From down the corridor, Sandra could hear the phones ringing, like a full Sunday choir. The only other sounds audible to her were the buzz of dozens of conjoined voices, and her own heels clicking against the polished floor. The clicking slowed to a glacial pace the closer she got to the office doorway.
Another bank, she assumed. Another fucking bank collapse. She sighed into the half drunk coffee in her right hand. Now she'd have to write some copy in her boss's name, making Colin look brilliant, soaked with industry insight while she stayed slumped in her office chair, taking the beating in her soul. Later, she knew, his very British blue-eyed face would glow on the evening news, discussing the insider information he was privy to, all because she and Jake would have spent their 8 hours a day digging for dirt to get him - and his perfect wavy blonde hair plugs and paid-for smile - ahead. It was soul-crushing work, all to pay the bills to live in a city she wasn't even sure she fit into.
Sandra was only steps away from the wooden double doors. She ran her fingers through her dark, reddish-brown hair, adjusted her tight black skirt and made sure her white button down shirt was properly tucked in. Colin liked his team neat, which clashed with her preference for what she preferred to term 'sloppy-chic'. More than anything else about this job, the dress code was where Sandra felt she had sold out the most. As she reached for the door knob, she snapped her gum and smirked; the gum stays, asshole.
On the other side of the door, the scene was exactly how she pictured: raging executives piling on to their team members, dictating orders for how to handle this crisis. At the far end was her boss, looking at his watch, mouthing orders, while Jake sat right behind him, pretending to take notes. Yes, pretending. She smiled to herself; she knew this would be the case from experience. Jake was a total nut, and honestly one of the very few reasons she could bear to show up to the office every day.
He had only been working there a week when Sandra joined the team; but he, his dancing eyes, mischievous smile and towering 6-foot frame had her believing he'd been there for months as he showed her the ropes (all the wrong ropes). They'd spent the last couple years stifling laugh after laugh, as quietly as they could contain it - their London-born overlord had no detectable sense of humor, and the risks they took for their own entertainment were electrifying. Jake was fearless, at least when it came to mocking the boss behind his back, while Sandra helplessly took Colin's monstrous orders, trying desperately not to crack a smile. This had, of course, led to famously disastrous results in the past, but Jake was relentless, and Sandra couldn't help but crave new reasons to feel a little more alive at their workplace.
As Sandra approached their corner, she could see Jake hunched over and diligently writing something, but couldn't make out what. It looked... legitimate, actually.
"Oh good, you've decided to show up," Colin verbally tossed the remark at Sandra and gestured for her to sit down. She took the seat next to Jake and muttered "wait for real?" as she glanced at his notes. "I've never seen you write anything..."
Colin interjected. "Sandra shut your face and catch up - you've got an assignment and if you two fuck this up, you're done."
_______
"Shut your face and catch up!" Jake teased as the two of them raced for the elevator.
"I'm in fucking heels, Jake!" Sandra, panting slightly, reached for his arm to steady herself. "I hate this place so incredibly much."
"When are you not in heels?" he couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Apparently in hell, they force women to wear heels."
Jake pressed the down button over and over. He rarely felt this unnerved but Colin's assignment was... unnerving. He glanced over at Sandra. She was fiddling with her skirt now; he knew this was all so unnatural for her. He could only assume when she got home she peeled herself out of it as fast as possible. For her sake, the office dress code made him furious. Well, if he was being honest with himself... he had to try hard not to stare when she walked by in those too-tight skirts she tortured herself with for Colin's standards. But it wasn't a field day for him, either. He had fallen deeply behind repaying his school loans and at 30 felt hopeless about whatever might come next. He and Sandra were both trapped in this job but on a micro level, Jake knew the situation was way worse for her than it was for him. They could both take Colin's barking, they could both wade through the tedious assignments. But all Jake really needed to get through the day was to see Sandra saunter through that wooden double door by 9:15am, half-empty coffee cup in her hand.
Jake looked back at the elevator. "I can't believe he has us running over to her. What could Colin possibly think could come out of this?"
Sandra looked up at him. "No idea. How the hell are we going to pull this off? I mean... I'm relying on you here..."
"Me? Why me? She's a maneater. She'll probably like you better."
Sandra laughed. "Uh huh. Me. Surely not the tall, charismatic man who will be cracking jokes to crack her bitchiness open so we can get this stupid report and get outta there."
Jake felt his cheeks go warm.
"Besides," Sandra continued while desperately pressing both elevator buttons. "She's not a maneater. She's a person-eater. Remember when they sent that chick from Finance over last year?"
Jake knew Sandra was right. The story of Allison from Finance was lore by now. "Surely there's like, a niche woman-to-woman thing you can take advantage of? I don't know, talk about how uncomfortable heels are or something?"
Sandra rolled her eyes. "She probably loves the way heels feel. I bet she wears them to bed, even."
The ding of the elevator made both of them jump.
Jake really couldn't remember the last time he felt this unnerved.
---------
"We're here to see, um, Felicity?" Sandra hadn't meant for it to come out a question. The receptionist raised her eyebrows.
"Name?"
"S-s-sandra. And this is Jake,"
The petite, brown haired woman behind the desk squinted at her computer screen. "Riiiight. Buckle up. And come this way."
As the three of them started down the hall, Sandra noted the heels on her - ugh I was right. Sandra caught herself sighing audibly, and was slightly taken aback when Jake put his hand on her back.
The thing about Felicity - they both knew from years of hearing her name spat like a curse from Colin's mouth - is that she wasn't a 'tough cookie' or 'hardcore bitch'. She was something else entirely - she toyed with people, she enjoyed torturing people. They both suspected Colin secretly wanted her, though he barely kept it a secret. What stuffed-up British guy wouldn't want to be ripped apart by a long-legged, lean, busty devil woman in stilettos? Verbally, physically, she probably could make any man feel small just by looking at him. And the word around the office was, she really took pleasure in turning men into toys.
The two of them stood no chance of retrieving what Colin wanted, and Sandra couldn't understand why he was wasting his time, let alone theirs, sending them on this assignment.
