off with William today. I haven’t spoken to him all day, but I can just tell. I mean it’s not like I have a lot of spare time on my hands between confirming his appointments and handling all of his calls, paperwork and expenses. But every time I glance William’s way, he’s pacing, muttering to himself or scrunching pieces of paper in his palm.
Something has wound him up, and for once it’s not me.
I spend the day keeping an eye on him through my peripheral vision. After all, when your boss is in a bad mood, it’s good to be alert. But when five o’clock rolls around, William is the first out the door. Which is also weird for him. But whatever. The workday has now ended. I’m not paid to care about what’s going on in his head.
I feel a weight lift from my chest as I leave the office. I guess most people feel relief to be going home at the end of a workday, but for me the feeling is incomparable. In the back of my head there’s an hourglass with sand running fast, marking the time to my next shift, but for a few minutes I can enjoy the fact that I’m out of that hellhole.
I guess part of the reason today hit me so hard was that William embarrassed me this morning. At least usually when he’s brusque with me, it’s in the privacy of his office. But today he patronized me in front of his entire team. And what did I do? I stood there and took it like an idiot.
Has it ever occurred to me to stand up for myself? Of course it has. I frequently dream about putting William in his place. I have visions of yelling at him in front of everyone. I fantasize about telling him where to shove his BS. I imagine the day when I slap his smug face for his rudeness and everyone cheers because, of course, he totally deserves it. The one and only thing stopping me is the inevitability that I will be fired.
And that, well, I’m not violent. I’m just creative. Blame the writer in me for these fantasies of revenge.
When I arrive home, the apartment is quiet. Montana won’t be home for a while, and I’m glad of it so I can de-stress with some writing time. I sit at the counter in the kitchen and open my laptop, hoping to get some quiet time to write. But before I can open my manuscript file, I notice that I have an email from an unfamiliar address. The subject line mentions a job.
I open the email in curiosity.
I can’t remember applying for a job recently—I gave up on finding something better a while back. But anything seems better than working for something like William. I read the contents carefully.
Dear India,
Deepest apologies for our late response. Several months ago, you applied for the staff writer opening with us. Unfortunately that position has already been filled. However our team has reviewed your résumé and we believe you would be a great fit for another role. Your writing is quite impressive, and we believe you would be an excellent contributor to the health-and-beauty pages on our website.
While the position is freelance and you’d be paid on a per-article basis, it could lead to great places. It would be a good way for you to get your foot in the door. You would also be working remotely, so you can work to a schedule that suits you. If you believe this could be something that would interest you, please let us know.
Sincerely,
Lauren Garvey
Freelance World
Oh, my god.
I reread the email, remembering when I applied a long time ago. I can’t believe that I’m not hallucinating, that this isn’t part of my novel. But this is real. This is an opportunity. I chew my thumb thoughtfully, my stomach skipping in excitement. What would I rather do? Take a job I might enjoy and get paid less or keep working for a jerk and have some spare pocket change?
Montana chooses the perfect moment to get home. She waltzes into the kitchen, holding a white box, no doubt containing leftover cupcakes from the bakery. She beams at me.
“Hey, girl. How was your day?”
I swivel on my stool, beaming for the first time in a long time. “The usual. But it might be about to get better.”
Montana opens the box and shoves them in my direction across the counter. “Spill. What’s happening?”
I take a chocolate-frosted cupcake and carefully peel off the wrapper. “I just got a job offer. From a media company. They want me to discuss writing for them. I could work from home and maybe give up my assistant job.”
Montana’s eyes widen. “India, that’s amazing! Tell me you’re saying yes?”
“I’m tempted. But the money is probably less than I’m getting at Walker Industries...”
“Screw the money!” Montana says in a very un-Montana-like way. “Look, money isn’t everything. You’d still have enough to keep up with rent, right?”
“Right...”
“And you’d still have time to write your novel, right?”
“Right...”
“And you’d even get to work from home. Or anywhere. That would be good, right?”
“I mean, yeah...” I grudgingly admit, still feeling a kernel of doubt in my stomach at the thought of leaving William.
Because, honestly, what other woman will be crazy enough to put up with him like I do?
But why do I care?
“So, what are you waiting for? Email them back and take the job!”
I bite my lip, still reluctant. I think of his arrogant blue eyes, and my stomach twists even more at the thought of leaving the bastard. Which makes me even madder at him for enslaving me emotionally in ways I don’t even think he’s conscious of.
“I mean...should I be rushing into this so fast? I don’t even know what kind of work I’d be dealing with yet. And I don’t have much experience, really. What if I screw it up?” I ask Montana, truly confused.
She takes my hand. “I’m telling you now—you are not going to mess this up. I don’t care if you don’t have experience. I don’t care if you don’t think you can do this right now. You will figure it out as you go along. There’s nothing you can do to ruin this chance for yourself...except not taking it.”
She’s right of course. She always is. I nod vigorously, as though trying to convince my body to keep up with my brain. I’m doing it. I’m doing it.
Inhaling for courage, then exhaling, I type up my response. Montana squeals and claps as I hit Send, and then I watch as she sneaks to the fridge and removes a bottle of champagne. I grin.
“Champagne? Really?”
“Yep. We’re celebrating. Let’s get trashed.”
I laugh as Montana fetches two glasses for us.
“Don’t you think we should take it easy? It’s Thursday night. We’ve got work tomorrow.”
Montana shrugs. “Not for me. I’ve got tomorrow off. And who cares if you show up a little hungover now, right? You’ve got a new job lined up. Come on... What do you think?”
