No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) (23 page)

When I exit the bathroom, Aaron’s buttoned his pants again and smiles like the Cheshire cat. “Are you proud of yourself for making me late?” I ask.

“Very.” He pauses for a second, and in a much more serious tone, he asks, “Why did you cry?”

I take the third pair of thongs out of my drawer. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“In rehab, they taught us not to bottle up our emotions. I learned to talk about everything. Do you want to know why I think you cried?”

My panties slide up my legs. “Why? Dare I ask?” My bravado is false as my heart tightens in my chest. I don’t know if I’m ready to vocalize my feelings.

I secure my bra and slide my dress over my head while he’s silent—watching me, studying me.

Realizing that this zipper needs a helper, I walk over to the edge of the bed. He stands draping my hair over my shoulder. As he pulls the zipper up, he whispers in my ear, his warm breath bathing my ragged soul. “Because you just realized you’re in love with me.” He kisses the nape of my neck. “Don’t worry. I feel the same.”

Deer in headlights . . . That’s a good analogy. My stomach does a strange flip and my chest forgets to expand for air. This man who has only been a part of my life for such a short time has stolen any sense of good judgement I have. It’s as if we’re on an out-of-control train we can’t get off. But the scary thing is, I’m not sure if I want to. My life before meeting Aaron in Eddy’s Bar feels dead. When I picture myself, I look like a robot version of Mary Kay Landry. He’s given me the confidence to chase my dream and made me feel like I’m able to have it all. Aaron Emerson or Johnny Knite, whomever he is, has introduced me to a new and better version of myself, and it makes me want him even more.

Stepping out of his reach, I grab knee-high black boots from my closet and announce, “Let’s see how fast your little red car really goes.”

Aaron smirks and shakes his head as he slaps my behind and follows me out the door.

MK Landry
@NoPinkCaddy

Boy is making me late for work for all the best sorts of reasons. #GooeyFeelings

“What time shall I pick you up for a nooner?” He raises his eyebrows, and I roll my eyes.

“No lunch today. I’m forty-five minutes late for work. Your nooner just happened earlier than you thought.”

“Can I come up?” He leans towards me and winks.

“No!” A look of horror drops my mouth wide open, and my eyes bug out. “That’s all I need—for the menopausal ladies in my office to know I’m banging a rock star.”

“In love with,” he corrects.

“Bye, Aaron.” I go to get out of the car, but when I pull the latch the door doesn’t open.

His hand travels up my leg under the skirt of my dress. “We still have to discuss our weekend plans.”

I slap at it. “Meet the band. Meet your daughter and sister. What’s left?”

“My security.” He smiles and grabs my breast. “They’re going to love you.”

“Can we discuss this after work?” I pause. “Or better yet, text me.”

“Just want you to be thinking what you’re going to cook for all of us.” My shoulders tense so much I think they brush my ears. “I sent them the video on how to make Gumbo. They’re all in.”

I’m beyond exasperated. “Unlock the door, Aaron.” I try the handle again with no luck.

“I’ve been thinking . . .” He leans his seat back and rests his head on his hands.

My arms fly up as I turn to look at him. “Fuck, how long is this going to take?”

“Well, see, you could’ve met me for lunch and we could’ve discussed all of this, but since you’re bagging on me, we have to do it now.”

I flop back against the seat in complete defeat. This is beyond rude. I turned in my resignation letter. These next two weeks I need to be squeaky clean not absurdly late. I’d die if this got back to my grandmother or parents.

“I’ve been trying out
sweetheart
on you. I like it. It works.” He grabs my limp hand and kisses it. “I want a nickname, sweetheart.”

I sigh. “Can I think of something while I’m at work?”

The door unlocks with a click. “Absolutely . . . wait for it . . .
sweetheart.
”

I lean over, giving him a kiss on his stubbly cheek, and bolt out of the car before he can trap or spring more surprises on me.

And of course the one morning I’m an hour late, I spot a man sitting in front of my desk. I beg the universe for it not to be Michael, but I looked at the back of his head for three years and then every Sunday since we broke up. I’d recognize that perfectly trimmed mane anywhere. The ladies are unusually quiet and avoiding making eye contact with me. This is bad.

Head up.

Shoulders straight.

I walk into my office with confidence.

“Hello Michael,” I greet my former lover as I open the bottom drawer of my desk and drop my bag in.

“MK.” He checks his twenty-thousand-dollar watch which he hasn’t worked a day in his life for. “Thanks for showing up today.”

“I’m sorry.” I sit down behind my desk and hit the on button on my archaic work computer. “Something came up. I plan on not taking lunch.”

He holds up one hand. “No worries.” He smirks. “I got your resignation letter.”

Scooting my rolling chair under the desk, I lean forward on the hard faux-wood surface. “Yes. As I said in my letter. Thank you for this—”

He cuts me off as he leans forward, mirroring my stance by resting his arms on my desk. “Let’s cut to the chase. My father hired you as a favor to your parents. You’ve done a half-assed job at best and we’ve discussed firing you for years. So pack your personal items and leave. We’ll pay you your two weeks just so there’s no bad blood between our families.”

God, and to think I could have ever had sex with this disgusting man.
I see red as my stomach twists into an ugly knot, and my heart begins to race. Standing up, I cross my arms over my chest. “You pompous little prick. I’ve worked my ass off for this company. You’ve wanted me gone for years because your wife can’t stand the fact that you work with your ex-girlfriend. Don’t think I miss her hate glares at church.”

“Ha!” He throws his head back and pretends to laugh. “She’s a wonderful God-fearing woman, unlike you.” He sneers. “We’ve seen your blog. Get out MK.”

I open the desk drawer, snatching up my bag. I shove the few personal things I have into it: two framed pictures, my phone-charging cord, an office sweater, fancy paperclips that I purchased, and a stapler because I need one at home. “And to think I was willing to bend over backwards to make this transition easy for you. All I can say is good luck.”

I turn and pick up a stack of papers, shoving them at him. “These employees need to be fired today before the next pay cycle.” I grab our U.S. Department of Labor binder and scoot it across the desk. “Since I was gifted this job, I’ve started that binder to document all of our correspondence with the government over employee issues. There are three outstanding complaints which need years of justification so you aren’t fined.” Smiling sweetly, I say, “I’m sure it won’t be a problem for you to find all the supporting materials you need.”

I gesture to my computer. “Also, it’s benefit renewal season. You won’t believe all the emails that need your attention. You know the difference between our HMO and PPO plan? Of course you don’t, because you play golf all day and collect a paycheck earned on the backs of these fine women who run the company for you and your dad.”

His face falls as his eyes grow wide staring at the papers and the four-inch-thick binder. “Wait, MK . . .”

“Fuck you,” I reply as I push my chair in. “I’m a half-ass employee, so I’m sure you’ll be able to easily figure all of this out, COO. I mean, if I can do it, surely it will be easy as pie for you.”

I walk out of my office and into the cube farm where my post-menopausal ladies work. I love them all. They’ve made the last seven years of my life and this miserable job bearable.

“Girls,” I call. They all stop what they’re doing and turn in my direction. “Michael says he’s terminating me early because I’ve been a marginal employee.”

A collective gasp is heard in the room. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Michael just outside of my door looking like he has a sour stomach.

My hand goes to my hip. “Raise your hands if your paycheck has ever been late.”

Their eyes are wide, and they stare at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

My blood boils. Quitting this job has been my dream since I accepted it, and getting to tell off my pompous ex-boyfriend is just an added cherry on top. I’m going to milk this moment for all it’s worth.

My bag slides off my shoulder, and I rest it at my feet. “Do your benefits suck?”

I turn toward the lady standing closest to me. “Jill, does your health insurance cover your cancer drugs?”

The curly-grey-haired woman nods and replies, “All my girlfriends think I’m so lucky that I don’t have to pay out of pocket for them.”

“Do you know why you’ve got such good health insurance?” I pause while she nods. “It’s because I spent months interviewing different providers and then negotiating using every skill I have to ensure we did right by you.”

I motion towards the bottle red-head at the last cube by the window. “Sandra, when your husband had the accident with the chainsaw, who made sure you had enough paid time off to be with him?”

She stands up and touches her heart. “You did, MK. Because of you I got to take care of my Leon.”

I turn to Michael. “I sent an email out asking if anyone was willing to donate their vacation days to her. I reminded them we’re a family, and sweet Sandra would do it for us.” My hands gesture at the ladies. “That’s what we do here. We take care of each other in this office, and the hundreds of people who we find jobs for every year. You wouldn’t realize that, Michael, because you’re too busy not working.” I point at him. “All I have to say is you treating me like this proves just how out-of-touch you are with your company, COO.”

Then, I walk to the middle of the cubes. My voice chokes as I say, “I love you, girls. Please keep in touch.” A huge smile parts my lips and excitement bubbles in my chest. “And just so you know, I’ve fallen in love with a rock star.”

There’s an audible gasp.

I turn around to Michael’s blank expression on his usually smug face. Removing the office key from my ring, I drop it in the middle of the floor. I grab my bag, adjust it on my shoulder, and walk to the door, grabbing the handle.

Pausing for just a second, I make sure there’s nothing left for me to say. Nope. My conscience is clear. I raise my fist in a victory pump.

From behind me, I hear, “Long live NoPinkCaddy!” It’s followed by a round of applause and cheers.

Turning, I blow them a kiss as the door shuts.

It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning, but this is New Orleans. Once I’m outside of the building, I pull out my phone to call Bella or Aaron. But then I remember the Latin words
alis volat propriis.
I don’t need someone to prop me up. I can do it myself.

MK Landry
@NoPinkCaddy

No more day job for me. As my co-workers yelled, “Long live NoPinkCaddy!” #Metamorphosis

The City of New Orleans is preparing for the holiday season. The air is filled with electricity. Lights are being hung on the trees that dot the business district. Store windows are being turned shades of reds and greens. I love this time of year. As soon as New Year’s is over, festival season begins. Then it’s Jazzfest and wine festivals. This is the greatest city ever. It’s like there’s a party every weekend.

My anger turns to excitement, and I pull out my phone to document the transformation for my fans. The rain has moved out, and sunshine makes the city glow. I head down to the waterfront, snapping pictures as I go. My pace is leisurely. Businesspeople in a hurry fly past me. Weary-looking workers drag past, looking as if they’re ready to fall over from exhaustion. I sit on a park bench outside a hotel and watch the people coming in and out of the revolving door. There’s a man dressed in a three-piece business suit who is draped around a woman in a red wrap dress. He looks professional. Her dress is a bit too risqué for work.

I make up a backstory for them. He’s one of the youngest CEOs in the country and is married with two young kids. The woman is his mistress. She travels with him while his wife stays home and takes care of the children. The wife knows about the mistress, but she’s not willing to do anything about it because when he is home he’s a good dad.

The mistress is single. She considers it her job to be a kept woman. She’s perfected the art of agreeing to anything and making sure her sugar daddies keep her in the life she’s become accustomed to.

They disappear into the lobby.

I’m sure my story isn’t correct considering I’m literally batting zero, but there’s a little piece of me which thinks maybe, just maybe, I was right this time.

Checking the time on my phone, I see it’s almost noon. I stand up and walk toward Jackson Square. When I get close, I place a twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar of a gymnastics troupe and film their self-taught antics. They’re really amazing. These kids fly through the air. One kid misses his mark so the oldest has them stop and do it again. I compliment them on their skills and wish them luck.

The Square is just beginning to fill with artists, fortune tellers, and musicians. There’s actually a green space in the middle, which is kept beautifully landscaped, and a statue of Andrew Jackson riding his horse is in the center. It’s surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence separating the merchants and performers from the grass. At the back of the square is St. Louis Cathedral. I’ve attended many weddings there.

I walk around, admiring just how talented the artists are. One piece catches my eye. It’s a painting of a guitar leaning against a brick wall. It reminds me of Aaron.

“How much?” I ask the artist.

“Six hundred,” he replies.

Considering I just quit my job, there’s no way I can afford to purchase it, but I take the artist’s card. Once I’m back on my feet, I’ll buy it for Aaron.

I’m beginning to get thirsty, and I want to celebrate the ending of my old life and the ushering in of the new. I stop by a to-go bar called Stanley’s and ask for a Brandy Alexander. When I was sixteen, Tripp made me my first version of the drink. His mom liked them, and he’d watched her make one one night. The next weekend, his parents were out of town, and Bella and I hung out at his house. I thought it was the best thing I had ever tasted. Who knew combining Cognac, Crème de Cocoa and fresh cream could create something so tasty?