The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,13
is simple, and some might say boring, but I enjoy it to a degree. Still, some days, when I’ve been at my desk for hours, I miss the coffee shop. The regulars were nice, and some were hot, and there I go again, thinking about Konstantin. The man always pops into my head.
My heels click clack over the concrete floor, beating out an unfamiliar pattern compared to my usual silent running shoes. For a moment, I feel oddly vulnerable. Heels make a woman both stronger, taller, more impressive, and weaker at the same time. No one can run in these damn things.
The elevator is empty as it whizzes me quietly up to the third floor where we are based, and the doors whoosh open. I head out into the office and pause as soon as I round the corner to the first set of desks where the phone team work. Something is wrong.
A hum of intense conversation hangs over the room like angry red smoke. Some of the phone operators are in tears. What the hell?
I walk quickly past them, past the quotes team who put together information for companies calling to enquire about our services, and the desks farther down where the game designers work, and to the small area at the back, near the big boss’ office, where the ten of us IT consultants work. We are the guys who help companies overcome difficulties. Sometimes it can take years for a project to be finished, others mere days. At the moment I’m working on something likely to take a few months; the integration of the various IT systems of a large insurer. Some of their files are so old they must be viewed on the DOS system, and others on microfiche. My job is to design a system to amalgamate everything on one easy to use mainframe. It will save tons of time when customers call in for help.
As I reach my desk, I see my colleague, Suzy, holding her head in her hands. Oh my God, are we going under? I thought we were doing well, but the climate is volatile, and things can change in a heartbeat.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask as I take my seat.
She lifts her head to look at me but doesn’t give her normal friendly grin.
“An extraordinary meeting has been called for nine-thirty, all very hush, hush, but the rumor is we’ve been taken over.”
“What? A takeover?” Shit. Panic hits me. Will I lose my job? If so, how will I pay the rent? I can’t live with my grandparents; it isn’t fair. They need their space now, being frail and elderly.
“Yup. Ruth in HR is shagging one of the gamer designers, and she told him. He’s told most everyone else. They are going to present it as a friendly merger, but it’s not really—it’s a takeover. We’re the weaker partner in this. There will be job losses; I’d put money on it.”
My stomach plummets, and I’m thankful I haven’t eaten properly yet, because I think it would come straight back up. My wedding is off, and now I might be losing my job? Oh, hell no. Surely God wouldn’t be so mean? But then, many people live horrible, terrible lives with endless bad luck, so why should I be special?
This job means so much to me. It might not be my dream job, and yes as time has gone on, it has maybe sapped some of my joy for life. On the upside, though, it has given me independence but more, it’s given me a sense of self. It’s become part of who I am. Cassie, the fuck up whose mother couldn’t even get her to school on time but who became a success. If I lose this job, what am I? The fuck up again?
I never had boundaries growing up, and I could have gone either way, followed mother-dearest and become a total emotional mess, or try to keep my shit together. I created my own rules and boundaries. When I lived with Mum, life was nothing except chaos. I didn’t know how she’d be from one day to the next. Kids need rules and boundaries to feel safe, or so my therapist told me. She says it’s why I’m torn, why I strive for security and safety and yet have this wild streak. She told me one day that it’s as if I’m stuck in child-mode, acting out then worrying about it; except, I’ve never had