I disconnect the phone and glance at the huge, cheap clock hanging above the door.

The second hand wiggles, giving the impression that it’s stuck, then clicks over to the tiny dash between the eight and the nine. Another second of this shift gone. Only seven minutes and seventeen seconds to go.

The second hand repeats its performance. Seven minutes and sixteen seconds.

I can survive that long. I reach for my mouse, prepared to make one last call before finishing up for the day.

“Ella!”

My shift manager, Jerry Paolini’s smug face appears over the side of the thin cubicle walls.

Ugh, Maybe I won’t survive after all. Every encounter I’ve ever had with Jerry has always taken way longer than it should, and left me feeling like I need to take a long, hot shower. Even when he doesn’t touch me, and he usually finds some reason to either lay a hand on my shoulder or “accidently” brush against me, it leaves me feeling dirty.

I’d call him a weasel, but that’s not fair to the real members of the weasel family. I’m pretty sure they’d reject Jerry.

Jerry bares his teeth in what he thinks is a charming smile, but which only draws attention to his sharp, weasel-like features. “You’re looking even prettier than you did when you got here this morning. What ya doing tonight?”

I bend my own mouth into a small pseudo-smile that I know doesn’t reach my eyes and reach deep inside myself for patience. I’m going to need it. The small headache that’s been pulsating on the edges of my consciousness for the last few hours ups the ante and stabs at my temples.

“Book club,” I tell him. It’s not a complete lie.

“Oh.” Jerry sucks his cheeks between his teeth and loses himself in deep thought. Well, Jerry’s version of deep thought, which isn’t very deep at all. Most of his thoughts revolve around how to get under the skirt of whichever girl has caught his eye. For the past few weeks, that’s been me.

Just my luck. “What about after that? All that reading and talking about reading, it’s got to make you thirsty. Just thinking about it makes me want to grab a drink or two. What do ya say we get together at that brew house down the road? I’ll order a pizza and a couple pitchers of beers, and then you and I can—”

“I’m hosting it,” I hastily interrupt, “which means I have to clean up, and since it goes quite late…” I let the thought trail off. There’s no way I’m mentioning the word ‘bed’ in Jerry’s presence. He’ll take it as an invitation.

“And what about this weekend?”

Jerry is a lousy manager. He’s always one inappropriate comment away from a sexual harassment lawsuit, but no one can say he’s not persistent.

My mind races. “Um, I’m having dental surgery after work.” Okay, not the most original of excuses, but it’s been a long day. My brain simply doesn’t have the energy to be creative.

“Really?” Jerry’s brow furrows. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. You didn’t ask for any time off?”

He’s right. I didn’t. Mostly because I don’t have a dentist appointment, but even if I did, I can’t afford to take any time off. It’s not like this place offers paid sick leave. I have bills to pay.

I shouldn’t have said that. Bill is a very bad word in my world.

The pain in my head to explodes into a full-fledged migraine while bile churns in my stomach. This morning I’d woken to a reminder that another payment is nearly due. And payday is a few days away. And I’m not sure how far I can make that check stretch.

“I booked the appointment for after work and I have the whole weekend to recover.”

“I see. Well, maybe next week we can get our schedules coordinated.”

Fat chance–but I’m not telling him that. “Maybe.”

My eyes slide past Jerry’s head to the giant clock. Five more minutes, then I’m free.

“Oh, by the way…”

Uh oh. I know that tone. Jerry didn’t buy my excuses after all. He takes a piece of paper from the clipboard that’s permanently in his hands. He carries it around so that he can look busy on the rare occasions his own boss shows up.

He dangles the paper in front of my eyes. “These numbers need to be contacted before the end of the day. I was going to ask Paula to do this, but she can’t stay late. You don’t mind taking them, right?”

“But there’s, like, more than twenty names on there.”

“I know. A few of the girls got behind on their calls.” Translation: the girls who weren’t constantly shooting him down had been flirting with him rather than making their calls. “And you’re so good.”

“But I work first shift tomorrow morning! I have to be here a few minutes before eight, at the very latest.”

It’s already six and it’ll take me a few hours to work my way through the names, meaning the soonest I’ll get out of here is nine.

“Like I said, you’re good. Not only do you do the best job landing deals, but you’re also efficient.” He wiggles the list the same way a fisherman wiggles a hooked worm in front of a giant trout. “It probably won’t take you long. And you were just asking about extra hours. You might even make some extra sales and the commission would be all yours.”

The memory of the call I got this morning and the size of the bill I need to pay down looms in my mind.

“Fine,” I grab the paper out of his hand and smooth it on my cramped desk. “I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, Ella. You’re the best.” Jerry disappears behind the far side of my cubicle wall. I hear him whistling a jaunty tune. Probably going to see if whichever girl was supposed to make all these calls will go out with him now that she doesn’t have to stay late in order to finish her work.

I heave a sigh and settle my headset over my ears,adjusting my microphone before keying up the first number of the list.

The sooner I get started on this batch, the sooner I’ll reach the last number, and the sooner I can go home.