Status: Updates may be slow at first, but they will be steady.
Breakfast at Holly's
chapitre quatre
“Popping pills at work, I see.” I felt a shove against my desk chair and looked up to see Davie Roberts saunter past me, smirking.
“Fuck off,” I growled back. I waited until he had turned the corner to the office copy room before turning back to my desk and swallowing the two Aspirin Davie had spotted. I sighed and slumped over in my miserable little grey cubicle. Even without a hangover, I could barely tolerate Davie Roberts. Technically, he was PepsiCo’s advertising section budget manager, but I personally referred to him as the Professional Asshole in my head. His name was actually David, but for some reason, he had deemed it necessary to give himself a cute little nickname – possibly in an attempt to distract from his entirely unappealing personality. Even for the short time I’d known him, I could see he had pretty much zero redeeming qualities. He was the slimiest of assholes, lewd and offensive to boot. And from the moment I’d stepped foot into the office, he’d decided I was his latest target.
“Sleeping on the job, too,” Davie’s taunting voice cut through my thoughts. I lifted my head and squinted up unwillingly, the fluorescent lighting of the office doing no favors to my aching head. Davie was leaning against the flimsy wall of the cubicle, peering down at me with a stack of freshly copied papers in his arms. It was just so unfortunate that despite being a complete dick, he was classified as good-looking to any naïve woman who didn’t know any better. He had shaggy gold hair, a suspiciously white smile, and an athletic body that all the ladies in the office swooned over. “Hey, Brooklyn! You awake?”
“Oh, fuck off,” I muttered again, now doubly annoyed with Davie’s irritating habit of referring to me as simply “Brooklyn”, as though it was too strenuous for him to remember the two fucking syllables of my name.
“No. Because, you see, I, unlike you, have finished all my work for today, instead of sitting around since ten doing absolutely nothing.” Davie leaned one elbow jauntily on the cubicle wall, looking utterly at ease with my discomfort. “How’s that prune juice ad going for you?”
I heard snickering from the cubicle beside me and wished I could kick them for eavesdropping. But I looked away and attempted to concentrate on the nearly blank sheet of drawing paper in front of me. “I’m working on it,” I mumbled through gritted teeth.
He followed my gaze. “Wow. You’ve made some real progress,” he remarked sarcastically.
I gave up on trying to ignore him and threw him a dirty look. “I would be making a lot more goddamn progress if you fucked off,” I snapped.
“Whoa, Brooklyn!” He laughed. “PMS-ing or something?”
I stood up, pushing my seat back so the metal legs scratched against the tiled floor. I’d had enough of this bastard, and my stomach was growling. “Excuse me,” I said coldly to Davie. “I’m taking my lunch break.”
With as much dignity as I could manage with my head aching, I strode across the office for the elevator. I was going to buy myself a hot dog from the vendor right across the street, a steaming Sabrette hot dog with mustard and ketchup and sauerkraut and a Coke, and then I was going to sit in Central Park and eat it while contemplating the various ways to murder Davie, one of which would definitely include strangling him with the stupid skinny yellow tie he was wearing.
I barely made it three feet away from my cubicle when I heard a gruff voice call out, “Chris!”
I stopped in my tracks with a sense of foreboding. Fuck. I sighed, stared at the PepsiCo logo in ugly script all over the beige walls, before spinning around. A large, intimidating man sweating profusely in a navy three-piece suit had exited his office and was making a beeline to me. “Chris!” my boss shouted out again, even though I was virtually two inches away from him.
“It’s Connor,” I said wearily.
Mr. Colfer’s dull little eyes gave no indication of acknowledgement. “Where the fuck is that prune juice sketch?” he barked, getting straight down to business.
“I’m working on it, sir,” I responded quietly. I chanced a sideways glance – Davie was lurking behind watching the exchange with an amused expression on his face.
“‘Working on it’?” Mr. Colfer boomed. “We have to present an advertising campaign to Tropicana in three days, and you’re telling me you don’t have shit?”
Now Davie looked positively gleeful. I could feel the tips of my ears heating up as the clatter of fingers typing on keyboards came to a hush, and I knew everyone was peering over their cubicles to see what was going on. “I’ll get it done, sir,” I mumbled, hating how meek I sounded.
“Well, you better fucking get it done.” He jabbed a fat finger in my direction, his chin quivering from the exertion of shouting. “I want to see a draft of a poster on my desk first thing Friday morning. Do you understand?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir. Of course.” I nodded quickly, hoping to end this humiliating exchange and get the fuck out of there.
“Good,” he grunted, but he clearly wasn’t done with me yet. “Now, where the fuck did you think you were going?”
“Oh, uh, I – I was going to take my lunch break,” I stuttered, taken aback by the abruptness of the question.
“In that case… at least you can do something for me,” Mr. Colfer muttered as he pulled out his expensive black wallet. He fished out a twenty-dollar bill and thrust it to me, his meaty hand dangling the money in my face. “Get me three grande iced coffees. Milk and two sugars each. Now!”
-
“And so now, apparently, I’m the office bitch,” I complained, struggling to balance three coffees and talk on the phone at the same time.
“I’m sorry, man,” my good buddy Chris answered sympathetically, his voice breaking slightly on the line. “That’s gotta suck.”
Chris was my closest friend since his family moved next to mine in Brooklyn at the age of seven. And if anyone could understand how frustrated I felt, it was him, which is why I called him immediately after bolting out of that goddamn office. “It’s not just this…” I struggled to think of what exactly was it that was bothering me, squinting up at the cruelly blue sky. It was just way too nice to be stuck inside in a cubicle. I sighed. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to be stuck for the rest of my life doing this, really. Advertising and shit.” I kicked a stray bottle cap from my path and stared up gloomily at the PepsiCo building across the street, as busy New Yorkers jostled me from either side.
“I think it’s too early to tell, Con,” Chris said thoughtfully. “I mean, you’ve only been working for what, two weeks? Yeah? I say you stick it out at least another month.”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like I have any other options,” I agreed grudgingly. Chris’ caution surprised me – he was not usually the type who thought things through, to say the least. All my life, I had always been the one who stepped in and stopped him before he went through with some ridiculous plan of his. It was ironic to think that between the two of us, I was the one who ended up getting arrested for public disruption.
My stomach growled once more and pulled me out of my reverie; I turned from the building and began trudging to the hot dog stand down the street. My phone beeped. “Hold on, Chris, I have someone on the other line.” Without bothering to wait for an answer, I checked who was calling. My phone flashed Kat. “Hey, Kat!”
“Hey Connor!” Kat answered cheerfully. “How’s it going?”
“Good, good. I’m at work, actually,” I told her, reaching the hot dog stand.
“Oh, can you talk now?” she asked quickly.
“Yeah sure. I’m on my lunch break. Hey, hold on a sec, Kat?” I put the phone down briefly to face the vendor. “Hey, can I have a hot dog with mustard? And a Coke?” He nodded and turned to the hot dog steamer. I brought the phone back up to my ear. “What’s up, Kat?”
“Wrong line, honey,” Chris cackled.
“Fuck you, actually.” I rolled my eyes, this time pressing the right button to switch lines. “Kat – ”
“Three seventy-five!” the vendor called out.
I took my hot dog distractedly. “Kat, sorry. What were you saying?”
This time, thankfully, Kat answered, not Chris. “So, this Friday I’m thinking of having a few people over,” she began.
“Uh-huh,” I said absentmindedly, digging through my wallet to find some cash.
Just a bunch of people I know, and I was – ”
She was cut off by the vendor, who snapped again, “Three seventy-five!”
“Okay, okay. Hold on, Kat,” I said apologetically. Jesus. I handed the impatient vendor his money and began to walk slowly back down the block. Drops of water trickled down from the iced coffees I was still clutching, but I still took my time, biting into my hot dog appreciatively. Mr. Colfer can wait for his damn coffee. “Sorry, Kat. Start again?”
“I’m having a small party at my place on Friday night, and I was wondering if you could come,” she told me, sounding only slightly exasperated from all the interruptions. “Interested?”
I chewed and swallowed, licking mustard from my lips before answering. “I could definitely blow off some steam after work,” I mused.
“Come! It’ll be fun!” Kat exclaimed. “Neighborly bonding, come on!”
I smiled to myself. How can I resist? “Oh,” I said as a thought came to me. “Could I possibly bring a friend?”
“Sure!” she said breezily. “The more, the merrier, right? Nine-thirtyish? Ten? See ya!”
She hung up before I had a chance to say goodbye. I pressed back to the other line. “Chris? You still there?”
“Oh no, just busy combing my fucking pubes,” Chris replied dryly.
“Real funny. You up for a party? This Friday, at – ”
“I’m there.” And then he too hung up without another word.
I stared down at my phone. “Nice to know people enjoy talking to me,” I muttered to myself. I crammed the last bite of my hot dog in my mouth before stepping back into the PepsiCo building, the lightheartedness I felt just minutes before disappearing like smoke as I trudged to the elevators, already miserable again about the prospect of sitting in a cubicle for the next three hours.
“Fuck off,” I growled back. I waited until he had turned the corner to the office copy room before turning back to my desk and swallowing the two Aspirin Davie had spotted. I sighed and slumped over in my miserable little grey cubicle. Even without a hangover, I could barely tolerate Davie Roberts. Technically, he was PepsiCo’s advertising section budget manager, but I personally referred to him as the Professional Asshole in my head. His name was actually David, but for some reason, he had deemed it necessary to give himself a cute little nickname – possibly in an attempt to distract from his entirely unappealing personality. Even for the short time I’d known him, I could see he had pretty much zero redeeming qualities. He was the slimiest of assholes, lewd and offensive to boot. And from the moment I’d stepped foot into the office, he’d decided I was his latest target.
“Sleeping on the job, too,” Davie’s taunting voice cut through my thoughts. I lifted my head and squinted up unwillingly, the fluorescent lighting of the office doing no favors to my aching head. Davie was leaning against the flimsy wall of the cubicle, peering down at me with a stack of freshly copied papers in his arms. It was just so unfortunate that despite being a complete dick, he was classified as good-looking to any naïve woman who didn’t know any better. He had shaggy gold hair, a suspiciously white smile, and an athletic body that all the ladies in the office swooned over. “Hey, Brooklyn! You awake?”
“Oh, fuck off,” I muttered again, now doubly annoyed with Davie’s irritating habit of referring to me as simply “Brooklyn”, as though it was too strenuous for him to remember the two fucking syllables of my name.
“No. Because, you see, I, unlike you, have finished all my work for today, instead of sitting around since ten doing absolutely nothing.” Davie leaned one elbow jauntily on the cubicle wall, looking utterly at ease with my discomfort. “How’s that prune juice ad going for you?”
I heard snickering from the cubicle beside me and wished I could kick them for eavesdropping. But I looked away and attempted to concentrate on the nearly blank sheet of drawing paper in front of me. “I’m working on it,” I mumbled through gritted teeth.
He followed my gaze. “Wow. You’ve made some real progress,” he remarked sarcastically.
I gave up on trying to ignore him and threw him a dirty look. “I would be making a lot more goddamn progress if you fucked off,” I snapped.
“Whoa, Brooklyn!” He laughed. “PMS-ing or something?”
I stood up, pushing my seat back so the metal legs scratched against the tiled floor. I’d had enough of this bastard, and my stomach was growling. “Excuse me,” I said coldly to Davie. “I’m taking my lunch break.”
With as much dignity as I could manage with my head aching, I strode across the office for the elevator. I was going to buy myself a hot dog from the vendor right across the street, a steaming Sabrette hot dog with mustard and ketchup and sauerkraut and a Coke, and then I was going to sit in Central Park and eat it while contemplating the various ways to murder Davie, one of which would definitely include strangling him with the stupid skinny yellow tie he was wearing.
I barely made it three feet away from my cubicle when I heard a gruff voice call out, “Chris!”
I stopped in my tracks with a sense of foreboding. Fuck. I sighed, stared at the PepsiCo logo in ugly script all over the beige walls, before spinning around. A large, intimidating man sweating profusely in a navy three-piece suit had exited his office and was making a beeline to me. “Chris!” my boss shouted out again, even though I was virtually two inches away from him.
“It’s Connor,” I said wearily.
Mr. Colfer’s dull little eyes gave no indication of acknowledgement. “Where the fuck is that prune juice sketch?” he barked, getting straight down to business.
“I’m working on it, sir,” I responded quietly. I chanced a sideways glance – Davie was lurking behind watching the exchange with an amused expression on his face.
“‘Working on it’?” Mr. Colfer boomed. “We have to present an advertising campaign to Tropicana in three days, and you’re telling me you don’t have shit?”
Now Davie looked positively gleeful. I could feel the tips of my ears heating up as the clatter of fingers typing on keyboards came to a hush, and I knew everyone was peering over their cubicles to see what was going on. “I’ll get it done, sir,” I mumbled, hating how meek I sounded.
“Well, you better fucking get it done.” He jabbed a fat finger in my direction, his chin quivering from the exertion of shouting. “I want to see a draft of a poster on my desk first thing Friday morning. Do you understand?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir. Of course.” I nodded quickly, hoping to end this humiliating exchange and get the fuck out of there.
“Good,” he grunted, but he clearly wasn’t done with me yet. “Now, where the fuck did you think you were going?”
“Oh, uh, I – I was going to take my lunch break,” I stuttered, taken aback by the abruptness of the question.
“In that case… at least you can do something for me,” Mr. Colfer muttered as he pulled out his expensive black wallet. He fished out a twenty-dollar bill and thrust it to me, his meaty hand dangling the money in my face. “Get me three grande iced coffees. Milk and two sugars each. Now!”
-
“And so now, apparently, I’m the office bitch,” I complained, struggling to balance three coffees and talk on the phone at the same time.
“I’m sorry, man,” my good buddy Chris answered sympathetically, his voice breaking slightly on the line. “That’s gotta suck.”
Chris was my closest friend since his family moved next to mine in Brooklyn at the age of seven. And if anyone could understand how frustrated I felt, it was him, which is why I called him immediately after bolting out of that goddamn office. “It’s not just this…” I struggled to think of what exactly was it that was bothering me, squinting up at the cruelly blue sky. It was just way too nice to be stuck inside in a cubicle. I sighed. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to be stuck for the rest of my life doing this, really. Advertising and shit.” I kicked a stray bottle cap from my path and stared up gloomily at the PepsiCo building across the street, as busy New Yorkers jostled me from either side.
“I think it’s too early to tell, Con,” Chris said thoughtfully. “I mean, you’ve only been working for what, two weeks? Yeah? I say you stick it out at least another month.”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like I have any other options,” I agreed grudgingly. Chris’ caution surprised me – he was not usually the type who thought things through, to say the least. All my life, I had always been the one who stepped in and stopped him before he went through with some ridiculous plan of his. It was ironic to think that between the two of us, I was the one who ended up getting arrested for public disruption.
My stomach growled once more and pulled me out of my reverie; I turned from the building and began trudging to the hot dog stand down the street. My phone beeped. “Hold on, Chris, I have someone on the other line.” Without bothering to wait for an answer, I checked who was calling. My phone flashed Kat. “Hey, Kat!”
“Hey Connor!” Kat answered cheerfully. “How’s it going?”
“Good, good. I’m at work, actually,” I told her, reaching the hot dog stand.
“Oh, can you talk now?” she asked quickly.
“Yeah sure. I’m on my lunch break. Hey, hold on a sec, Kat?” I put the phone down briefly to face the vendor. “Hey, can I have a hot dog with mustard? And a Coke?” He nodded and turned to the hot dog steamer. I brought the phone back up to my ear. “What’s up, Kat?”
“Wrong line, honey,” Chris cackled.
“Fuck you, actually.” I rolled my eyes, this time pressing the right button to switch lines. “Kat – ”
“Three seventy-five!” the vendor called out.
I took my hot dog distractedly. “Kat, sorry. What were you saying?”
This time, thankfully, Kat answered, not Chris. “So, this Friday I’m thinking of having a few people over,” she began.
“Uh-huh,” I said absentmindedly, digging through my wallet to find some cash.
Just a bunch of people I know, and I was – ”
She was cut off by the vendor, who snapped again, “Three seventy-five!”
“Okay, okay. Hold on, Kat,” I said apologetically. Jesus. I handed the impatient vendor his money and began to walk slowly back down the block. Drops of water trickled down from the iced coffees I was still clutching, but I still took my time, biting into my hot dog appreciatively. Mr. Colfer can wait for his damn coffee. “Sorry, Kat. Start again?”
“I’m having a small party at my place on Friday night, and I was wondering if you could come,” she told me, sounding only slightly exasperated from all the interruptions. “Interested?”
I chewed and swallowed, licking mustard from my lips before answering. “I could definitely blow off some steam after work,” I mused.
“Come! It’ll be fun!” Kat exclaimed. “Neighborly bonding, come on!”
I smiled to myself. How can I resist? “Oh,” I said as a thought came to me. “Could I possibly bring a friend?”
“Sure!” she said breezily. “The more, the merrier, right? Nine-thirtyish? Ten? See ya!”
She hung up before I had a chance to say goodbye. I pressed back to the other line. “Chris? You still there?”
“Oh no, just busy combing my fucking pubes,” Chris replied dryly.
“Real funny. You up for a party? This Friday, at – ”
“I’m there.” And then he too hung up without another word.
I stared down at my phone. “Nice to know people enjoy talking to me,” I muttered to myself. I crammed the last bite of my hot dog in my mouth before stepping back into the PepsiCo building, the lightheartedness I felt just minutes before disappearing like smoke as I trudged to the elevators, already miserable again about the prospect of sitting in a cubicle for the next three hours.
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I'm so sorry it took so long to update! I promise, I'm going to work on posting updates quicker. I just got a little overwhelmed with school stuff.Anyway, sorry that nothing much is happening in this chapter. I kinda just wanted to introduce Chris and set up for the party. But leave comments, they make me happy. :D