The Two Week Notice

4

I stare at the beautiful woman walking past me, and I instantly feel out of place; she is wearing a Dior pantsuit and tall black heels. I look down at myself, at my stained polka-dot blouse, black pencil skirt, and tiny- I mean tiny- kitten heels because I have barely any coordination on just my feet, let alone tall heels. Imagine me in six-inch heels; it's like Bambi on ice.
“Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong building,” a tall blonde woman says, confirming my suspicions were correct. I am out of place. I look at her pale pink blouse and read the name tag: Charlotte.
Jesus, even her name sounds like it would trample all over mine. fuck.
“Hey, umm, I mean, hi, I’m Bobby, Mr St. James’s new assistant,” I say, holding my hand out, sure I stink of a coffee house blend and I have too faced better than s*x mascara running profusely down my cheeks.
“I quite frankly don’t think you’d fit the job,” she says, scowling down at me as I furrow my eyebrows. I am surprised she can even scowl with the amount of Botox she has.
“And I quite frankly didn’t f*****g ask what you thought.” I snap.
“Watch it, new girl; people like you don’t fit in well around here,” she snaps as I go to walk away, but my ankle twists and I fall to the floor as Charlotte walks away, chuckling as I mutter what a b***h she is under my breath.
“Hey, are you okay? I’m Sage. I’m sorry she was so rude. People around here think money is the equivalent of class; it’s not,” she says firmly as I giggle.
“It’s okay. I’ve met my fair share of snobs; I’m Bobby.” I say as Sage helps me stand up.
“I couldn’t help but overhear you work as Brayden’s new intern,” Sage says as I nod.
“Brayden, oh right, yeah, Mr St. James,” I mutter.
“I wouldn’t call him that if I were you. From what I know of him, he’s a real ballbuster.” I mutter.
“It’s okay, I can handle Brayden; I’ve had to for a while,” Sage says ominously as I just nod, as I understand, but all I’m thinking about is if I’ll be able to get the coffee bean smell out of my hair with the cheap shampoo I use.
“Here, give me your number; maybe we could hang out sometime. It’s nice there’s one more normie around here,” Sage says as I giggle and hand her my phone.
“Normie?” I ask laughing
“Yeah, not silver-spoon-fed assholes left and right; the norms will take over,” she says dramatically as she hands me my phone back.
“Bobby, you are late!” Brayden snaps as I look at him and raise my eyebrow.
“I’m soaked!” I snap.
“Clearly.” He retorts as I glare at him.
“Where’s my coffee?” He snaps as I hand him the coffee. I look down at my hands and internally cringe at myself for how much I’m shaking.
"It's my new perfume; can't you smell it?"
“Tomorrow I need your company at the St. James’s ball. Wear something appropriate. I will email you the details. I can see you lied about not having a phone.” He says, scowling at me.
“No, I wasn’t lying. Spencer brought it for me.” I say, fiddling with my hands, feeling intimidated.
“Is Spencer your boyfriend?” He asks, glaring at me even worse now.
“No, Spencer is my housemate,” I say, crossing my arms, becoming more and more defensive by the second.
“And what does a girl like you have to do to get a roommate to buy you an iPhone?” He says as I glare at him.
“I don’t know what you are implying, sir, but I am not that kind of girl. He’s my gay best friend, and we happen to live together; that is all!” I snap as he steps forward.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you now, Bobby?” He says as I take a step back, feeling intimidated.
“There’s no reason to lie, and there’s also no reason for you to be prying into my private life, but yes, I will be at the st James charity ball,” I mutter, feeling like I’ve finally grown some balls.
“Very well. I expect you to look your best; I will text you the details.” He says as I internally roll my eyes.
“Yep, sure thing, sir,” I mutter.
“And the cold coffee will be docked from your wages!” He says as I feel like screaming.
“Yes, sir,” I say, turning around, ready to walk out of his office.
“Oh, and Bobby.” He says as I turn around.
“Yes?” I say.
“Call me sir more often, please; it sounds good coming from your lips.” He says as I stand there, sort of speechless.
“Ok sir,” I say, looking down awkwardly.