Good Pet

I don’t want to mess it up with fears, especially before the ink has even dried.

Chapter Eight

Melissa

After making sure that Tommy is looking his absolute best — and not like he’s just been getting through life by the seat of his pants — I, finally, make it into my office. But first, I greet Isabella in the coffee bar.

She follows me to our shared office and proceeds to tell me about her weekend. She complains about the crazy comments her parents made this time since, despite her being successful, they are still up in arms about her having a job.

I hate to admit it, but they sound like a lot of some of my friends back in England. The ones who were encouraging me to stay at home while my future husband brought home the bread.

I frown at her and say, “Your parents sound like a nightmare. Almost as bad as mine, though, at least mine would let me get a job. Hell, they were pressuring me unbelievably to get one.”

I unscrew the cap on my thermos of tea and take a gulp. The tea is still warm, but thankfully not scorching enough to burn my throat.

“That’s part of why I moved across an ocean to get away from them,” I add.

I’m serious enough, but Isabella just laughs.

“Melissa, you’re killing me. I don’t like my parents as much as the next young person but across an ocean? Halfway around the world? Now that’s commitment!”

I hum, tightening the lid on my drink container again. I don’t know what it is, but I have the feeling someone’s going to call any moment now.

Curiously, I’ve built up a sixth sense around the phones. Somehow, I just know when someone’s going to call, or when I should call someone else.

It’s part of the reason I’ve begun to feel that I was made to be a secretary while working here. It’s part of the reason it’s been easy for me to work here for ten years when most people would probably want to get moved up in the company or move on.

Sure enough, my phone does ring. I quickly put on my headset, wave at Isabella as she sits down at her own desk, and press the answer button. Without missing a beat, I say the words I’ve said thousands and thousands of times by now.

“Mr. McKenzie’s office, how can I help you?”

As I listen to the caller’s request, I see Dennis — the photo I have framed of him — out of the corner of my eye. As I look into his eyes, study his mouth and face, part of me returns to our conversation earlier. He seemed so out of touch, cranky, and grumpy.

The person on the phone wants to leave a message, so I send them through to the voicemail of the person they’re looking for. I’m not sure how, but somehow, I managed to hit all the right buttons, say the right words, even while distracted.

Even with my mind on my boyfriend, I’m able to do my job seamlessly. I know this is only thanks to the muscle memory I’ve built up over so many years and hours of doing this job.

Unfortunately, though, it’s this muscle memory that also allows me to spend more time thinking about my boyfriend than most secretaries would be able to while working. As the next few calls come in, I’m again wrapped up in thinking about Dennis and what could be causing his bad attitude.

He seemed so disconnected, dare I say it — disinterested in our relationship, in our routine — though I can’t say how. I don’t want to think too hard on it since my mind is already coming up with a plethora of excuses. I keep thinking of reasons why he would be so unloving, and unromantic. Maybe it is stress and demands related to his work, but even so, part of my heart worries and frets.

Something in me is beginning to wonder if someone else has captured his interest. Someone else could be vying for his attention and his time, but I quickly bat that thought away. I bury it in another round of phone calls and paperwork.

Stop thinking that way, Melissa. You’re being silly. You’re being oversensitive.

I tell myself this as I finish transferring yet another call to Kane’s office and sit back in my chair. I look at the beautiful picture I have of Dennis. I treasure the way he’s smiling at me. I love how tender and supportive his smile is.

He’s having a rough time of it. He’s going through so many things that you don’t even know about, and yet through it all, he still tries to call you. And he has every right to be upset with you. After all, you weren’t planning to not see him for so long. You weren’t planning to go so long without seeing him or without traveling to him for some holiday, and yet you haven’t managed it. Not once.