Chapter 3: Wolf.e: Chapter 1

“Bankrupt?” I ask, sinking into the chair behind me. I generally try not to stay long enough in my boss’s office to sit, but at this moment I have no choice.

The roll of thunder, the steady seep of rain against the glass this morning, and my sandal clad foot stepping right in a puddle as I crossed Briarwood Avenue on my way into the office should’ve been my first indications that today was going to suck.

“Yep. Chapter 11 came out of nowhere,” my boss, Paul, grunts as he leans back in his chair, taking a break from packing up his office. It’s the scene I walked into when he called me in here to break this news.

I cross one leg over the other, pulling my skirt down so he doesn’t try to sneak a glance up it. I’ve had men look at me appreciatively since I was fourteen years old. It’s why my mother cut my hair into a bob when I started middle school. She said its naturally black color and long length brought the wandering eyes of the wrong kind of man. I hated that haircut and always asked myself why I had to change to stop a man from looking at me. I’ve rarely cut it since, to her dismay. Even when I told her I wanted it long because I liked it that way, she didn’t agree. My friend Layla said it wasn’t my hair, but my body that made men look and I can’t do much about that. My boss is always looking at something he enjoys about me. I catch him almost every day.

Three years I’ve put up with late nights, not really having a social life, early mornings, inappropriate looks and comments from this man, and a job that most of the time bores me to tears. All because the possibility of becoming design director at the end of the year when my supervisor was to retire was dangled like a carrot over my head. I’ve been waiting for that to feel settled, to show my boyfriend, Evan, and his family that this is a serious career, one I can go somewhere with.

“I don’t know what to tell you, doll. The news came from corporate late last night. People just aren’t buying home décor magazines anymore, not with everything available online and apps to design your space.”

My eyes snap back to my greasy superior. His combover is extra mussy today and his polyester shirt—covered in cat hair—is more wrinkled than usual. I’ve always been taught not to judge someone on appearance, but his is accurate. He works like he dresses—messy and unorganized.

“Brinley,” I say, reminding Paul that doll is not my name.

Keep quiet and be polite, would be what my mother would say. She’d tell me not to burn any bridges, but that doesn’t really matter now. What difference does it make if I let him know how disgusting I think he is? I’m officially unemployed, effective today at noon.

“Right, sorry I forgot how touchy you are,” he raises his hands in truce.

I’m not touchy, you prick. I just don’t enjoy you looking at me like I’m dessert every damn day.

“You’ll get a severance, six weeks’ pay in full, from corporate, and the four weeks’ vacation you haven’t taken.” He pushes his glasses up on his nose. “Look, I’ve always been fond of you, Brinley.”

I don’t miss the way he emphasizes my name just to prove he thinks I’m touchy. My eyes meet his and I feel like I might vomit. A sixth sense tells me he thinks of me in very inappropriate ways.

“I’d be happy to write you a good reference. We could go for drinks and talk about what you’d like me to put in the letter?” He continues opening his remaining mail like the way he’s speaking to me isn’t highly unprofessional.

My position of assistant design director paid me peanuts. So, what I’m hearing is, if I play my cards right, and let this man openly stare at my breasts and split a dinner bill at some shitty diner, I’ll get the reference I already deserve?

I smile sweetly and fold my hands in my lap, resisting the urge to stab him with his letter opener, and be courteous, the way I’ve always been taught.

“Oh, Paul, I’m not going out for anything with you, but I’ll take the reference anyway because you owe me that after putting up with you leering at me for three years. I know Brenda wouldn’t want to hear how often I catch you doing that.” I mention his wife as I stand and hope he doesn’t notice I’m shaking like a leaf.

“Thank you for the opportunity, can’t say it’s been enjoyable,” I hold in my need to tell him what a disgusting pig he is. I cock my head and smile bigger, my mother Wendy Beaumont’s type of smile that says he’s less than. “I’ll expect that reference letter before I leave, or my first stop tomorrow morning will be HR.”

My former boss doesn’t speak, only leans forward, like he’s trying to decide if I’m bluffing. The buttons on his shirt strain under the pressure of his beer gut.

“Good luck to you, Brinley. I’ll have the letter to you by noon,” he says meekly.

Wow, acting like my mother really works.

I nod and turn, feeling proud of myself for standing up to Paul as I round the corner to my tiny office down the hall. Normally, I wouldn’t even correct my Starbucks order if it were wrong, I’d just smile and say thank you before dumping it in the trash. A side effect from years of being told that it’s proper to be seen and not heard.

My phone buzzes in my pocket as I shut the door behind me.

Evan has had this night with me planned for a week and he’s being so secretive about it. It leads me to believe he might finally be proposing. After two years together, I feel like it’s the next step and I’ve been hinting at it for six months. I’ve tried not to push him but ever since my mother died, I have been feeling a little disjointed, like I just don’t really belong anywhere or to anyone. Having a husband like Evan, maybe starting a family, exactly what my mother always wanted, will help me feel like maybe I’m on the right path, one she and my father would’ve been proud of.

Thing is, I know he’s been struggling to get through his final year of law school and all he wants to do is get it done and please his own parents.

I sigh, wanting to be honest and tell him I just lost my job, but instead I make the instant decision to wait. After the day I’m having, I seriously need something good to come from today.

I lean back against my office door and stare out my window at the brick wall of the building next door. Taking a deep breath, I try to stay calm.

This morning sucks, but it’s only the morning.

Maybe tonight will make up for it.