My voice is weak from sheer appreciation. “Thank you so much. I promise not to let this opportunity slip through my hands.”
“Such a thought doesn’t enter my mind.” The chair spins around like a top as he abandons it, leaving the desk. “Here.” He hands off a piece of paper. “This is what our client wants. Give it a once-over and see what you come up with.”
“I’ll look at it this afternoon.” Understatement. Most likely, I’ll be sketching and swatch comparing for the next several weeks. Failing at a promotion this grandiose isn’t going to happen.
The edge of the cream paper is crinkling inside my palm as I say goodbye. Glancing over the paper Mr. L’s given me for our new client, I frown. Disappointing, really. I doubt I could fail if I wanted to.The person who goes by the sole initial of “H,” wants white and gray… for everything. A fashionable trend, yet overused, boring, and blah.
My lips sputter. I’m deflated at how dull the color pallet is. “Easy enough,” I say, pushing open my door. I remind myself the credit I’ll receive will be worth the moon.
Plunking down in my swivel chair, a yawn escapes me. My modest oak desk, overloaded with swatches, samples, designer warehouse papers, bills, and post-it notes, encloses the room even more. But I don’t care. I kick off my heels and rotate my chair side to the side, wiggling my throbbing toes that have ached for the better part of the day.
Tingling tension melts away while I stare into the repeating cream tiles of my standard office ceiling. The concave indentations are random and chaotic on the squares. The only normalcy being the running lines of metal dividers. It’s soothing.
But the harmony flees quicker than it arrived.
It happens when my eyes rest on my computer screen, inches away, and my heart stalls to a stop.
I try to ignore the little voice ringing in my ear, but I can’t. I’ve been putting this off too long. I have to know. I have to know. The four words loop in my brain and replay till I throw up my white flag. My spine jolts upright, and I roll my seat to the keyboard, bringing the machine to life.
My hands tremble as I start typing. The keyboard clicking away, sounding much too loud in the empty room. “I hate this.”
Lonnie Grey. Connecticut.
My eyes flash closed and then flicker open. If there is a—
Everything halts as results pop up. I gasp like a knife’s pierced through my chest. “Oh-oh, God.” The first result says it all.
Lonnie Gray to be released on good behavior.
The headline makes me wish I was dead. Because regardless of if I show my face or not, in a few short months, I probably will be.