Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I’m also annoyed with myself for being annoyed with myself. Honestly? I used to relish this lifestyle, it was part of being young, and fun, and Mac. Even when I wanted to die from a hangover, at least I knew I’d had a good time the night before.
Now, I’m just fantasizing about Gatorade and Advil and making better choices in the future. That’s new. And irritating.
Speaking of irritating . . .
New York City has the gall to be sunny today, so my walk to work is bright and aggravating. I manage a sunny fake smile for Angeline, the building security guard, and let out a grateful sigh as I step into the dimness of the elevator.
I’m shoving my sunglasses onto my head just as the closing elevator doors pop open again and someone else steps into the small space.
At my best, I might have been able to bite back my groan, but I think we’ve established that today is not my best, and the groan that escapes is pure aggravation. Seriously?
Thomas’s cool gaze flicks briefly to the sunglasses now tangled in my hair, then drops to my face. The way he searches my features is brief, but telling. I have the unnerving, annoying sense that he’s doing a scan of my operating system and has sussed out that a warning light is blinking. Status: needs maintenance.
“Good morning, Mackenzie.”
“Mac,” I say, giving in to the urge to pull my sunglasses back down onto my face. I’m staring stubbornly at the closing doors, I feel his smirk before he speaks.
“So. How was your weekend?”
“Really fantastic, thank you.”
Thomas turns towards me, adjusting the strap of his computer bag on his shoulder. “Do you drink coffee?”
“I have a pulse, so yup.”
“A triple mocha with whipped cream always does it for me. And a bagel with cream cheese.”
I spare him a glare. “Does what for you?”
“See, usually I’m an oatmeal and take my coffee with just a splash of milk kind of guy,” he continues. “But every now and then . . .”
Ah. I follow now. Thomas is sharing his hangover cure. I’m both surprised that he even has one, and . . . Nope, that’s it. No and. I’m surprised, period. He doesn’t look like the type to make, well, mistakes. Of any kind.
I could, of course, deny my current state; blame my lack of pep on a migraine or stomach bug. And I do consider it briefly, both for my pride and because he’s my boss.
But quite frankly, I can’t muster the energy to lie, so I let out a weary sigh.
“I’ll keep the bagel and mocha recommendation in mind,” I say. “I just have to survive a meeting first.”
“With Christina,” he says, as the elevator doors open.
“Right,” I say in surprise, dropping my glasses back into my purse. “You keep track of my calendar?”
“I was on the invite as well.”
“Oh.” Wonderful. “And I didn’t think my morning could get any better.”
Thomas wisely ignores my grumpy sarcasm as we step off the elevator and head towards his boss’s boss’s office.
“Do you have meetings with Christina often?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t say often, but it’s not uncommon, either. Whenever the senior manager position—your position—is vacant, I report directly to her.”
“It’s been vacant a fair amount over the past couple of years, hasn’t it?” he asks, glancing down at me.
There’s curiosity in his voice, and I can’t blame him. Overall, the design team doesn’t have much turnover. Other than a senior copyeditor who left just after I started to be a stay-at-home-dad, and a UX designer who was only here a month before deciding to go freelance, our team’s pretty stable.
The one exception is the role of my boss—we’ve had three senior managers in two years. Which makes it sound like we must be a nightmare to supervise, but I don’t think that’s it. Jo-Ellen was great, but she left because her wife got a last-minute job opportunity in Dallas that they couldn’t pass up. Eli was also great, but had a distinctly entrepreneurial bent, and jumped at the chance to launch some sort of gaming app in Silicon Valley. Most recently, Shelly had been less great, and now that I think about it, we may actually have run her off because she was the worst.
“Apparently, it’s not exactly anyone’s dream job,” I admit.
“Not yours, anyway.”
I stop walking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He stops and turns toward me. “Christina mentioned on my first day that she’d offered you the job first.”
I swallow, because this topic isn’t one of my favorites even on non-hangover days. “She didn’t really offer it to me, exactly. Just asked if I’d be interested.”
“Yeah, Mac. That’s pretty much what a job offer is.”
“Well, call it whatever you want. It doesn’t matter, because I wasn’t interested.”
“In a promotion? Why not?”
“Because not everyone likes to fit in a cookie-cutter mold. Besides, you should be glad I didn’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have a job.”