She takes my arm again and drags me down the hallway. I’m speechless. Confused.
I fired her yesterday, right?
That’s what happened. I told her to leave . . .
So why is she here looking like Miss Frizzle and acting like we’re at freshman orientation?
I peel my eyes open wider, looking around for a magic school bus just in case I’m truly having some fucked-up dream.
But instead of taking me to a large, yellow vehicle, she continues with her tour, sending my mind into a tailspin of “what the fuck?”
“Over here I had the company install a fridge, kitchen island, with two hot plates, a microwave, and I just gathered the cookware from my house for now because I was reaching the limit on my credit card. I can manage with what I have at my place for now. The fridge is stocked, I wasn’t sure—”
“Wait,” I boom, squeezing my brow with my fingers. “You put this on your personal credit card?”
“Yes, of course. I wasn’t about to spend the company’s money. So, like I was saying, I wasn’t sure—”
“This is for the company, so why would you spend your own money?” Why am I even asking? She was fired. She shouldn’t be here.
“Well, because it wasn’t approved, so I figured, my treat, and I’ll just pay it off in chunks. It’s really not a big deal. Now, please let me finish the tour. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
In a daze, Charlee shows me around the rest of our floor where she set up a meditation room with two yoga mats, a trickling fountain, and soothing music. There are also flowers scattered around the space, every window is open, and her desk is all sorts of colorful with pens and notebooks and file folders, and calendars on the wall. It looks like the office supply convention threw up in her space. And her desk is repositioned, with an additional desk attached to it to form a mega desk giving the presence of importance with the way she positioned it instead of right outside of my office.
When the hell did she do all of this?
Did she even sleep?
I’m so confused.
She heads to my office and flings the door open. Once again, light floods through the space and I have to blink a few times for my eyes to adjust. Nervous to see what she did to my office, I hesitantly step in and glance around.
Not a pen is out of place, not a piece of furniture has been added. It’s the same besides one thing . . .
“What’s that?” I point at a five-foot potted tree next to my desk.
“That’s a dragon tree, or Sir Dragomir of Westinville. That’s what I named him. He’s spikey looking, like you, and will offer remarkable breathable space and relaxation. He’s all I could afford for now, but just you wait, I’ll have some cousins for him soon. Plants offer a sense of peace in the office, something you need when working such a high-powered job. I can help you position him elsewhere, but don’t fret, he won’t get much taller than ten feet so we have plenty of ceiling space. Isn’t he magnificent? He spoke to me at the nursery and I couldn’t leave without—”
“How much did you spend?” I ask through clenched teeth. I don’t even know if that’s what I should be asking. Maybe what the fuck would suffice . . .
She waves her hand casually at me and starts working around my desk, turning on my computer for me and adjusting a cup of coffee on the desk as well as a blueberry muffin. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that we make sure you’re fed, you’re caffeinated, and you’re addressed of your morning meetings. Now, I spoke with Renita and she set me up with your schedule; apparently she’s the only other person with access. So she kindly helped me out. We’re up and running, boss man.” She claps her hands together. “I’ll let you get adjusted, but I’ll be back in ten minutes to go over everything for the day. Busy, busy, busy.” With a smile, she takes off and closes my door quietly, leaving me in a fog of what the fuck with . . . Sir Dragomir of Westinville.
“Mr. Scott’s office, how may I help you?”
“Linus, it’s Rath. I need to talk to Bram, now. Like right fucking now. He’s not answering his cell and I know he’s in his office because he sent me an email.”
“He’s in a meeting, Mr. Westin.”
“Linus, this is a red alert. Help me out.”
He pauses and then says on a sigh, “Okay, but I would only do this for you. One second.”
I tap at my desk as my foot bounces up and down. Ten minutes, I have ten minutes to figure out what to do about the office apocalypse that has happened this morning.
“This better be good,” Bram says, getting on the line.
“What are you really doing? You don’t have meetings this early.”
“Julia is here . . .”
My spine shivers. “Don’t fucking tell me you’re doing dirty shit with my sister in your office.”
“No, we do that at her office. We’re going over wedding things.”
“You can’t do that at home?”
“You’re wasting your time with these inconsequential questions. Are you going to tell me why you’re calling me in a panic?”
He’s right . . . unfortunately.
Looking toward my door, as if it’s see-through, I quietly say, “She’s back.”
“What do you mean she’s back?”
I texted Bram last night to let him know what happened with Charlee and he thought it was one of the best things he’d ever heard and was mad at me for sending her away. He said I needed someone like her around.
“The assistant, she’s back.”
“Wait . . . what?” He chuckles lightly. “After you fired her? She returned?”
“Not only did she return, but she’s dressed like Miss Frizzle from the Magic School Bus.”
“Miss Frizzle always got my groin working; loved the saucy redhead.”
“Can you not, right now?” I seethe. “What the fuck do I do? She transformed my entire office.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is a fucking ficus staring at me.”
“Like a plant?”
“Yeah . . . technically it’s some kind of dragon bush, I’m not sure. All I know is that she named it Sir Dragomir of Westinville and my fucking balls seized out of fear. I think she’s insane.”
“Slow down. It’s a fucking plant, man.”
“No. It’s not.”
“Come on, Westin. I’ve got things—”
“There’s light pouring in from every window, there’s some fucking coffee kiosk outside, a kitchen . . . a goddamn meditation room. And don’t get me started on her workspace—a rainbow had an orgy with ten unicorns last night and its progeny is scattered all over her desktop. She’s coming back in”—I check my watch—“seven minutes to go over the busy schedule I have. Dude, I didn’t give her a schedule. What if she has me blocked out to do some kind of voodoo shit for an hour at lunch?”
There’s silence on the phone and then, “You know, it sounds kind of magical over there, so maybe I’ll call to schedule an appointment with her.”
“Jesus Christ, man, I’m serious. What the fuck do I do? She’s acting like nothing happened.”