I hate mornings.

I especially hate mornings when I’ve had too much to drink the night before. My mouth is rough as sandpaper and I have to open and shut it several times to work the saliva through. My lips are on the verge of cracking, they’re so dry. I untangle my limbs from the soft, downy comforter and roll to my stomach.

I pat around in the dark until I hit my bedside table, then slap around until I find my phone to silence the blaring guitars. The artist croons about not being able to feel his face. I can feel my face, and without a mirror I know for certain it isn’t pretty. With the music off, my fingers roam some more and claim my tube of lip balm. I roll to my back and crack my eyes open. The morning light hits my eyes as I smooth the beeswax concoction over my lips and sigh in relief. I pull the phone from the charger cord. The backlighting of the screen blinds and I have to squint to read the time. Crap! I’m gonna be late!

I rush through my morning routine. Shower. Underwear. Makeup. Hair. Clothes. And throw my essential items—phone, wallet, keys, lunch—inside my laptop bag on my way out the door. I don’t have time to brew coffee, which has my tolerance for rush hour traffic at a lower than normal acceptance level. And all the assholes in Richmond have collaborated to be on the road today.

My stomach rumbles, pissed at the lack of sustenance. I dig around the side pockets of my bag and unearth a protein bar that’s most certainly passed its expiration date. Fuck it. I’m starving, and without my morning caffeine fix I need something in my belly. The chocolate mint flavor makes a poor attempt at fooling my taste buds that it’s the real thing, but at least my stomach settles.

I’ve been working at Superstition Graphix for eleven months now, first as an intern and only full time since graduating in May. My recent promotion gave me the salary and confidence I needed to purchase my first home. It’s a small design firm and new to the industry, but both owners came from larger companies.

Pat and Michael joined forces two years ago, leaving their established careers to open their own company. They bring solid experience and have created a good working environment. I like my job and it pays well. Two things I’m extremely thankful for after watching so many of my classmates move home to work retail post-college.

Pulling into the small parking lot, I hustle inside the building and take the stairs as fast as my dress shoes allow. It’s just nine o’clock when I wave to Lisa, our receptionist. I give myself props for beating the odds and making it in on time. I find my cubicle and drop my belongings under the desk, plug in my laptop, and stride to the kitchen. The succulent smell of roasted coffee attracts with a force that can’t be stopped.

“Hey, Callie.” Jim, one of the senior designers, greets me from where he stands at the counter pouring his mug full of the precious liquid my body craves. He assesses me with a knowing eye and pulls another mug off the shelf. “You look like you need this more than I do.” He slides his mug within reach and then fills another for himself.

“Thanks, Jim.” I don’t bother with sweetener or cream. The bold roast hits my taste buds and works its way down my throat. So fucking good. I quite possibly moan out loud. The liquid magic awakens the parts of my brain that were foggy and I’m ready to take on the day.

“Good weekend?” Jim asks.

“Yeah. Great, actually. I moved into my first house. I’m all settled and unpacked, too.”

We chat a few more minutes about my home, the neighborhood, and property values before I excuse myself. I like Jim. He’s not my direct manager on projects but we’ve been on the same team a few times and I spent a week with him during my internship. He’s friendly enough and really knowledgeable in design.

I spend the morning deep in my latest project, a signage revamp for a mom and pop chain of Italian restaurants. I’m ready to break for lunch when my boss calls my workstation and asks me to step in his office.

“Callie, please have a seat.” Jared’s gaze is somber and my gut starts to tighten with nerves, though I have no reason for them. I step around the chair across from his desk and sit.

“What’s up, Jared?”

“You may have heard the rumors . . .” He tightens his lips in a thin line, crosses his long arms over his chest, and leans back in his chair. Waiting. As if I should know what he’s referring to. Rumors? Shit. This is why you’re supposed to have friends at work. Or hang out by the breakroom. I’m such a loner here. I mostly eat lunch at my desk while everyone else goes out. Work is work. I do my job and leave.

Totally not working in my favor at the moment.

“About the possible acquisition,” he finally finishes. I nod. “Pat and Michael will be in meetings all week. You’ll see a few new faces around the office. Don’t be alarmed. They’ll be here to observe and see how we work. Just go about your usual business.” Jared pins me with a stare.

Usual business. I can do that. But the way he keeps staring at me, I’m starting to guess this is a bigger deal than he’s letting on. I may have to break for coffee more often this week to get a lead on the gossip.

“Okay. Great. So, is that all you needed to see me about or is there something else?” I’m uncertain how we end this conversation since he won’t break eye contact and I don’t want to appear intimidated or flippant about his news.

He leans his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers under his chin. Wow. This is intense. I’m back in third grade all over again having a staring contest with Andrew Perkins, neither of us willing to blink first.

“Keep up the good work, Callie. You’ll do just fine here.” He finally stands and glances at the door over my shoulder. I scramble from the chair and mutter my thanks. I’m not able to get back to my workstation quickly enough.

That was strange. I pull my peanut butter sandwich from my bag and pretend to check Facebook while I sneak covert glances at my colleagues. Everyone seems to be more on task today. More than usual for a Monday. I have to wonder if that has anything to do with this possible acquisition. I’ll have to Google our company when I get home tonight. In the meantime, I do what I do best. I dig back into my project.

One thing I know to be true. I will outwork every single one of these staff designers. I may be green, but in this field seniority means nothing. It’s ever changing and dynamic and the people willing to learn and work the hardest will prevail. It’s sure to be a long week but I take some satisfaction in knowing that my own little home is organized, clean, and waiting for me at the end of the day.