***A/n: Hey all, if enough people like this one, it'll be my next multi-chapter story. Thanks for reading! xoxo
Why do we do hard things? What makes us look at a challenging task and think, "Yeah, I can do that?" I would love to know, just for personal reflection. Because I, sure as shit, couldn't tell you what convinced me to go back to work after the accident.
Almost four months went by since my car was nearly cut in two by that drunk driver. Don't worry, I wasn't in the car. No, I was one foot away, bending down to pick up my keys. Yeah, after all of the surgeries and life-saving measures, I'm lucky enough to be left with a few dozen pins here and there and a strong limp. Of course, that's not to mention the new fear of cars, traffic, and pretty much anything having to do with the road. Don't get me started on parking lots, phew!
That's how I ended up with four months off of work, which ends right now. From all the gossip I've been hearing from Zoey, our all-too-inexperienced receptionist, a lot had changed.
I pulled my arms through a blouse that I think fits the occasion -- dark blue cashmere, navy stitching, not too loose but not tight whatsoever. It goes best with the cream, cropped slacks that I start pulling up my legs. I'll admit that since the surgeries, I haven't worn pants this fitting. The tightness causes a deep pressure that feels like needles stabbing my nerves. But I like how I look, giving a few turns in the mirror. If someone saw me like this, they'd never guess that was my unconscious face plastered across the five o'clock news.
Since that day, driving again has been out of the question. I can't, I won't. My therapist says it's a normal response, my friends say at least I'm saving on gas. It's a win-win. Thankfully, big cities are known for their public transportation, so subway here I come.
After a quick half hour, my downtown stop flashes across the LED ticker. Someone else pulls the string, and a few of us get off and walk down the path to the business park. We separate into our directions. One deep breath in, one deep breath out. Before I can open the door, someone else beats me to it.
"Oh, thanks," I turned, expecting to see Dave or even Ryan there. Instead, a new face looked back at me.
"Of course, I'm Wilson." His smile is warm and bright. I give a small nod and pass through the door. When I turned around to ask how long he'd been with the firm, he was gone; but I heard his shoes tapping up the stairs. I, of course, had to opt for the elevator unless I wanted my knees to buckle on the second step. I tapped the third-floor button, the door closed, and away I went.
Ding. The door parted, and before I could think to move, people were clapping.
"Welcome back, stranger!" Zoey sang before running up to hug me. Her arms clung around my neck like a baby monkey. Altogether, people praised me for returning, and then they did the same. They returned to work. I made some small talk, but no one was too interested in how my time off was spent. I silently thanked them for not caring. Or at least for not faking it.
"Oh great," I sighed only loud enough for myself. A pile of undone work sat on my desk, gathering dust. Quickly, I pulled out my laptop and logged into the network. Hundreds of unopened emails flashed across the screen.
"Hey Ryan," I looked across to my desk buddy. "I thought you were taking my accounts while I was away?"
"I tried, but Wilson wanted to manage them." He peeked over his laptop at me, "Oh shit, you haven't met him." There was a look on his face, like a smirk. Willson. The man who'd opened the door? Wait, who was Willson? Why did he get to pull Ryan from my accounts?
I didn't even have to ask, I must've just looked confused because Ryan was pointing to the back office that used to house Tom Becks eight hours a day. Before I knew it, I was knocking on the glass door. It was just a knock to be polite because I didn't wait for an answer. I pushed open the door and peeked in.
There he was, the man from this morning. He looked up from whatever work he was doing. "Oh, Ginger, it's so nice to finally meet you!" He stood up to cross the room, his hand extended.
"We met this morning," I stepped into the office, lamely shaking his hand.
"Right," he smiled. Neither of us spoke for too long.
"Listen, Wilson, I wanted to know why you took on my active accounts?" My arms were crossed, probably giving away my annoyance. He sat back on his desk, almost making him eye level with me.
"Ryan is fine. He does his job well," he paused. "But, you do exceptional work, Ginger. I have been so impressed with - " I stopped him.
"Why were you looking into my work?" Now my hands were on my hips, and Wilson just stared at me. "I mean, thank you. But, is there a reason you're familiar with my work in particular?"
"Ginger, you're one of the only women in this advertising firm. Did you think I wasn't going to try and see why?" He chuckled. An honest answer wasn't what I expected, but I don't know what I expected. "Listen, I wanted to meet you before I dug through your work, but I was curious, and then I was excited. And believe me, I didn't change anything. I was just staying in contact with clients."
"Right," I nodded. "Sorry for barging in like this," I turned to leave, my tail tucked in shame.
"Hey," Wilson had a hand on my shoulder. "I've gotten to know everyone in the office pretty well. A little shindig at my house, ya know." He rubbed his jaw, "Why don't we get lunch? Somewhere close so we can talk?"
"Yeah, sure." I gave a polite smile and left. There was nothing I would rather do less than have lunch with my nosey new boss.
"Miss Cline? Yes, hello, this is Ginger McCline over at Nouveau Advertising. Oh, yes ma'am, I'm doing better, thank you. I'm calling to discuss your thoughts on a new campaign. Yes, I can hold. " Elevator music started playing.
I kept the receiver to my ear with my shoulder, a pen between my lips as I typed an email reply. I could see Zoey eyeing me, so I made a gun with my fingers and pretended to shoot myself. She winked before answering a call. Suddenly, Wilson was at my side with his coat on. He made a "come on" motion with his head.
Shit, lunch. I peeked at the clock, twelve o'clock already. I pulled the phone away from my mouth, "So busy," I whispered. His face fell. "How about dinner?" I offered just as a voice came through the phone.
"Yes ma'am, I'm still here." Out of the corner of my eye, Wilson was nodding excitedly. Great, as if lunch wasn't going to be bad enough.
My eyes burned from the computer screen. It seemed like ages since I looked at a screen this long. But, I still needed to find the perfect model for a new shampoo commercial. Every face was melding into the same. This wouldn't accomplish anything. So, maybe it was a good thing when Wilson rolled a chair next to my desk.
"Would you look at the time?" He jokingly looked at his wrist where there was no watch. According to my computer clock, it was just past five. Technically, the day was done. That meant one thing.
"Right, right," I shuffled papers around. "Let me just finish up."
Wilson leaned over to point, "I like her," he landed on a redhead with a somber expression. I just pursed my lips and shut the laptop.
Across from the office park, there was a row of bars and restaurants. We ended up in a dive that smelled more like cigarettes than it did food. But maybe that would make it all the quicker?
"So Ginger," Wilson stirred his drink. "Tell me all about yourself." He sipped, wincing at the strong spirits.
I chuckled, "Um, I guess there's not much. I have my masters in marketing and a B.A. in graphic design, " suddenly Wilson grabbed my wrist.
"No, no, I mean about you," he squeezed my wrist. "Tell me the fun stuff." He still held my wrist, but not as tight. I shifted uncomfortably, gaining access to my arm again.
I droned on for a while, leaving out personal details and even going as far as to make shit up. Wilson was hanging on every word. I think I could have read a dictionary and kept him content.
"So, what about you?" I leaned on my elbow. "What's your story?" He seemed taken aback like no one had asked him that before.
"I guess I'm just a normal guy." He looked at his empty glass thoughtfully, but that was it.
I scoffed, "You're joking, right? I just gave you my life story," I lied. "I think you can do better than that." I got to hear all about the degrees he got, brands he'd helped build, and firms he'd worked under. No wonder he was our boss. This guy had so much experience.
"Do you mind if I ask, how old are you?" It felt wrong, but there was no way Willson was older than me. Yet, he edged me out with experience.
"I'm thirty-one," he shrugged as if it was obvious.
Holy shit, this man was just one year older than me, but I was still stuck making portfolios for orthopedic sock companies. I slumped a bit, feeling defeated. It must have been noticed because, for the second time, Wilson grabbed my wrist. He took my hand in his and stroked my palm with his thumb.
"You are so talented, Ginger." He squeezed my hand. "I'm amazed by your ideas and your consumer insight." He reached forward and pushed a copper curl behind my ear. I froze, completely uncomfortable.
"Maybe we should go," I pulled my hand away to check my phone. "Fuck!" I stood up.
"What's wrong?" Wilson stood with me.
