of the fridge. You ready to head home?”

  “Yeah. It’s late. Are you sure you want to drive me all the way across town this time of night?”

  “It’s no problem. Traffic will be a breeze, and it shouldn’t take long to unload the SUV. Don’t worry about it. I’m not. I’ll leave these two trouble makers to clean the game up and tidy my house. I’m sure my mother will be up all night trying to figure out how she lost.”

  “She left that Q undefended. I happened to have good letters on my rack.” Laughing, I followed him to his kitchen. “She was too busy trying to make you and your father lose to pay proper attention to me.”

  “What did you wager for?”

  I pointed at my new boots. “I think I wagered for new clothes, but honestly, I stopped caring after I met these. These are officially mine, won fair and square in a ruthless game of Scrabble.”

  “That’s not something I hear every day.”

  “Do yourself a favor, Julian.”

  “What?”

  “Memorize the high-scoring words.”

  He opened his fridge, fetched my bag of leftovers, and set it on the counter. “Are you seriously telling me you beat my mother just from memorizing high-scoring words?”

  “She left the Q undefended. She only has herself to blame.”

  “Or you just happened to have a U and she didn’t have the right other letters to block your usage of the Q.”

  “There’s four of them. It’s not my fault she couldn’t get her hands on one. The bag liked me.”

  “It sure did. She’s going to want a rematch, and her goal will be to thoroughly crush you.”

  I bet. “That’s when you beat her because she’s too focused on me to safeguard her victory.”

  “Still, I’m sorry I kept you out so late on a work night. We’re all going to have a rough day tomorrow.”

  His would be rougher than mine; when I got home, I could flop into bed and sleep. He’d come home, catch a nap, and be forced into a long day of lawyering, probably dealing with tough cases bound to give him a migraine when they went to trial. “Are you doing any trials tomorrow?”

  “Fortunately not. The opening of my next one is right after the holidays. Right now, I’m doing final reviews of all the evidence. I’m not going to win this trial, but everyone knows that going in. It’s a tough one. I need to minimize the sentence, but this guy is guiltier than sin, everyone knows it, and the jury is going to have a field day with him. Fortunately, my client is somewhat sensible, realizes he isn’t going to walk on this one, and is paying me a fortune to get him the best deal possible. If I’m lucky, we can get a good plea bargain for him.”

  “I never understood why someone would pay you hundreds of thousands for a plea bargain,” I admitted, picking up my bag of leftovers. “I can’t even figure out where they get the money.”

  “Trust fund babies as often as not.”

  Ah. Right. New York had trust fund babies in plenty. “Aren’t you a trust fund baby?”

  “I’m a ‘get the hell out of my basement, go earn a living, and stop mooching’ baby. One who has to repay every cent of indulgence and endure at least several weeks of ridicule should I require funds for any reason.” Julian patted the counter. “I only got a week’s worth of ridicule for this purchase, and only because Mom figured out she could harass me at her leisure if I lived down the street. Will I have a good inheritance? Yes. Do I get anything before inheritance? No. They wanted me to build my own fortune. Dad still thinks I should’ve become a corporate lawyer.”

  “Making seven figures for being a corporate lackey is a tempting deal.”

  “Whereas I can make six figures and retain my general dignity.”

  “Well, you obviously need to work for a better firm than I do.”

  “Call that headhunter, Chloe. He’ll take care of you, and in the meantime, I’ll get my friend to start building your case. You should walk away with good compensation and your owed overtime.”

  “How long does it take for a case like that to go through the system, anyway?”

  Julian grimaced. “Up to two years if they put up a fight. It could settle out of court in a few weeks. It depends on how the firm decides to handle it.”

  Like Julian, I could couch surf with the best of them, but my mother had left New York years ago, which would put my new stomping grounds a thirty-minute drive from civilization. My mother made it work, but she liked driving. My stepfather did, too, although he could work from home as often as not.

  The next few weeks of my life would be miserable at best. “About what I expected. I’ll give you what I have on the case when we get to my place.”

  “Good. I’ll ask my friend what you should do in the meantime. You’ll probably be able to get a new job while he pursues the settlement, but I won’t be sure until I ask him. It’s not really my area of expertise.”

  I wouldn’t remind him about the realities of job hunting over the holidays. I accompanied him to the SUV parked beside his car, and Julian sighed when he peeked into the back. “Mother, this is excessive.”

  “It’s her spoils of war for defeating me at my best game,” his mother said, tossing him the keys. “Bring it over when you’re done. I’m sure you can handle the walk home.”

  “I might freeze to death.”

  I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh and circled the vehicle. When I searched for a new job, I’d appreciate his mother’s excessive generosity, cleverly disguised as my spoils of war. I wouldn’t even accuse her of throwing the game.

  We’d been too close in score, and we’d both scored high.

  “Chloe’s going to be convinced you hate me and want me to die in a snowbank.”

  I bit my lip harder.

  “If your poor, delicate bones can’t handle the walk, I’ll drive you home and pat you on the cheek and tell you you’ve been such a good little boy.”

  He couldn’t win, and judging from his sigh, he recognized that fact. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

  It took an extra five minutes for Julian to escape his mother, and once we were on the road, I couldn’t contain my laughter any longer. “She’s absolutely nothing like I expected from a fashion designer.”

  “She makes more money than Dad,
has nothing to do with it, and gets bored easily. In good news, she’s a huge fan of pockets.”

  I checked the jeans I wore, and sure enough, there were pockets big enough for a phone, wallet, and keys. In the same pocket. “How much do these cost, where can I buy them, and where have these been all of my life?”

  “They’re not on the market. Her marketing department doesn’t think they’d sell well, so she’s been stashing them in her closet. A lot of the clothes we brought over are failed prototypes she really likes so refuses to give up on. I’m sure she’ll try them next year in her seasonal lines.”

  “These are the failures?”

  “Yeah, I don’t get it, either. I don’t wear my mother’s suits only because I hate fittings. They’re good suits. Well, I’d probably deal with the fittings if she’d let me pay for them.”

  “Obviously, we both have issues with accepting gifts.”

  “As evidenced by you making a wager with my mother. That was gutsy, I have to say. That you won is pretty amazing. She was playing to beat the snot out of Dad.”

  “She didn’t pay enough attention to what I was doing. Her loss.”

  “I see you’re a ruthless Scrabble player.”

  “She’ll probably kick my ass should I ever play her again. I’m not that good at Scrabble. I just take advantage when people don’t pay attention to what I’m doing because they don’t think I know how to play.”

  “Well, I won’t make the same mistake twice. And in the spirit of fairness, you should be absolved of having to deal with any future outings to the mall.”

  No, I’d enjoy the little time I had left in New York before I figured out where I could realistically live doing a job that wouldn’t suck the soul out of me. I’d even give his headhunter a call and see what I could find local—and if I could afford to stay.

  I had my doubts.

  “It’s okay. I’ll still do the two Sundays at the mall. That plus I owe you a batch of cookies. Your mother’s already working on the dress so I wouldn’t be a wardrobe malfunction disaster. That was the deal, and I’m a woman of my word.”

  “Just tell Kristine so she knows which days she won’t be subjected to mall mayhem, though it wouldn’t surprise me if she wanted to join in just for the fun of it.”

  “You’re probably right.” Dealing with reality could wait, and despite my Claustrophobic tendencies, I’d make the most of the next few weeks, assuming shit didn’t hit the fan at work.

  I expected it would. It always did.

  I made it to work with ten minutes to spare, and I wore one of the blouses Julian’s mother had made, a perfect match for the jeans I liked so much. While it had more flair than what I normally wore to work, it met the minimum requirements for my attire, oozing the sort of elegance I’d never be able to afford for myself.

  Alice wasn’t at the desk, which rang warning bells; unless something was going on, Alice always waited for me to take over before leaving. Her job depended on it.

  Short of quitting or being fired, I couldn’t see Alice being away from the desk without someone covering for her. The tingle of the doorbell summoned several of the associate attorneys, who stared at me while I circled the tall reception desk.

  Destruction waited for me in the form of a broken monitor, glass strewn over the polished desk, and a keyboard with multiple keys missing. I hadn’t even known it was possible to remove the keys from the damned thing. Without fail, they’d expect me to work despite the computer being in its grave.

  None of the associates were the kind to cut anyone any slack, and if they had their way, they’d replace me with a thinner, prettier model. Of the three leading the charge of associates, I settled with the younger of the lot. “Mr. Gilders,” I greeted, setting my purse on the edge of the desk so it wouldn’t be ruined by shards of glass. “May I ask what happened?”

  Fortunately for me, Mr. Gilders had barely gotten the polish off his legal degree, and while he dealt with the standard bullshit rampant at the firm, he hadn’t turned to the dark side yet. He sighed, glancing at the more senior associates, who gave their blessing to explain with subtle nods. “Alice quit after an altercation with one of the partners.”

  The altercation had left the desk a mess, and at the rate my heart rate spiked, they might lose two receptionists in one day. “Has anyone put in a request for new hardware?” I expected the job would fall to me, but a girl could dream.

  “Unlikely. Alice left three hours ago.”

  I reached for the phone to discover it had reached the end of its lifespan, too. I lifted the broken device, staring at the cracked handset, which exposed a lot of broken wires. “What happened to the phone?”

  The associates stared at each other, gulped, and glanced down the hallway. Whatever they saw sent them scattering back to their offices, and I leaned away from my desk for a view of the glass doors leading deeper into the firm.

  Mr. Whiteman, one of the primary partners of the firm, strode straight for me, and his expression promised hell.

  I’d just paid the rent, and even if I didn’t get another paycheck, I’d have enough money to move out of New York if I joined the sensible Alice. Alice wouldn’t quit without a damned good reason, and I doubted she, a woman who was often forced to shop in the junior’s section or have custom-made clothes, could break the phone even if she tried.

  Maybe if she’d brought a baseball bat to work and gone to town, but that took more planning that she usually invested in with work.

  Truth be told, the firm would be better off with a new receptionist as long as they got their heads out of their asses and paid better for critical work. I did a good job, but I’d written my own damned script, made sure potential clients could book for an appointment with an attorney sooner rather than later, and bothered to do call backs during lulls in my shift.

  I gulped and waited for Mr. Whiteman to step into the reception area. As he expected, I bobbed my head and murmured, “Sir.”

  “Miss Mitchell. I have a new schedule for you.”

  What the hell was he talking about? I glanced at the desk, wondering if he really expected me to go home at eleven and then take over Alice’s shift. “Sir?”

  “Until further notice, you’ll be expected to cover for Miss Relin’s hours, starting tomorrow. I’ve already notified HR that you will be working an addition shift until after the holidays, which will be the earliest we expect to be able to bring in someone new.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You want me to work seventeen hours a day five days a week?” I wouldn’t even mention my work on Saturday, which I assumed would remain unchanged and unpaid.

  I foresaw myself writing a letter of resignation when I got home along with critical planning sessions on how to either change jobs or move on short notice. I also foresaw a call to Alice to find out what the hell had happened.

  “Unfortunately, it’s a requirement. We simply do not have anyone who can do this job.”

  “Surely the temp agency has someone who can stand in, sir?”

  “We have terminated our relationship with the temp agency,” he announced. “As I understand you will be busy putting together a hiring specifications sheet for Miss Relin’s replacement, I took the liberty of calling someone in to replace your broken hardware. You should have it within the next hour. In the meantime, do what you can.”

  I wanted to throw up. “Yes, sir.” Under no circumstances would I throw up, especially not on one of the senior partners of the firm. “Are many clients expected tonight?”

  “It is business as usual, Miss Mitchell.”

  Business as usual meant I’d be up shit creek without a paddle, likely given an official warning for falling behind despite not having a functioning computer, and at high odds of joining Alice in unemployment.

  I needed to give her a call and recommend Julian’s friend.

  “Understood, sir.”

  Mr. Whiteman returned to his office, and I checked the time to confirm I hadn’t lost my mind. I hadn’t; he’d
stayed later than six, something that happened only a few times of year during a dire emergency.

  As soon as he was gone, I pushed the chair away from the desk and checked it for glass. Once certain I wouldn’t slice my legs to ribbons, I sat, put my purse on my lap, and pulled out my travel planner, something I used to track my various work disasters under the guise of doing real work.

  I wrote in my boss’s new expectations for me as a slave, took out my phone, and added the hours to my calendar. Then I took pictures of everything just in case I needed it later.

  Texting Alice during work hours might get me fired, but I shot her a message asking if she was all right.

  She sent me a picture of her face, and her eye had seen better days, swollen almost entirely closed.

  Holy shit.

  While it might land me in the same pot of boiling water, I instructed her to give Julian a call, and I took a picture of the headhunter’s card and suggested she call him, too. She thanked me, warned me to be careful, and promised she’d avoid texting me during work hours to minimize my risk of problems.

  What the hell had happened? I silenced my phone, buried it in the bottom of my purse, and went to work cleaning the desk. I wouldn’t like it, but I could survive for a while working insane hours. I really wouldn’t like it, and I’d be a mess the Sundays I did go to the Christmas Village to play with kids and watch Julian masquerade as Santa Claus.

  If I lasted two weeks, I could give myself a new job for Christmas. I’d consider it my first step in curing my Claustrophobia. I’d have to pack bags and be out of my apartment by the end of the month, but my lease renewed month to month, something that had always worried me but favored me for a rare change.

  My mother wouldn’t appreciate a call right after work, but maybe she could make a few suggestions—if she’d talk to me.

  She sometimes wouldn’t when the holidays rolled around. Then again, she might, and my December would become a battlefield. Chaos would reign, my stepfather would go ballistic attempting to create the perfect family picture, and I’d show up in a designer dress, potentially resulting in my mother fainting from shock.