Going Down: The Elevator Series
Cici vs. The Redneck Rosetta Stone
Other Books by Katherine Stevens
Copyright © 2016 Katherine Stevens
All rights reserved
Published by Katherine Stevens
Cover Art Design by SM Lumetta
Cover Art Image: Depositphotos
Artist: sakkmesterke
Editing by Lauren Schmelz. Write Divas
Formatting by
CP Smith
Going Down is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s unconventional imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no par of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system with the prior written permission of the author.
For J and C,
I hope you fly
Debra, I can never thank you enough. You were the first person to encourage my silly dream of writing. Then your encouragement turned to harassment, and I only finished this book because I’m a tiny bit scared of you. Nonetheless, you’re an amazing person and you changed the trajectory of my entire life. Your friendship means more than I can ever express. I love you forever. Unless this book tanks, in which case, I can’t believe you did this to me. You’re a monster.
Bill, thank you for forcing your way into my life, despite my repeated rejections. I have no idea why you put up with me, but I’m glad you do. Thank you for making me laugh and for supporting all of my crazy ideas. You are a huge reason why this silly book has seen the light of day, which is why it’s going to make me a little sad to leave you for a younger man if I make any money off this thing.
Meg, you are one of a kind. You will never know how much your encouragement of my insanity has meant to me. I can’t put it into words, which doesn’t bode well for my career as a writer. You’ve always been there for me, even when we’re playing phone tag for weeks at a time. #cheesetray4ever
Shannon, thank you so much for this amazing cover. Your talent blows me (away). See what I did there? Thank you for being so patient with me and my complete and utter lack of design knowledge.
To all my Pams and my Filets, who keep me from walking into traffic. You are the bee’s knees. (I’ve never understood this saying.) Helena, you are the most Canadian person the fictional land of Canada has ever produced. You are an apologizing, coin-carrying hot mess. Never change. I’ll never be able to repay you for all of your support through this process and all the hours you have spent talking me off the ledge. Leisa, my gorgeous Aussie two a.m. pizza buddy. I adore you and your magical selfie-taking powers. Daisy, where have you been all my life? One day we will have joint custody of a sloth. I feel this in the deepest part of my black soul. We will take him (or her) for walks in the park, and take turns feeding him carrots. Tijan, within five minutes of meeting you, we were watching an uninvited stripper dance in my hotel room. I can’t think of a better way to start our friendship. You are a doll. Teresa, you are just a lovely human being, in every way. Full stop. Erika, thank you for everything you do that no one will ever know about. It’s such a privilege to know you and call you my friend. Thank you also for being the first person to ever tell me I have a nice ass. I’m impossible to live with now. Mina, you have more talents than anyone has a right to have. Just stop. Nina, thank you for all your help and for making this look easy. You all make me want to be a better person. I mean, I’m not going to be, but you made me think about it. And that’s something.
To my Backdoor Babes—Meghan, Debra, Tara, & Helena. I’m so glad we all found each other. You are all funnier than the law probably allows and I think we have a fair shot at taking over the world together. That is, if we can ever figure out how to work a shared calendar. Baby steps to world domination.
A huge thank you to Jenny, Debbie, Stacy, Amy, & Cynnie. My life is so much better because I know you. I could fill a whole other book with my love for you, but I’ll spare you. Nearly a decade into our “internet” friendship, and I can hardly think of a day when we haven’t talked. You are the sisters I never knew I wanted and you know far too many of my secrets for me to get rid of you now. I hope you have some idea of what you mean to me.
Thank you, Terri, for your technical help. You know how to calm my OCD about completely trivial things.
Lauren and Jen, thank you for making my words look pretty. I know I made you Google a lot of things and I offer no apologies.
Lastly, but certainly not least, thank you to my readers. This crazy rollercoaster ride wouldn’t be nearly as fun without you. I might not know you personally, but I know you have impeccable taste. And you’re all so pretty.
The alarm on my phone blared the annoying foghorn sound for the third time in a row. That horn was the only thing I didn’t sleep through. I slapped my palm over the screen to snooze it. My warm, cushy pillow called my name, and I snuggled deeper into the sheets. In that sleepy moment, I let my eyes drift close in blissful contentment when I remembered I’d promised myself to get to the office at a reasonable hour. I was trying this new thing where I attempted to be more positive about my job and not daydream about feeding my boss to a pack of angry, bloodthirsty, man-eating squirrels, but I was failing horribly. Most people thought they had the worst boss in the world, but most people were wrong. With a whimper and a moan, I forced myself out of bed to see what fresh hell my boss would heap on me.
I loved my job as an assistant vice president of marketing at Barclay Advertising. The industry was tough, but I’d managed to claw my way to the middle, and I wasn’t going to let some vile cretin related to the owner run me off. Cameron Jenkins had poked almost half the staff with his
staff
. I could set my watch by his hourly requests to sit on his lap or let him show me how a real man pleasures a woman. He wouldn’t know a real man if he hit one with his car. Unoriginality wasn’t his biggest shortcoming. He had a face to match his personality, and regrettably, he was a fan of the orange spray tan and discount cologne. Cameron wasn’t one to shy away from the excessive use of the fist bump, either.
Unfortunately for him, a long-term goal of mine was to avoid contracting herpes, so I was unable to comply with his repeated requests to spend seven minutes in heaven in the coatroom. Our office didn’t even have a coatroom. That didn’t deter him, though. Besides winking at himself in front of the mirror, he had nothing better to do with his time.
Leroy, my half-blind cat, was already stationed next to his bowl, lest I forgot to top it off. I had the advantage of being able to see the majority of my miniscule apartment from my bed. I needed to make a pit stop at the human litter box first, but what Leroy possessed in attitude, he lacked in patience. He wanted to be first when it was time to eat, and it was always time to eat where he was concerned.
We had a morning pattern where he would scream at me in two-second intervals, and I would yell back about being the one in charge around here. The fact that I was raising my voice to a ten-pound cat didn’t help my cause. We both knew the truth: I wanted to be Leroy when I grew up. He didn’t take crap from anyone. He always had to have the last word, even if the last word was just a deep, disapproving look that made you question all your life choices.
I’d often thought about taking Leroy to work with me and letting him put Cameron in his place. I’d had Leroy since he was a mangy stray kitten. Always a sucker for wounded animals, I took one look at him with his missing eye and I was a goner. This apartment was essentially his, and I was allowed to stay here as his live-in maid and cook. I’d tried to renegotiate the arrangement a few times, but it had yet to go in my favor.
I fed Leroy, started a pot of coffee, and stared at my closet, hoping the perfect outfit would jump out at me. My phone rang while I impatiently waited for my first cup of coffee to brew. Checking the screen was unnecessary when I heard the
Dukes of Hazzard
theme song ringtone.
“Hey, Mags. You’re calling early.”
“Sit down right now, Cici! Are you sitting? Tell me you’re sitting. I have news!”
Maggie Vincent had been my best friend since freshmen year in college. She had more energy than cocaine-laced Red Bull. Maggie’s vim was infectious, which was why we became fast friends. She was also the practically powerless director of human resources at Barclay. Nepotism and favoritism ran deep in that company, leaving her with no control over any of the employment decisions. All of the deadweight was there to stay.
“I’m sitting down, Maggie.” I wasn’t sitting.
“So much has happened. You know that new intern?”
“The pretty one Cameron’s trying to pork? Yeah, I know her.” I poured coffee into my oversized mug.
Maggie’s voice vibrated with excitement. “Well, he lured her into the copy room last week and made twenty copies of his sausage for her.”
I gagged on my fresh coffee. “Ew. He’s got to stop doing that. The copier company said that was going to void the warranty.”
“That’s not the news. She took those copies to her daddy, who just happens to be an employment lawyer.”
I put down my coffee so I wouldn’t choke a second time.
“I know,” Maggie continued as if I’d said something. “It gets better. She’s suing Barclay. Word spread like wildfire, and everyone Cameron ever touched is jumping on the lawsuit bandwagon.”
“You’re kidding. Everyone?” I picked up my cup again, but thought better of it.
“Yes. Mindi, Jennifer, Carol, Tiffany, Tessa, Denise, Nancy, Larry. Everyone. I just heard about it this morning. I couldn’t wait to tell you the good news. Mr. Barclay can’t afford to settle all these lawsuits much less defend them. It will bankrupt him.”
I sat down on my couch. “Um, Maggie, I don’t know what your definition of good news is, but mine doesn’t include losing my job.”
“I wasn’t finished yet.” She huffed through my panic. “The
good news
is that Grantham Media smelled blood in the water and has offered to buy Barclay and settle the lawsuits, contingent upon Cameron’s immediate termination. Mr. Barclay called this morning to tell me he’d already signed the paperwork. We’re now employees of Grantham Media.”
“Grantham Media?” This was too much to process. I needed some time. First of all, could it be possible that I never had to work for Cameron Jenkins ever again? I must have been dreaming. Someone had finally dropped a house on him. Secondly, Grantham Media was the big time. They were the top ad agency here in New York and one of the best in the country. They bought out small firms all the time, but never in a million years did I think they would buy out our little one.
I’d had a feeling my luck was beginning to change last night when I picked up my Tuesday evening standing order of pork fried rice from Happy Cat and read my fortune cookie.
