“So let me have it,” Soph said.
“Have what?” I asked. My heart lurched in my chest. Was she asking for my resignation? I’d only been employed for a matter of hours.
“Whatever is bothering you,” she said. She sipped her sweet tea and pointed at me with her fork. “You get that one deep groove in between your brows when you’re overthinking something.”
I resisted the urge to rub my forehead. “Just trying to navigate the office dynamics.”
“What do you think of the setup?” she asked.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d been there for only a few hours, but I sensed Sophie’s need for some positive feedback, so I went with vague impressions.
“From what I’ve seen so far, everyone is very talented and enthusiastic,” I said. This was true. I decided this was my moment to ask about Carson, so I went for it. “But I have a question.”
“Shoot,” she said.
“Was Carson in line for my job?”
Soph coughed on the bite of chicken she’d just consumed. She held her napkin to her mouth as she tried to clear her throat. She blinked against the tears that filled her eyes, and she looked at me in confusion. Her voice was gruff when she asked, “Why would you assume that?”
Here’s the thing with Soph. She is a terrible liar, as in the worst ever. And I knew, as her longtime BFF, that her tell was to widen her eyes and tip her head ever so slightly to the right, which she did right now.
“Soph, it’s me,” I said. “It seems pretty clear that Carson thought he was in the running for the job and is not happy about my arrival.”
She leaned forward. Her mouth was a thin, tight line. “Did he say anything to you?”
“Only that he expects my office will be his in six months,” I said.
“What?” she cried. “He didn’t.”
“He did, and when I called him on it, he said it was because I was clearly up for a partnership with you and Miguel and would be moving up,” I said.
“But that’s—he’s—ugh.” Soph slumped in her chair.
“Also, I couldn’t help but think it was very interesting that he said that he and Miguel go back to their time at ASU together, and yet Carson was not at your wedding. I would have remembered. So want to tell me what’s going on?” I asked.
She looked like she was about to. She even opened her mouth to speak, but then she shook her head. “I’ll have Miguel talk to him. If he ever says anything that makes you uncomfortable, please let me know immediately.”
I studied her for a moment. “Uncomfortable how?”
“Oh, not in a sexual harassment sort of way,” she said. “He’s not like that, but he can be . . . I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Hard to pin it down, full of backhanded compliments that really aren’t, and insults that are passed off as jokes?” I asked.
“Exactly,” she said. She glanced around the room and leaned in closer. “It’s like he doesn’t say things that are in my face mean and yet I still get a negative vibe from him. And he wasn’t at our wedding because I planned it for a weekend when I knew he had to be in his brother’s wedding.”
“Genius,” I said.
“Well, I couldn’t have that sort of negativity on my big day,” she said.
“I get that,” I said. “Any idea what it is he wants? Other than my job?”
She was quiet for a moment and then said, “Maybe. Listen, I don’t want to put you in a tough spot, but could you do me a favor and document anything that seems significant, particularly in regards to the work?”
Anxiety flitted across her face like the shadows made from fast-moving clouds. I wanted to tell her she could talk to me, but I didn’t want to push her. Hopefully, she and Miguel could resolve whatever issue Carson had and we could all move on.
“Yeah, I can do that,” I said.
“Thanks.” She smiled and I could tell she was relieved, knowing I’d have her back.
I tucked into my salad, feeling marginally better about things. My instincts about Carson had been correct, and I knew this meant I needed to be cautious around him.
* * *
When I resumed work in my office, I wondered why it felt as if the clock were moving backward. I was so used to structuring my workdays around working out at my gym, lunching with friends, or taking in a midday movie that this straight shift was a shock to my system. Sure, I used to regularly work until midnight, but I was in control of how I spent my time.
At six o’clock, quitting time, Nyah appeared at my door as I was slipping on my shoes. Ouch. She was wearing a fabulous pair of brown boots, which I hadn’t noticed earlier when she was standing behind her desk. They were low-heeled and hand-stitched works of art. Seriously, I had absolute boot envy happening. Especially since my toes were cramped, my arches ached, and I was certain I had a blister on each heel.
“Annabelle, a few of us are going for happy hour after work on Friday,” she said. “I wanted to invite you before you made other plans.”
That made me smile. I had to admit, despite the lack of post-lunch naps, I had missed the social aspect of working in an office. I knew going to happy hour was probably mandatory for me in order to build a rapport with my colleagues, but I still hesitated before I agreed.
“Who all is going?” I asked. I tried to sound casual.
“Just a few of us, the singles mostly,” she said. “Me, Luz, Christian, Booker, Shanna, oh, and Trent, even though he’s married. His wife has him on a strict diet so he mainly goes for the appetizers to fortify himself for his salad-only weekends.”
I laughed. I could totally see Trent loading up a napkin with mini tacos. And no Carson. That worked for me. “I’d love to,” I said. “Thanks so much.”
“Great.” She grinned and her dimples deepened. “I’ll collect you after work on Friday.”
She left with a wave and a flash of her awesome boots, and I shut down my computer, feeling as if I should stay longer but also painfully aware that I was going to give myself gangrene if I didn’t get out of these horrible shoes. I was going to burn them when I got home.
I poked my head into Soph’s work space. She and Miguel had adjoining offices at the corner of the building.
“Hey, I’m heading out, if that’s okay?” I asked.
Her blond hair was up in a French twist on the back of her head, held in place by two pencils. She looked pale and tired, and I wondered how long she planned to stay at work. I felt guilty for leaving, but she smiled at me and said, “I’m sorry. Miguel and I have a . . . a meeting. Otherwise I’d give you a ride.”