Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I always keep my plans with her and everyone else, chicks before dicks and all that, but one on one with Diane is hard to take. With Ann it’s way easier. And I really do need to find someone serious… and/or freeze my eggs. I’m on borrowed time, and suddenly finding a husband is at the top of my to-do list.
“Fine,” she snaps. “I expect the Kleinpeters ad on my desk tomorrow, though.”
I would flinch at her sharp demeanor, but I’m used to it. She’s also not my boss, she’s just another designer on the job. “Already done. I cc’d you in the email.”
“You sent an ad to the client without my approval?” she asks, her fury evident.
I grind my teeth slightly, wanting very much to remind her that she’s not my fucking boss. “Correct. I don’t have to get your approval. I was just doing it to be polite.”
Her gaze narrows. “I don’t know about that.”
“Well, I do,” I reply cheerfully, deciding I don’t need this shit. “If you have a problem with it, I think HR is a good place to start.”
She’s practically shooting lasers out of her eyes now; it’s almost comical. Diane has a long history of complaints filed against her in HR, mostly dress code violations. HR is the last place she would go for help.
“Have a great date,” she says through clenched teeth and an expression that’s reminiscent of sucking on a lemon.
“See you tomorrow!” I call out, feeling vindicated, but still uneasy. She can really be a bitch. I don’t know why I put up with her as much as I do. Well other than the fact that I have no choice since I can’t fire her.
Diane disappears, and I relax a little but that doesn’t last long. I have a to do list that keeps growing, and more importantly, a date.
Charlie
Stretching my arms over my head I crack my back, feeling the exhaustion from working all last night until 5 am get to me. Damn the stretch feels good though. I couldn’t sleep more than four hours with all the work that needed to be done before opening this afternoon for Mags. I need to hire someone new. Someone with experience who already knows what to do because I sure as hell don’t have the time to train someone. Needle, meet haystack.
“Pass the gravy,” Pops tells me. He’s to my left, expecting me to pay attention when I can barely keep my eyes open.
After stifling a yawn, I reach across the table for the white ceramic rooster that holds the gravy. I’m fairly sure it’s supposed to be for milk or creamer, but before I can take it my sister Cheryl bats my hand away.
“I’m not done with it,” she tells me. I raise both my hands in surrender.
“Then pour it on your damn plate,” Pops says, staring at the gravy. He’s got a full plate of carved turkey, mashed potatoes and corn, with a fork in his right hand. He’s acting like he’s going to starve this minute if he doesn’t get that gravy on, more than likely, every inch of his dinner.
“Language!” Ma snaps at him and I chuckle. She passes him the gravy though, and makes my sister gasp. That’s what she gets for taking forever spooning out the potatoes I guess.
It’s just the six of us tonight. Ali is at my left like usual, Ma's across from me and Pops is seated at the head of the table on my right. Ali’s fiancé Michael sits on the end next to her while Cheryl sits across from her.
“I need the gravy, Ma,” Cheryl says with a pout.
It’s hard to imagine that Cheryl is a grown ass woman with a child from the way she just whined.
Cutting into my turkey and taking a bite, I don’t wait for the gravy that’s become such a commodity. I’m starving and I didn’t realize it until I smelled dinner. Shit, I don’t even remember the last time I ate. We were slammed today with both orders, and customers. Business is good, but I’m dog tired. Cheryl stifles a yawn as well as she looks over her shoulder at the rocker holding her sleeping baby. Rocker or swing, I don’t know. Apparently there’s a difference and Evie won’t sleep in one of the contraptions. From what my brother-in-law says, the baby doesn’t sleep at all.
“I need to eat fast,” Cheryl says beneath her breath; maybe we were sharing the same thought. She rubs the sleep from her eyes with one hand, while spooning in corn with the other.
Ma places her elbows on the table, folding her hands for grace.
“Oh,” Ali chirps up. “Can I say grace?”
I set my fork down although it clinks on the plate, drawing the attention of my entire family as I try to pretend I’m not chewing.