Missed Connections

Missed Connections: Epilogue

Epilogue

I blot my sweaty palms on my black A-line skirt, feeling tragically unhip compared to the leggy receptionist in next year's Blahniks who showed me into Melanie's office five minutes ago. The scent of stale coffee and correction fluid hits the back of my throat as I inhale deeply and sneak another glance at the clock on the wall.

The door opens behind me. "Sarah?"

I stand and turn, heart pounding. I need this job. "Yes."

She's about my age. Trim but curvy. Her glossy brunette hair is twisted into a bun, but the severe style only showcases her classic bone structure and high cheekbones. She's striking even with minimal makeup. She looks up from the stack of papers and holds her hand out. "I'm Melanie."

I shake her hand, glad I blotted mine a moment ago.

"Nice to meet you."

"Have a seat." Melanie slides into her chair behind the desk and appraises me. Her eyes are a fascinating shade somewhere between yellow and green and framed with thick, black eyelashes. "Thanks for being early."

"Lateness is a pet peeve of mine."

She smiles. "Blake said you were working reception at a spa?"

I nod.

"Sorry to say that there won't be any chanting or"—she waves her hand dismissively—" tea leaf readings around here."

"Thank God." The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. I cringe, but she laughs.

"You weren't into that New Age business?" She pronounces New Age so it rhymes with sewage.

No job is worth putting myself through another Inner Space. The few days away have given me time to decompress and realize that the things Fern and Ziggy did to me were shitty, but they're not bad people. For someone who's into the same philosophy they are, working with them would be a dream come true. Maybe that's not quite right—but it definitely wasn't the place for me, and I shouldn't have stayed as long as I did.

Some people aren't completely bad; they're just terrible to work for. I can't subvert myself for a job—it's not worth it. Never again. So I swallow and decide to tell the truth. "Not at all. Don't get me wrong. People should be able to believe whatever they want to, but they ran things a little too casually there for my tastes."

"We run a pretty tight ship here at H2T. What were your responsibilities at Inner Space?"

"All the front end. Booking, billing, scheduling, bookkeeping, filing, archiving. Light cleaning. I made up all the rooms between clients, did all the dishes and laundry."

She looks down, and I notice she's focused on my résumé. "You're a paralegal? No wonder you were bored there."

"You caught that?"

Her lips quirk into a grin. "Four years as head of human resources? I'm pretty good at reading people. I'm not going to ask why you want to work here. If the stories Blake told me when he recommended you for the job are true, then it's no wonder you wanted out."

"I don't want to speak poorly about a former employer, but...well, chances are, you wouldn't believe me anyway. But Blake's a good guy. He'll have told you the truth."

"Blake's a great guy." Her cheeks redden slightly, and she shifts in her chair.

Wait a second. "Are you two...?" I ask before common sense kicks in.

Luckily, she isn't offended. "What? No. He's just my big brother's best friend. We keep in touch via email, the odd call. There's nothing there. He hasn't even seen me in years." She tucks a few stray hairs behind her ears and picks at some invisible lint on her sleeve.