Hello again, gentle readers! This story is my entry for the
2022 Literotica Valentine's Day Contest.
It's also my first foray into this category, so you'll have to tell me how I did. This is a slow, romantic burn and I hope it comes off as a good mix of sweet and spicy. As always, all comments—whether posted here or sent via e-mail—are welcome. Thanks to my special friends who gave it a look-through (you know who you are!). Any remaining errors are a result of me tinkering with it after their edits. Thanks for reading!
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Brittney sighed and pressed the button on the side of her phone, and the screen went blank. She stared at it for a long moment, hoping that fate might offer her a reprieve, that John would have a sudden change of heart and call back or text.
But the screen stayed dark. After forty-five seconds, she put it back in her pocket. Her eyes flicked to the digital wall-mounted clock.
One-twenty-two. Eight more minutes of lunch break.
She stifled a yawn and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee from the heavy machine labeled, "Sumatran Blend." She sprinkled some artificial sweetener into the twenty-two-ounce metal travel thermos and turned to the fridge. Containers of half-and-half and heavy whipping cream lined the refrigerator racks, eliciting a faint smile from Brittney as she grabbed the nearest open container of half-and-half and topped off her drink. Not having to fight many employees for the office's excellent coffee was one of the perks of working the graveyard shift.
She wandered through the cubicle maze to her desk. Only a smattering of desks were occupied at this hour. Most of the workers conversed in low tones with their customers, though a handful sat idle, waiting for a call to come in and be routed to their terminals. Her desk was in the middle of the floor but was also separated from other desks by at least two workstations in every direction, which meant that she was left alone while working ... which was how she liked it.
Another yawn.
Mondays are always so slow ... though I guess technically we're into Tuesday now.
The sudden memory of talking to John in between calls during their slow times made her sigh again.
She flopped in the seat at her terminal, placed her thermos on her desk, and ran her hands across her smooth dark brown hair, which she'd tied back in a ponytail before coming to work. One thing Brittney had always appreciated about working at the call center was the lax dress code; she was able to wear jeans and a tee-shirt and didn't have to worry about fancy hair arrangements. Triple Spark Communications' only guidance on customer agent dress was, "clean and presentable." It had saved her a ton of money on clothing.
Brittney yawned one last time, noting that the clocks on the walls of the call center main room, which were synchronized to the one in the break room, now read 1:58. Unless she went into the system and extended her break time, she would be back in the agent queue in two minutes. For a moment, she was tempted to do just that, log out for another half hour, and put her head down for a nap ... but taking more than her approved half-hour would draw fire from her supervisor. It would also be unpaid time, which would defeat the point of working getting time-and-a-half for working the night shift.
She pursed her lips. Given what had happened, all the extra money she was making and saving now seemed pointless. Brittney plucked the headset from the desk and settled it on her ears, adjusted the microphone near her mouth, took her system off break, and waited.
The second the clock rolled over to two, the large square gray button labeled CALL turned green as the screen lit with an incoming call. Based on the information associated with the incoming phone number, she noted the company of the account, the name on the account, and the local time of the caller, which was the same time zone as her own. She clicked the flashing icon on her screen and began her litany. "Good morning and thank you for calling AT&T tech support. My name is Brittney. Before we get started, can we please verify some security information ..."
A stream of calls kept her busy. When Brittney finally had a lull, she glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it read a quarter to six. The steady flow of incoming business meant the hours had ticked off the clock without her paying much attention, and also that her shift was almost over. As soon as the clock hit six AM, she could take herself out of the queue and spend the last five minutes of her shift closing down her administrative tools.
Staying busy had also kept her from thinking about John too much. She recalled the times both she and he had rolled back their chairs from their desks, trailing the cords of their headsets, to pop their faces around the cubicle walls and steal a quick kiss. And then there was that time they'd spent their lunch break in the back bathroom—
Brittney gave her head a slight shake. Pleasant as those memories were, that's all they were.
All I have left of him
, she thought.
She half-stood and peered over her cubicle walls. The morning shift had indeed already begun arriving, clocking in and setting up at their terminals. They had to be ready to take calls by six. She stretched her arms over her head.
Oh man. Bed is gonna feel gooooood.
She sensed someone at her elbow and turned. "Jim. Good morning."
"Same to you."
Jim Kendrick had been her shift supervisor for the year she'd been on the third shift at Three Spark Communications. Tall and spindly, with a receding hairline, thick glasses, beak-like nose, and unsmiling mouth, he was the prototypical image of a humorless office manager. In spite of that, Brittney had found him to be fair and even-handed as a supervisor, if devoid of personality.
Brittney's eyes flicked to the woman standing at his side. She was about the same height as Brittney's five-foot-six-inches, which meant they were on eye level with each other. The woman had creamy skin and a cascade of curly auburn hair that fell past her shoulders. Brittney guessed they were about the same age. The new arrival wore a form-fitting blouse and slacks that highlighted her ample curves. Bright blue eyes peered at her and on their gazes meeting, the woman's face broke into a broad white-toothed smile that was equal parts sensual and friendly.
Wow, she's quite the looker.
Jim gestured. "This is Calliope Beatty. She's joining the night crew to replace John Raster." Brittney frowned at the mention of John's name but Jim plowed on, either oblivious or uncaring. "She finished her preliminary training class on Friday. Tonight will be her first floor shift. I'm assigning you as her floor trainer for the remainder of the week."
Brittney smiled at the woman but inside her head, a mental scream shattered her sense of peace.
Goddamn it, I hate training new people. And right now ... She wanted to object, citing her personal issues at the moment, but aside from a death in the family or losing a limb, Jim was impervious to such complaints.
And
, she grudgingly admitted to herself,
Jim is fair about making us take turns. I haven't had a trainee in a while, so I am probably due.
Reservations aside, she forced a smile onto her face and extended her hand. "Hi. I'm Brittney Garcia."
"Hi. You can call me Cal." Her voice was husky and laden with bedroom tones. Cal took Brittney's hand. Her grip was firm and confident.
"Okay, 'Cal' it is. Well, welcome to Three Spark Telecom."
