She eyed my outfit. “New hire? Grab an empty desk, dial the IT extension, and have them set you up with a login and an email.”
“Thanks,” I said, wondering what I’d do then.
But her phone was ringing, and her computer dinged six times in rapid succession with chat and email notifications. “For shit’s sake,” she muttered, grabbing one of two iPhones on her desk as they both started vibrating.
I ducked out of the office, leaving her to the beeping and vibrating, and did a quick lap searching for a clear flat surface. I found one in the back on the outer ring of cubicles and about as far away from the windows as you could get. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. I wove my way through the desks and busy people and claimed my new territory with my purse, coat, and container of the last helping of Mrs. Grosu’s Korean barbecue chicken.
“Okay,” I whispered to myself.
I tried out the chair and found it reasonably comfortable. To be fair, every other job I’d had in the past six months didn’t involve chairs or me sitting in them. So having any chair was a big step up.
The computer monitor was a sexy, state-of-the-art flatscreen, and the only other items on the desk were a thin, white keyboard and a phone.
I picked up the receiver and skimmed the buttons looking for IT.
“You new?”
I peered around the Jumbotron flashing the Label logo and found a woman looking back at me.
She had glossy hair the color of a wheat field with subtle silver-toned highlights. It was pulled back in a low ponytail that no strand dared escape. Her face was generic perfection with high cheekbones, expertly applied contouring, and a petite nose that other women probably took pictures of and presented to their plastic surgeons. She would have been downright beautiful if not for the pinched line of her overfilled lips and the mean girl vibe.
“Hi,” I said. “Yes. I’m Ally. Just started today.”
She gave a derisive snort that still somehow managed to sound ladylike. “Don’t get in my way.”
“You must be the welcoming committee,” I said, cocking my head. I couldn’t tell if she was twenty-eight or thirty-eight.
“Any assignments that come in for Dominic Russo are mine. Got it?”
I laughed. It was a perfect match as far as I was concerned. “You can keep him. I prefer my men with hearts.”
Her lips got impossibly flatter, and I worried they might pop.
“Are you making new friends, Malina?” Gola strolled up and perched on the edge of my desk.
The woman in danger of a lip filler explosion turned her icy glare to my newest friend. “I’m filling her in on the ground rules.”
“Her name is Ally, and no one is getting in the way of your delusions,” Gola said.
Heads snapped up over cubicle walls around us like prairie dogs scenting danger.
Gola turned back to me. “Malina here has career aspirations of forcing at least one Russo into a prenup. It didn’t quite work out the first time around. Did it?” she said, wrinkling her nose in fake sympathy.
Interesting.
“You’d be smart to watch your step, Gola,” Malina hissed. “And your fat ass.”
“Don’t make me twerk up on you again, Mal.” Gola’s grin was wicked.
Without another word, Malina threw her ponytail over her shoulder and stormed off.
“So, you already met the mean girl,” Gola teased.
“She seems lovely.”
“A total charmer. People are always saying, ‘that Malina is the nicest human being in the entire department.’”
“I’m so happy I picked the desk behind hers,” I sighed.
“Lunch in thirty?” Gola moved to tap the folder she was holding on my desk and ended up dumping its contents on the floor.
“Sounds good,” I said, helping her pick up papers and fabric swatches.
It was the fanciest cafeteria I’d ever stepped foot in. Unlike my high school cafeteria with its vinyl stools and burnt, canned marinara smell, here the floors were some kind of white marble and huge urns filled with real greenery created a Zen, urban jungle feel.
There was definitely no canned marinara smell.
It was more of an atrium or a conservatory than a cafeteria. Even the food was fancy. I couldn’t afford it, but that didn’t stop me from glancing at the sushi chef’s display and the Keto Korner.
Gola and I grabbed an empty table between a potted palm and another table full of tall, thin women picking at lettuce and animatedly discussing a fight between a photographer and a make-up artist.
Gola placed a glass of green juice and a bowl of clear broth on the table in front of her. “I’m doing a cleanse,” she said, catching me eyeing her questionable “lunch.” “You’ve got to try it. It makes your skin radiant.”
“I’m more of an accidental fasting person,” I joked.
“Intermittent fasting is so the rage,” she nodded sagely.
“My situation is kind of ‘ran out of food’ and have to wait for my next paycheck fasting.”
“You’re broke?” Gola said with more interest than pity.
“More like newly and temporarily poor.”
Gola spotted Ruth in the crowd and waved her over. The redhead plopped her kale salad down and planted herself in the chair across from me. “Did I miss the beginning of the inquisition?” she asked breathlessly.
“Nope. Inquisition starts now,” Gola said.
“Tell us everything about you, including how you met Dalessandra, how you got this job, and if you really called Dominic Russo a megalomaniacal monster to his face,” Ruth said. She took a bite of her salad and crunched with enthusiasm.
“Uhhhh.”
“Okay. Start with meeting Dalessandra,” Gola said.
“Hey, bus stop buddy!” My orange-sweatered pal popped up next to the table, clutching his wrinkled paper bag. He beamed hopefully. “Mind if I join you?”
“Have a seat,” I said, gesturing at the open chairs. Turning back to Gola and Ruth, I explained, “We met at a bus stop when Dalessandra gave us both jobs on the spot.”
“You absolutely need to join us,” Ruth insisted, patting the chair next to her.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m Buddy, by the way.” He held out a beefy hand that Ruth and Gola took turns shaking.
“I’m Ally,” I told him.
Gola wiggled in her chair. “Okay, spill it, kids. What was Dalessandra Russo doing at a bus stop?”
Buddy unrolled his paper bag and pulled out a cute little sub, a bag of chips, and a Fresca. “Well, I don’t know what Ms. Russo was doing there. But I’d just finished one of those under-the-table painting jobs in the Village. And I’m sitting there at the bus stop, and I see Ally here talking to Ms. Russo. Ms. Russo is apologizing about something and then hands her a business card and is all ‘come see me Monday for a job,’” he said, theatrically producing an invisible card.
Ruth and Gola were enthralled, so I dug into my chicken.
“I’m thinking, this is my chance. One of those once-in-a-lifetime jobbies. I gotta say something. If I don’t, I’m gonna regret it forever. So I pipe up, and I say, ‘You got any more of those jobs?’ And when she looks at me, she’s isn’t all hoity-toity. She says to me, ‘What can you do?’ I say, ‘Whatever you need me to do.’ So here I am. The newest clerk in the mailroom. I have a desk. I don’t gotta paint anything. And once the health insurance kicks in, I’m taking my wife straight to physical therapy.”