Lucy
Wolfe towers over me, his voice taking on a menacing rumble. “Let me ask you something, Lucy. Do you enjoy playing dress up?”
I stare at him, struck dumb. Every drop of blood in my body rushes to my face. Did the head honcho of Quinn & Wolfe really just ask me that?
“Are you referring to Comic Con?” I choke out.
“I think we both know what I’m really talking about here,” he growls. The room seems to shrink as he grows larger in my view, his head soaring upward until it hovers near the ceiling, the same size as my get-well-balloon head.
This fucking man. I can’t handle him.
I bolt from his office out onto the floor.
Brenda from marketing stares at me in horror. There are gasps from all around. Why is everyone gawking at me?
I look down. Oh my God. I’m wearing the Miss Nova outfit with the nipple holes. I try to cover my bits but the damage is done. They’ve seen everything.
They’ve stopped working completely to stare at me. Phones ring off the hook, ignored.
I’m frozen in place, bits out, while I scream wordlessly at them to answer the goddamn phones. But not a squeak emerges.
Wait… hold up.
It’s my alarm.
I awake with a start, sheets twisted and drenched. Oh, thank goodness. Just another bizarre dream.
About Wolfe, no less. Interesting.
I can’t stop dwelling on that odd run-in with him yesterday. His words were kind of sweet, but his face? Might as well have been chiseled from granite. At least I know now he didn’t push me.
The man is an enigma and talking to him fills me with anxiety. Chatting with people I know is fine with this amnesia malarkey, but my clearest memory of Wolfe is him threatening to fire me.
It sounds like he doesn’t hate me anymore, yet there’s something about me that gets under his skin. His jaw tightening yesterday was a dead giveaway.
I drag myself out of bed, the image of phantom nipples on display still haunting me. At least I can reassure myself that my day cannot possibly be worse than this nightmare.
Or so I hope.
Three hours later and I’m starting to find my rhythm again.
Matty and I have been engrossed in user flows and designs, bringing a rare slice of normalcy back into my confusing life.
People think designing a button is simple. That’s what the rest of the company sees us as-the button factory.
Sure, we just arbitrarily choose a color, slap on some Comic Sans, and stick whatever content we like on it, right? Who cares about button placement and picking the right hue?
Certainly not us designers. It’s not like we spend hours agonizing over every single pixel. Because heaven forbid if they have to deal with a poorly placed button or a user journey from hell.
“We’re finished.” I beam at Matty. “We’re ready to showcase.”
He eases back, yawning and tousling his messy hair. “About time. Most I’ve done all week.”
I bite back an eye roll. Technically I did 80 percent of it.
“No more shop talk, please. I swear, if we discuss one more thing about work, I’m going to book a vacation on the spot,” he grumbles. “Speaking of which…” He takes out his phone. With a few swipes, he shows me a photo of a luxurious swimming pool, with him grinning in the center. “Ring any bells?”
I peer at the image, straining for a jolt of recollection. “Is that… Wolfe’s place?”
“Yup. It’s like the Playboy Mansion. The guy’s got the whole nine yards. It’s a bummer he’s taking us to the back-ass of nowhere this time. The Vegas ones were wild. Honestly, I’m gutted.”
“Wow. That’s one hell of a pool.” I lean in for a closer look. “So, we’ve been to this place before?”
He nods. “Four times.”
“Four?”
“The last one was brutal-twenty hours straight with no breaks. But then Wolfe said we could hang around and live it up in the villa after. Man, that place is massive. I don’t even know how many rooms there are.”
More images of Wolfe’s pristine white mansion fill the screen as Matty swipes through.
“Talk about living in style.” I stare at the pictures. “Does he live there all by himself?”
“Seems so.” Matty shrugs. “Though, if gossip carries any truth, Wolfe’s hardly ever solitary.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, let’s just say our buddy Wolfe likes to let his hair down. A lot. The girls in marketing love to dish about his wild, um, ‘social gatherings’ every weekend.”
My jaw slackens. “Seriously?”
“Allegedly.” He grins conspiratorially. “Legal’s up at all hours just to keep the rumors from making headlines. Can’t say I blame him though. If I had that villa, it’d be sex party central too. I mean, where’s my invite?”
It’s as if I’ve swallowed a stone.
For a silly, fleeting moment inside Mr. Wolfe’s office, I let myself entertain the notion that his interest in me was… well, more than professional.
Get a grip, Lucy.
I turn my attention back to the sprawling villa, blown away by the space one guy has. It’s all glass, secluded up on a hilltop with a view of Vegas sparkling below. The pool looks as big as Central Park.
“His world is a universe apart from ours. By the sounds of it, he has homes all over the country.” I sigh. Batman versus the mere mortals of Gotham.
How unreasonable for him to demand everyone drop what they’re doing and follow his wishes at a moment’s notice? He says jump and we’re scrambling for a pogo stick.
I stare at the photo of Wolfe’s lounge area, frowning. It looks like we commandeered it for the hackathon. There’s a huge whiteboard littered with Post-it notes and a group photo of us. It’s so weird to think I’ve been here before.
I’ve got a silly grin on my face. What was I thinking?
Seeing myself somewhere I can’t remember gives me chills. It feels like I’m staring at a doppelganger. Something about this photo makes me sad. Just like the Daredevil one. Maybe because I’ve got a real smile, not a pose-for-the-camera one. These pics look like proof of a new bit of my life. A bit that’s come and gone.
And maybe I’ll never remember why I was happy.
It’s fine. I’ll move on
It’s times like this when I remember my doc’s advice about living life in bite-sized chunks and moving forward one step at a time.
Today’s mission: survive the work day and get in touch with that real estate agent to plot out my next steps.