Protect one wench to get what he wanted from Fate? It was almost too easy.
1
ELSEWHERE
MAX
“Maxine, where is my coffee?”
I grimace and jump to my feet, racing toward my boss’s office. “It’s brewing right now, Mr. Perkins. I’ll bring it right in.”
“Why’s it taking so long?” His voice was utterly petulant, as it always was. “I have to be on my call in four minutes.”
“I’ll have it to you before then, I promise,” I told him, faking a bright smile before I turned and calmly walked to the far end of the office floor, where the coffee station was set up. I’d sort of forgotten to make his coffee when I came in, but I always forgot that sort of thing. I just need to make it looked like I’m on the ball now.
Not that I should be making anyone’s coffee with a degree in computer science, but fuck it. A job’s a job, right? I’m just pretending to be a secretary—excuse me, executive assistant—until a position in the right department opens up. I smooth my dumb jacket and hope no one notices I’m wearing a blazer over a T-shirt or I’ll get a wardrobe citation. Again.
I jerk the paper cup of coffee out from under the brewer the moment it’s full and dump cream and sugar in it, one of each, just like how my dickweed boss likes it.
“Hey Max,” a familiar voice calls, but I hold up a finger and slam a lid on the coffee.
“Hold that thought. Mr. Perkins has a meeting. BRB.”
My buddy Jim blinks at me. “Did you just literally say B-R-B?”
I shrug and race as fast as I can back to my boss’s office with his coffee. It slops over the lid despite my efforts, burning my hand, and I nearly take a tumble in my high heeled work shoes that aren’t required, but are ‘highly recommended’.
God, I hate being a corporate drone.
“Here we go,” I call out, just as Mr. Perkins glares at me from over his bifocals, his hand on his phone as a conference call blares over the speakers.
“You’re spilling it everywhere, Maxine,” he protests, plucking tissue from a box and swiping it on the puddle I leave on his desk. “Can’t you do this without making a mess?”
I cringe, because I totally did make a mess. “I know, I’m sorry. I was trying to hurry. I’ll do better.” I say that every time, and every time I always forget, rush around, and then make the same big sloppy mess I always do. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and I seem to be bound and determined to lay brick every day, because I always say I’m going to do better and I never do.
I try to exit quietly out of his office, so I can wash my coffee-splashed hands. I’m almost out, closing the door behind me, when Mr. Perkins stops me. “Maxine?”
Ah, crap. I bite back a wince and paste my smile on my face before I turn to him again. “Yes, Mr. Perkins?”
The conference call blares from the speakers, the chimes of middle management logging into the call—ting—over and over again. My boss ignores it, just giving me that look of sheer disappointment as he clasps his hands. “I’ve been told you’ve been sending private emails on the work server?”
She had? Everyone did. Why is this a thing today? “I try not to unless it’s absolutely necessary, Mr. Perkins,” I lie. “I just had a personal emergency come up and needed to contact a friend and didn’t want to use my cellphone at my desk during work hours.”
He studies me. “I can pull a list of your emails from IT. Will I only see one personal email on there?”
“Just one,” I lie bravely. If he sees the hundreds, I’m so fired. So, so fired.
But I keep smiling, and he just sighs and mops at the coffee puddle on his desk. “Try and do better, Maxine.”
“I will. Thank you, Mr. Perkins.” I give him a sincere look of utter chastisement before I close the door behind me. Once it’s shut, I exhale deeply and head back to the coffee bar where my best buddy, Jim, is waiting for our morning conversation.
“You spilled something,” he points out as I move to the coffee station and wash my hands.
I look down. Sure enough, I’ve got coffee splatters all over my tweed skirt that matches my dippy blazer. I groan. “This is dry clean only. Do you know how much dry cleaning costs for a suit?”
“No.” He looks at me with pity. “You also have coffee splatters on your glasses.”
I groan and pluck them off. Sure enough, in the corner of one of the frames is a big splotch.
“It must suck to be an executive assistant.”
“I hate you,” I tell him cheerfully. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says LEEEEROY JENKINS and a pair of baggy jeans that hide his spindly legs. His hair’s tipped in blue spikes and he’s wearing sneakers and I’m so jealous I could spit.
I hate being on the corporate and finance side of Boxfire Games. Hate it. Hate. Haaaate.
“Any openings in your department?” I ask him brightly and gesture at my skirt. “I promise not to wear coffee if you give them my résumé.”
“Nope. You know there’s a hiring freeze.”
I make a face. I do know that. Until the next expansion of Boxfire’s flagship game launches, there’s a hiring freeze. It sucks, too. I get myself a cup of coffee, dumping a ton of creamer into it and stirring rapidly. More coffee sloshes, and I sigh and grab a napkin. That’s the thing with me—I really do have the best intentions, but I’m easily distracted and never learn from my mistakes. “You’ll let me know if something comes up, right?”
“Max,” he says again, pity in his voice. “You know what it’s like over there.”
Oh, I do. For a big company, Boxfire has very outdated ideas on workplace roles. “Look, I know it’s a total sausage party over in dev, but I swear I can hang with the guys. You’ll have to hire a chick or two eventually, won’t you? For like, gender equality laws or something?” I give him a hopeful look.
“They hired a girl last spring. She’s out on maternity leave, and you know my boss is shitting bricks over that.”
“But I’m single,” I say helpfully. “That’ll count for something, won’t it?” He stares at me for so long that I answer my own question. I sigh. “I know, I know. It’s just…you said if I applied, you’d put in a good word with your boss. That my gender didn’t matter. And then you helped your buddy Sam get hired last month.” I’m trying not to feel betrayed.
“That was different,” Jim says.
Is it? Or is he just telling me that because he’s not going to help me get hired on at all? It’s weird. Everyone talks about being enlightened but the moment they see a vagina, the development department shrivels faster than a penis in ice water. I might as well toss my résumé in the trash.
They say it’s not a boys club anymore, but they’re fucking lying liars that lie. The only job I can get at Boxfire Games is running coffee to my boss who’s middle management accounting. And I’m so trusting that I thought my friend would help me get the job I wanted…but he helped his buddy, instead.