Lag (The Boys of RDA Book 2) (22 page)

His eyes narrow. “Are you sure. After what happened this morning…”

He trails off and my eyes dare him to finish his comment. He doesn’t and it’s to his betterment. If the white shirt, pocket-protector-wearing nerd makes a comment about how one jelly doughnut ended up on the custard and cream side, I'll shove this sub down his throat.

I know why the previous receptionists haven’t stayed and why Finn has to pay the position so much. Melvin.

And well, if I’m honest there are at least ten other guys who work in the building just like him. Their list of food requirements would be enough to make even the most broke person question the money. It’s not until you deal with them on a regular basis that you start to get violent. Then the real trouble begins.

I thrust the sub at him one more time and he reaches to take it. He’s a little too slow, so I move it closer causing him to jerk back like it might bite him. A laugh bubbles up behind me and Melvin collects his food before I turn to see Trey with a hand over his mouth faking a cough. He better hope his sub isn’t in my bag or he will not like the results. My God. Three days and job has made me vicious.

“Why don’t you let me take care of the rest of them and you make sure the front desk is still bolted to the ground.” Trey reaches out to take the two remaining subs in my hands.

Any other time I’d tell him to relax I have it under control, but if every employee plans to mention my criminal jelly doughnut catastrophe, I’ll end up in jail. It was one freaking jelly doughnut, people. ONE. This is not DEFCON five.

“Thanks.” I smile and pass on the food to Trey’s waiting hands. If anyone gives him crap, he’ll talk them around in circles and no one will remember what they were complaining about. It’s his special gift that’s tripped me up more than once.

I’m back at the desk in under thirty seconds, but it takes me three minutes to realize in my haste to get all the food restrictions correct I didn’t order any lunch for myself. It’s possible I have a candy bar in my purse. I try to never leave the house without chocolate of some kind. Before I open the bottom desk drawer, the door to the office opens and Trey steps out.

“Were you forced to defend my honor over the doughnut again or is Melvin the only one experiencing PTSD over it?”

Trey laughs at my bad joke. “Actually, I told them all you were my girlfriend and after that everyone seemed to clam up.”

“You did what?” He told people I’m his girlfriend? That… it's… it’s wrong that’s what it is. Even if I was his girlfriend… which I’m not, but even if I was it’s not cool to tell people we work with. He must be kidding.

“Hey, it worked.” He moves his hand toward the door, possibly in an attempt to showcase no one has run through to grill me about their order.

Great. Now I’m worried it’s a real possibility. He circles to the back of my desk and slides up to sit on the surface again. I’m glad the job doesn't require much paperwork because mine would have Trey’s butt imprints all over it. Although it would be a nice tight print. In fact, maybe I should lay down some papers for next time.

“What are you thinking?” I look up to see Trey staring at me intently.

“Nothing.” I’m able to answer him without looking to his butt. I deserve purse chocolate.

Trey lays a foil cylinder on the desk in front of me. Where the sandwich comes from, I’m not sure. Maybe he had it in his other hand. Thoughts of butt prints had me so distracted I even forgot about Melvin for a few minutes.

I’m pretty sure if I explained to a Judge that Melvin spent ten minutes schooling me on how jelly stays to the left, he’d grant me a restraining order. Part of my salary package has to include hazard pay.

Trey begins to unwrap the sandwich. “I didn’t see your name in there so I thought we could share.”

“This is your sub?” I look at the lightly toasted top piece and my stomach growls.

He doesn’t notice or is smart enough not to mention how I’ve become a lion. “Yes, but I figure since I’m taking you to dinner tonight, we can split it to hold us over.”

For a moment my heart melts. For real it melts, a puddle right on the floor under my chair, but then I’m still pissy over Melvin and question him.

“What’s on it?” I can’t help it. I get cranky when I'm hungry and have to deal with assholes.

“Stuffed squid, anchovies, mayo, lettuce, and pickles.”

The sub doesn’t look appetizing any longer. I look at the side of it and worry I see a tentacle squirming on the end. “Um, no thanks.”

Trey laughs. “I’m kidding, Simone. It’s turkey.” When I still don't make a move, “I swear, turkey, mayo, lettuce, tomato, and pickles. It’s safe. Do you remember ordering a squid sandwich?”

I don’t and I think I’d remember something like that, but his logic annoys me even as I reach out and pick up the half closest to me. “Okay, but if I eat a tentacle I'm never talking to you again.” My first bite is tentative, but when all I taste is turkey and mayo I smile up at him. “Thanks.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The large lobby clock counts down the seconds and I chart each one as the second hand ticks its way around the circle. Eleven minutes and twenty-eight seconds until the work day ends. Eleven minutes and twenty-six seconds until I skip out those doors happy to have survived this Melvin filled day.

I wonder how many people quit because of Melvin? Why does Finn keep him? Ten minutes and fifty-six seconds. Aspen’s man comes off as sweet and laid back. Maybe he has a soft spot for Manic Melvin? Ten minutes and fifty-one seconds. Maybe Menacing Melvin has an important job? Like if they created bombs, he’d be the guy with the second launch key. Would anyone trust Melvin with the second key? I wouldn’t.

At ten minutes and forty-seven seconds, there’s movement to my left and my eyes automatically track it. There’s nothing on the desk except a few pens and the pop-up calendar. Weird. I hope a spider or some other creepy crawling hasn't tried to make my desk his new home.

Ten minutes and thirty-four seconds. A pen rolls off the desk top and lands on the floor. Unexplainably my heart rate picks up and I whip my head to the right. Nothing. Then the fruit basket still sitting on top of the desk ledge jumps. It definitely moves. I swear it moved.

I’ve forgotten what time is on the clock as my stomach tightens with the movement. My body already knows what this is, but my mind refuses to admit it. I look out the front doors. Maybe I expect to see a building across the road crumble or flocks of people running by. I don’t find either. The streets are empty and the building in front stands intact, but I do catch the doors as they jerk a small amount. Shit.

I’m frozen in my chair, but my eyes are set on the doors and connecting wall expecting them to shake. Stationary walls should never move. The second pen on the desk twitches and my mind can’t ignore the evidence any longer. It’s a fucking earthquake.

My mind races with horrible outcomes. Wasn’t San Francisco destroyed by an earthquake once? Why did I move to a city that plans to break off and fall into the ocean one day?

We’re all going to die.

For some reason I stand and my body takes me to the middle of the lobby. But as I gaze up at the large tile blocks on the ceiling, I decide this might not be the best spot to stay safe from falling debris when the building starts to cave in.

I turn around in another circle and look for a better space in the lobby. I’ve watched movies with earthquakes. What did they do? Things are no longer moving, but I’m not willing to risk it. My body stops at the closet door. People hide in bathtubs, right? I don't have a tub, but there’s a room without windows. I run to the closet and my heels slip on the smooth floor, but I fall in and close the door.

There’s a loud thumping in the room and I panic with worry about gas lines breaking, but the beat matches the one coming from my chest and I surmise it’s my heart. The closet’s dark and I’m scared to turn on the light. Electrical fires, downed lines, and a hundred other horrible outcomes stumble through my mind from all the apocalyptic movies I’ve seen. They always start in California. Isn’t that a clue to us all?

The dark windowless room takes over my senses, and being unable to see anything might be worse than watching the building crumble around me. I step to the entrance and throw open the door. The motion triggers my thoughts and I remember windowless rooms are for tornadoes, door frames are for earthquakes.

I move my feet to either side of the door and then grab on to the white trim with both hands. My knuckles go white and hurt immediately, but I’m not going to let go.

“Simone?”

I turn my head to the left and spot Trey as he looks out from the office doorway. He walks into the lobby and comes to stand in front of me, but I don’t let go.

“What are you doing, Trey? It’s an earthquake. Grab on to something,” my voice is panicked but he looks as casual as normal with his sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons of his blue shirt undone. Are people here so used to their lives being on the line they don’t take this kind of natural disaster seriously?

He reaches up and tries to pry one of my hands off the door trim, but I refuse to let it budge. He’ll have to find his own damn door. “Simone, babe. It’s over. Look."

I let my eyes fall to the front doors past Trey and notice their standing position. He tries to release my hand again and this time I let him.

“It was a little one, a few seconds tops. Maybe a three on the scale. Nothing to worry about. It’s all okay.”

“Nothing to worry about?” I feel more panic building up inside. This time from anger. “A three on the scale! How big is the scale? Why is there a scale at all? Why do you people choose to live in a place where the ground moves?”

He smiles at my outburst. “The view, the weather,” he pauses and then picks back up again, “most recently the people.” He tugs on my other hand and I let it fall but keep my feet braced. “It’s over now. Everything is okay,” he repeats his earlier promise, but it doesn't make me feel any better the second time.

I open my mouth, but rather than words, my first sob echoes through the tiny space and I back into the dark closet. “Everything is not okay, Trey.” I sink to the floor in the middle of the room and stick my legs out to my side. "I live in a place that will drown me when it crumbles into the bay. And my sister can’t come live with me because I have no place for her to say since I sleep on a couch. My dad still doesn’t know I lost my job out here. I owe a college education in back rent.”

My words are lost on another sob and Trey sits on the floor next to me. His arms wrap around me and he tugs me into his shoulder. The door closes behind him and we’re covered in blackness.

“I just survived an earthquake and I can’t even call my mom and tell her about it. I’ll never call her again.” Thoughts of my mom and everything I’ll never get to share with her take over any fear of the ground falling out from under me. It already did back in September, but for some reason it didn’t take me with it. How can I have lost someone so important, but the world kept spinning without her on it?

Tears track down my face only to be soaked up by Trey’s shirt as my body rocks into his. He tightens his grip on me and one hand slowly rubs my back, but it does nothing to calm my outpouring.

Time slows and eventually my cries even out. I’m able to gain control of my ragged breathing. Trey doesn’t say anything, but he continues to rub my back in small circles. After a few more minutes, I’ve quieted enough to talk again and the embarrassment over what happened in this closet makes my body tight for new reasons. Trey must think I’m a mess. Who am I kidding? I am a mess.

I move my head away from his shoulder and wipe a hand down it even though my palm does nothing to soak up the wetness my tears left behind. “I’m so sorry.” I attempt to inch away from him, but his grip tightens keeping me in place. My eyes are tired, but they can’t take much in from the black closet. A thin line of light brightens the floor from the bottom and I remember I’m at work.

“God. I can’t go back out there like this,” I moan and put my head back into Trey’s wet sleeve.

“Don’t worry. Everyone’s probably left by now and no one comes out this way anyway. The back entrance is closer to the parking lot." This explains why I’ve never seen anyone leave the building after I check them in.

I move my head again and reach for my phone but remember it’s at my desk. “What time is it?”

The circles on my back stop and the room lights up when Trey turns on his phone. “A little after six.”

Wonderful. I’ve been sitting on the floor in an empty closet crying into his shoulder for over an hour. Yes, definitely a hot mess over here.

My face heats and I’m thankful for the darkened room. “I’m sorry.” I try to move away again, but still his arm holds on.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. I would have sat on the floor with you all night.”

I laugh a small amount at his words because they came from Trey and there isn’t another response I can muster at the moment.

“Come on. Let’s get out of the closet.”

He stands up and then reaches an arm out to help me. My legs ache after being still for so long and I stretch them out for a second while Trey does the same. He opens the door and I blink repeatedly as the light from the lobby filters into the room.