Chapter One
The noise of the office droned on around me. My co-workers, little worker bees, buzzed about doing this and that to keep the cogs of the great business machine running. Deadlines were to be met, files filed, meetings held, and minutes taken.
All through the buzzing of conversations, ringing of desk phones, clacking of keys on computers and the soft ding of the elevators disgorging more worker bees, I kept my head down and worked my little ‘bee’-hind off. I had a job to do, and at the end of the week, a pay check to collect. Most would go to my mother. She’d developed Multiple Sclerosis, and had been placed into a nursing home when it became apparent she couldn’t care for herself with ease anymore. Reluctantly, I went to work to support us both. I wanted to care for Mom, who had taken such good care of me during my childhood and tumultuous teens.
We had to survive financially. My sperm-donor asshole of a father had taken everything in the divorce, back when I was in my pre-teens. He would have gotten me too, if Mom’s lawyer hadn’t asked me what I wanted. I would have happily run back to Mom if he’d gotten custody.
With my mother being a single parent and me being an only child, money was super tight. Even as an adult, my clothes were from thrift shops, carefully mended by my hand when they became threadbare. My black, fake leather Mary-Janes were scuffed, the offending marks covered by a Sharpie’s magic touch, and my makeup was the kind you’d find in the clearance bin at your local dollar-saver type store.
I was a wizard at bargain hunting, when my hectic worker-bee-schedule allowed it. Again, bargain bin and clearance were my favourite words, especially when it came to food. Steak and lobster were definitely off the menu.
My position in the company was simply a corporate drone––yes, another bee reference, but hey, they keep the flowers blooming, so I think they’re cool. The more eloquent and official title I held was ‘Junior Assistant.’. In other words, Coffee Bitch.
Already, I’d been working there for over a year. I knew how to clear the paper jams in the copier machine, change the toner, make coffee for almost everyone on the floor. When the plants started to wilt I watered them, I could change the water cooler tank with minimal grunting and stress on my little body … heck, I even knew who to call when the office supplies closet was getting low.
I was one greasy little cog in the big corporate machine.
“Linda, can you please make sure these files are input into the system, and the originals get to Distribution before five o’clock?” A loud thump startled me from my mini-daydream as Mrs Davis dropped a thick pile of files on my desk.
“Ah, yes. Of course, Mrs Davis,” I stuttered. I watched as she walked away, forgetting to tell her my name wasn’t Linda, it was Lydia.
L.Y.D.I.A. Lydia. I mean, how hard was that? She’s known me for over a year and ever since I was hired, she’s never got it right. At first it was Libby, then Leonie, then Laura, now Linda… well, at least she was getting closer.
I sighed, eyeing the pile of paperwork with a death stare, hoping it might just spontaneously combust and I’d not have to deal with it. As it was, I’d never be able to get it done by five, not with everything else that was due. God forbid it didn’t get finished on time, else the Apocalypse might happen.
The soft ding of the elevators at one end of the room sounded and as soon as the occupants stepped out, the mood changed. Soft whispers drifted through the suddenly quiet, yet extremely busy, office. I chanced a look up and saw the owners of the company, Enrique and Donna Cortez, moving through the aisles, leaning in at each cubicle and chatting with the workers.
The super power couple that everyone in the office wanted to meet. If they could, employees would lick their boots, kiss their asses, and be thankful to breathe the same air. The king and queen bees of the hive. These were the honey makers. The ones you wanted to remember your name at the Christmas party, even if you didn’t remember anything from the actual party.
They were nice people. I’d only met Mrs Cortez in passing, but she’d had a genuine and ready smile for everyone she’d passed by that day. And she was stunning: front-cover model worthy, and no airbrushing required. So was her husband, who’d been on the cover of some GQ Magazine wannabe before, at least twice. Even now, I could sense the other women in the office glancing at him, and devouring him with their jealous eyes.
I kept my head down and continued to work on the data input that was next atop my list of ‘accomplish before the Apocalypse or else’ pile. Someone stopped at my desk. The rich but subtle scent of expensive perfume drifted over my nose. I looked up into the hazel eyes of Donna Cortez.
“Good morning, Mrs Cortez,” I said with a genuine smile. I didn’t want to be a faker, not like the other worker bees.
“Good morning, Lydia.” OMG. She knows my name? She paused a moment, almost as if she was trying to figure out what to say next. “Do you have a moment?”
Oh, shit. Those words. The usual precursor to, “We have to let you go.” I swear I could feel the blood drain from my face, and you could hear a pin drop in the office.
My heart rate spiked in zero-point-two seconds. My body began to tremble lightly, and I nodded and with a suddenly dry mouth and thick tongue replied, “Of course.” I stood up and ran my clammy hands down the front of my thrift-shop office wear, grabbing my purse from my storage drawer as I stepped out from my desk.
Mrs Cortez smiled warmly, and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Lydia … it’s not what you think.” I nodded, still nervous as hell. She walked right by my side to the elevator. As soon as the door closed on us, she pressed the button for the lobby, then turned and faced me.
“I’d like to take you out to lunch. I’ve noticed you never eat during the day, and you always work through that hour when everyone else has gone for lunch elsewhere.”
“I…” I had no explanation, no real reason. “I usually have so much work to do, Mrs Cortez. I don’t have the time to eat.”
She nodded as the elevator moved down. “Our financial records also state that most of your paycheck goes to Sunnyvale Nursing home. How are you surviving on what is left?”
I turned and looked to her, feeling shock and a little bit of indignation. “I’m sorry, but with respect, Mrs Cortez, is that really your business?” I asked her as the elevator doors opened and we stepped out.
“It is if I find out one of my valued employees is struggling to make ends meet,” she said kindly.
“Come. I have a proposition for you, but we need to discuss this in private.” She guided me to the front doors where we exited and were ushered gently into a waiting chauffeured car.
“Home please, Stan,” she said to the driver as soon as we were settled. I sat on the plush leather seat in silence all the way to their beautiful home. a luxury penthouse apartment overlooking the bay.