Suspiciously Obedient (7 page)

“It may surprise you to learn that both are deeply troubling.”

The woman on the motorized scooter passed them, honked twice and said, “Wusses!”

At that, Mike took off at a dead sprint, the sound of Jeremy’s voice fading in the distance. “I’m catching a cab, see you at home. Keep the beer cold for me.”
Maybe this would be okay
, Mike thought, as he ran the last couple miles home. Wishful thinking, though, would never get him anywhere.

Matt’s absence shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did and she knew that. Somehow, through sheer force, water, caffeine, Advil, and determination, she’d managed to haul her sorry ass into work only to find he was out for the day.

“He was here,” Jerry the janitor explained. “But I only saw him for a short time. He was talking to”—his face took on a guarded look—“some guy. I don’t know. But, umm…I’m sure he’ll be back.”

When she’d logged into her computer, made her way through the Internet, and then checked her email she found a cryptic, two-sentence note from Matt to all the team members:

Hi all, I’m not feeling well today. See you tomorrow.

Out sick his second week of work? That was some balls. Not many people would pull that one off, but then again, he always did act like he was president of the company or something. Like he had the run of the place.

Her day—what she’d expected of it—faded suddenly. The prospect of sitting here for nine hours made her stomach roil and her head began to throb again. While she had plenty of work, including the new project, she had zero motivation to touch any of it.

Around ten o’clock Krysta peeked her head in. “Hey, Lyd. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll get up and walk with you. I need to stretch my legs,” she said, and it was true. Two charlie horses had disabled her earlier. “I need to go find a banana somewhere.”

“Let’s go down to the cafeteria and grab one.”

“No, let’s go down to Starbucks and get one.” She looked around. “The boss isn’t in today so I can do it.” They both laughed.

“How are you feeling?” Krysta asked as they waited for the elevator.

“I’m…here.” They shared a smile and the elevator doors opened. No Matt. Some part of her was looking for him everywhere. If he was really sick she hoped he was okay.

Her stomach lurched as the elevator did its pneumatic, pulleyed ride down to street level. And then the aroma of coffee hit her like a wall of love. A banana, a bottle of electrolyte-filled water, and an espresso shot later, Lydia felt about fifty percent back to normal.

“He didn’t…you know…?” Krysta asked again.

“You’ve asked me that already,” Lydia replied, her voice carrying a tone of exasperation.

“I know.”

“I would tell you if something had happened,” Lydia assured her.

“Yeah, I’m just…he’s an interesting guy, Lyd. I hope you let this unfold the way it should.”

“
Let
this unfold the way it should? You make this sound like a marriage contract and not something more passionate.”

“We saw what happened when you let passion take over with Dave.”

“That wasn’t passion,” she scoffed. “That was stupidity. That was a twenty-two-year-old coming in here, not knowing a damn thing, and being led astray by a guy who perfected the art of negging.”

“He did find some of the strangest ways to put you down, didn’t he Lyd?”

“Yeah, he did. God, by the end of six weeks of dating him I thought I weighed four hundred pounds and had a mustache.”

Krysta laughed. “What a douchebag he was.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad somebody figured him out. Isn’t it funny how so much has changed since Matt Jones came along?”

Lydia thought about that one. “A lot.”

They made their way back to the lobby and Lydia gave Krysta a quick hug. “Thank you for saving me.”

“Saving you? I didn’t save you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“It’s hard out here.”

“Yeah, for a pimp.”

Argh!
Lydia groaned. “For a fresh-faced Maine girl.”

“All right, that too,” Krysta agreed.

They separated out, taking different elevators, Krysta’s floor on a totally different channel. And as the doors closed, Lydia found herself searching the crowd, hoping to have to hold it. Hold it open for Matt. But no dice.

By the time she got back to her desk and settled in, more and more people had flocked to the cubicle farm. Her division could now use flex time, according to Matt, and people had taken advantage of it, even in the handful of days since Dave had left. She was still considered essential support staff and, therefore, had to be there her regular hours.

She logged in. Checked her email yet again and found a new message. Something from human resources.

And then she noticed the package. A FedEx overnight—no, a special delivery. What was a special delivery, confidential from the office of human resources package doing on her desk, addressed to her? It was late July, so it wasn’t open enrollment time. She knew she hadn’t made any changes to her 401k. It wasn’t time for performance reviews.

What on earth was this?

The envelope was large, thicker than anything she was accustomed to receiving, and as she slid the papers out there was one letter on company stationary and then a thick pamphlet called
What You Need to Know About Living Outside the United States.
Something about taxes.

What? And so she read:

Dear Ms. Lydia Charles, Bournham Industries is pleased to inform you that you have been selected for a promotion to Director of Communications for European Operations.

Her eyebrows shot up and her teeth clenched. What? Reading on, she couldn’t believe the words. Her salary would be six figures, they would provide her with an $8000 relocation allowance, the acceptance of the promotion needed to take place within twenty-four hours and the job start date was…what? Based on the dates that gave her less than a
week
.

Reykjavik? She wasn’t even sure how to pronounce it. Reykjavik, Iceland. She knew that sometime in the past year Bournham Industries had opened its first European office. It had been a big, fanfare-filled week with Bournham all over the television with a new babe on his arm, some underfed, tight woman who looked just enough like Lydia to be troubling.
But, of course, thinner.
That negative voice had to pop in there, didn’t it? And give Lydia a little nudge about her weight.

Weight
schmate
. If she could make six figures as director of communications…

But, why? What was this about? The only person she could ask was Matt, because right now in the food chain it went: Matt, and then no one, and then some senior vice-president she had only seen once a year the annual Christmas party and who wouldn’t know her from…well, from Krysta.

Iceland. What was there in Iceland? A bunch of Vikings and rocks. But…oh my God. Her headache vanished, her body flushed, and she nearly shook with joy. Grabbing the paperwork, she started to rush off to Krysta’s office and stopped herself, popping open the email that said
Confidential: Human Resources
. It was just a copy of what she was holding in her hands—so this was real.
Real.
She had done it. She
really
had done it. She'd impressed someone enough to be valued, to be recognized, to be rewarded for the merits of her work.

As she rushed to the elevators and pressed the button five times to go down to Krysta’s floor, her heart rate tripled.
Just like my salary,
she thought. Oh my God! She could pay off her student loans in like…two years. She could! She
would!
The buttons started to swim in front of her, the little red ring around the down arrow turning into eight. And now the questions poured into her mind.

How long had this been in the works? Dave had been gone for about a week, she had just given her presentation and it was only a half-assed one, with no opportunity to really delve into the depth of what she was planning. And besides, Iceland wasn’t exactly romance central. If they were going to transfer her anywhere, why not New York City where the publishing world was? She needed specifics here. The letter—twenty-four hours to decide and she had to be there in less than a week?

What?

The elevator doors couldn’t open fast enough and when they did, there stood Krysta.

“Lydia, what are you doing here?” Krysta was holding a thick packet of folders, almost bigger than she was.

“What are
you
doing here?”

“I’m on my way down to archive management to take a bunch of these papers down there for scanning.” She grabbed Krysta’s arm, nearly dumping the folders, and then quickly adjusted to help out.

“You have to talk to
me
,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice in a loud whisper.

“Why are you talking to
me
like this?” Krysta said in an imitation. Knowing the grid of the hallway and assuming it was an exact duplicate of hers a few floors up, Lydia dragged Krysta into what she presumed was a supply closet. Bingo. She was right. She pulled Krysta in, grabbed the folders out of her hands, dumped them on an empty spot on a shelf, and closed the door. And then she handed Krysta the letter.

The dim light didn't make it easy to read on the fine, high-quality paper that Bournham Industries was known for in its letterhead, but eventually Krysta’s eyes widened. Lydia could tell the second that Krysta read the salary.

“Holy fucking shit!” she screamed. “You’re going to make that much money?”

“Yup.”

“Do you guys need clerical support? Because I want to put in for a transfer if they pay that kind of money.” She looked at Lydia with a giant grin on her face. “And besides, it looks like I know the director of communications for European operations, don’t I?”

Krysta’s s
quee!
would have given away their location to anyone who was searching for them, and they jumped up and down, embracing, as Lydia’s eyes filled with tears. This was real. Now that she’d talked to someone else about it, now that she’d shared the letter with Krysta—this was real.

“You’re going, right?” Krysta asked, pulling back suddenly as if realizing there was an option.

“Well…I…uh…” She said the words that would make it not just real, but true. “Yes. Yes.” Before she could equivocate she spat out the words. “Yes. I’m going. Absolutely. I don’t have anything holding me back.”

Matt
, she told herself.
Matt. What about Matt?

And then Krysta said the words aloud. “Yeah, it’s not like Matt’s, you know, anything serious or worth altering your career over.”

“No. No,” Lydia said, covering a swirl of emotions that she couldn’t even imagine trying to name right now. “He’s definitely not someone who has that kind of impact on my life. He certainly shouldn’t affect whether to take a mega-promotion like this.”

Krysta’s face softened, her hand on Lydia’s elbow. “It’s okay, Lydia. It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling.” And then her eyes hardened and she leaned in, two inches from her face, their noses practically touching. “But no matter what you feel for him, you’re
going
.”