Yes & I Love You (Say Everything #1) - Roni Loren Page 0,1

of WorkAround, had the aromatherapy on some undecipherable schedule—probably in tune with the moon phases or something.

Hollyn did a quick scan of the main floor. A few of the hot desks were taken—desk being a flexible word. Any flat surface with a chair or couch next to it could be rented as a hot desk. The first floor of WorkAround catered mostly to one-person operations—writers, bloggers, online shop owners, app developers. People rented desks so they didn’t have to work alone at home—or, worse, from their parents’ house—and they could socialize with others from different backgrounds and jobs. Like paying for your favorite spot at Starbucks or the library to guarantee it would be there waiting for you every day.

But unlike a library, there was nowhere to hide in this setup. It was an extrovert extravaganza. The first floor was wide and open with high ceilings, exposed red brick, shiny ductwork, and tall windows lining the back wall. Blue, yellow, and gray couches were set up in groupings to encourage collaboration and socializing. Potted ivies and succulents dotted the tables to make the room feel less industrial. Everything was designed just so. This view was the snapshot WorkAround sold to people online. Look how modern and hip and social this place is! Why work at home when you can be part of something bigger?

The photo of this floor had originally made Hollyn want to bow out of this experiment completely. She’d been ready to dismiss what her online therapist, Mary Leigh, had suggested could help Hollyn work through some of her social anxiety. At the time, Hollyn had been so freaked out that she’d barely left her house for a month, but maybe becoming a shut-in wasn’t all that bad after all. Because an open floor plan full of chatty strangers and nonstop collaboration? Hell and no and What kind of monster designed this madness? But then Hollyn had seen the private offices, had imagined working in a space so bright and modern, and had fallen in love with the idea of getting a little slice of normalcy—an office to go to each day. The price was that she had to get past this part—the good-morning gauntlet.

She hitched her laptop bag higher on her shoulder, doing her finger-counting a few more times, and headed toward the coffee bar with her I’m-busy-don’t-bother-me walk—her only defense against getting pulled into anxiety-inducing small talk. She could’ve stuck earbuds into her ears, but Mary Leigh had insinuated that doing so would be cheating. As if Hollyn’s mental health was something that had an answer key.

A few people smiled her way or said a generic “morning,” and she responded in kind, but she didn’t pause. Most of them didn’t really want to talk anyway, especially not this early. Eye on the prize, she made it to the coffee bar in the back corner of the main floor as if someone was clocking her speed. She stopped at the counter with a sigh of relief and dug in her bag for her WorkAround card, which got her two free beverages a day. A sharp bang had her attention snapping back upward.

“Motherfluffer,” a female voice said through what sounded like clenched teeth. More metallic banging ensued, and Hollyn leaned over the counter to see what was going on. A woman with dark-red hair—not Jackee—was crouched in front of a low metal cabinet, her back to Hollyn, yanking at the door with a surprising amount of force, considering her small frame. “Why the hell would they lock this up? Are we really going to steal industrial-sized bags of dark roast? It’s not even that good.”

Before Hollyn could back away, the woman’s head turned, and the scowl she wore brightened into a welcoming smile when she saw her standing there. “Oh! Hey, um…”

The woman didn’t know Hollyn’s name. Hollyn could see her mentally searching for it. Hollyn knew hers—Andrea, goes by Andi—because she made a point to research everyone who worked on her floor. She was nosy that way.

“Hollyn,” she provided after clearing her throat.

Andi snapped her fingers and popped up from her crouch like a jack-in-the-box. “Right, Hollyn. Sorry. Pretty name. We must’ve never done the name thing.” She pointed to her chest. “Andi. I work a few doors down from you.”

“Hi.” Hollyn shifted and fiddled with her bag, willing her facial muscles to stay smooth and relaxed. She needed coffee, not conversation. Hell, she should have a T-shirt that said that. It applied in so many situations.