New Year's Steve

“She’s the assistant to your office manager, Beth.”

“Oh.” I rack my brain for an inkling of an idea who she’s talking about. Donna must be new. I can’t keep up with all the new hires these days. I give up and shrug. “I guess it doesn’t matter when the decorations come down. Maybe it would be easier if they were left up until Monday. Let everyone enjoy them tomorrow.”

Sheila nods her approval. “That’s what I told her.” She leans against the doorframe. “Any plans for the weekend?”

“Are you asking if I have anything going on for New Year’s Eve?”

Nosey.

I lean in my desk chair, letting the springs creek until it’s almost all the way tipped back, and stretch before responding.

“I have plans with someone, yeah.”

No way am I going to tell her what those plans are, or with whom. I don’t need every woman in this office to know my personal business. Not to mention, Sheila has a tendency to also gossip with our clients. Like I need Lebron Sutton — Super Bowl MVP two years in a row — gossiping with the receptionist and knowing I haven’t been laid in four months.

Which has happened before.

Lebron + Sheila = huge pain in my ass.

She’s blinking at me silently, waiting for more detail.

Nope. Sorry.

No.

I barely share this shit with Adam, my best work friend, let alone the sixty-five-year old watchdog who patrols the hallways like she’s security. The bars downtown should hire her to throw people out, she’s that damn formidable.

I raise my brows.

She raises hers.

It’s a battle of wills she will not win. I am not backing down.

Finally, “Are you coming in tomorrow boss?”

My head goes back and forth, wishy-washy. “Probably not. I’m having lunch with Adam. We’ll see if he meets me or not.”

Sheila nods. “He’s still dating that McClaren girl. I wonder how long it will be before they bless us with a McGinnis baby.”

Oh boy. Here we go.

If there’s one thing Sheila loves besides gossip, it’s babies. And if there’s one thing she loves more than babies, it’s pushing me to have one.

“Does this someone you have plans with tomorrow like children?”

Yes. “Don’t most people like children?”

Sheila shrugs her bony shoulders. “Not me.”

That makes me laugh. Of course she doesn’t like kids. Babies, yes. Kids, no.

“So just babies then?”

“Just babies.” She pauses. “But only to hold for a few minutes, then I give them back. I am not a nanny.”

Right.

I’ll remember that.

“Has this person you’re going out with tomorrow night been to the office?”

I narrow my eyes. Wow, she is really good at this. “No.”

Shit. Did I just give away the fact that it’s not someone from work that I’m going out with tomorrow night? Will she put the pieces together and realize it’s a first date?

I cough.

Hint, hint, time to go.

My phone buzzes loudly and I use the opportunity to dismiss her by lifting a finger. “Oh, better reply to this.”

She is not deterred. “What kind of an odd notification sound is that?”

Um. A dating app sound? “It’s my, um. Doctor’s office.”

She wrinkles her nose. “They’re calling you during the holiday?”

Buzz, buzz. “It’s technically not a holiday yet, Sheila. I really have to reply to this. If you’ll excuse me.”

The receptionist eyes me like a hawk a few more seconds from her place at the door before turning her head and strolling away, on to find her next victim.

I exhale, body relaxing.

Sheesh.IIFridayAKA: New Year’s Eve3FelicityWelp.

Skeeter was nowhere to be found, and trust me, I looked for him good and long yesterday before heading back to my office to crank out more work.

I finally gave up looking because I was wasting so much time, strolling around in my bunny slippers and cradling my mug of milk. No one would understand the amount of pressure I’m under. They just see a whack job roaming the lobby; all I’m missing is a bathrobe and a few cats trailing behind me.

Although if my date tonight doesn’t go well, I might consider going the crazy cat lady route. Steve seems absolutely perfect on paper, er, or online. Whatever. If he turns out to be a dud though, I’ll have lost all faith in the dating pool.

That’s probably not true. I tend to be a glutton for punishment when it comes to eating out, so eventually I’ll get up to try, try again. I’m just so damn excited to finally meet the man who could be “the one”. I can’t let that one percent of doubt put a damper on my mood.

And I can’t let my fantasies squash my productivity. I’m this close to finishing these reports and the clock is ticking.

Clasping my fingers out in front of me, I stretch out my back and rock my head back and forth. Deep breaths, Felicity. And go!

Flicker.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.