Page 1 of Company Ink

one

rip stella

"I am keeping the damn succulent!" I gently place my sweet Stella on top of the banker's box which is full to the brim of my belongings.

Over the last three years, I have somehow managed to accumulate seven mugs, four pairs of workout leggings, three water bottles, andthirteenlip glosses. I should've cleaned my desk more frequently; I've been buying the same Buxom gloss every two months thinking I lost it. Well, maybe this is the bright side to all of this. I may not have a job anymore, but hey, at least my lips will be plump and shiny foryears to come!

"But that belongs to the company, Cassie." My bitchy ex-co-worker reaches into my box and grabs my baby. I knew Ingrid always hated me. Every time we had our weekly Monday morning meeting, she would scowl at me like she was sucking an extremely sour Warhead. The fact she's acting like a treacherous witch right now is not surprising. "You can't take the plant."

My mouth drops. She's only talking to me like this because New Vision Press decided to keep her instead of me. Poor Ingrid thinks it's because she's a valuable employee but I'm sure it's because she makes half of my salary. NVP laid off thirty staff members today due to budget cuts and the atmosphere in the office has been tense, to say the least.

"I have been watering her and loving her for years! What has the company done for Stella? Huh? Nothing!" I yank the Calico Hearts out of her weaselly little fingers. "She's mine."

Ingrid rolls her eyes like a petulant child. "If you take it, I'll tell management."

My lip twitches at her vile disregard for the fact that I trained her! That I molded her! I even got her a freaking Fitbit for her birthdaywith custom straps! I lock my jaw to prevent myself from exploding. Yogi Zeena's mantra floats around my livid mind:You are at peace and peace is with you, you are at peace and peace is with you.

"Also, that stapler is not yours," she adds with a smug smile.

A long squeaky whimper escapes the back of my throat. No! She will not bait me. I am at peace for God's sake! Ingrid attempts to retrieve my bejeweled stapler and I swat her hand away. No!I've lost the peace. "Get your hands off of Stanley," I say through my teeth.

Ingrid scoffs and rubs her hand, feigning an injury.Oh no, I tapped her hand. Someone call the police!"You know that it's really weird that you name all your stuff, right?"

I force a smile. "You know what's even weirder?Your face!" I flip my hair and storm out of the empty office. I can't believe I just sunk down to her level.

Making my way to the elevator, I focus my attention on the grey marble tiles in front of me and not on the fact that Ijustco-signed a one-year lease on a new condo, or the fact that I have zero savings,orthe fact that I might have just lost a reference. No, those things arenoton my mind. They're not! I shimmy the box up my thigh to steady it and press the button to the lobby.

One would think that working for a corporation that’s entire HR policy revolves around nurturing talent, laying off long-term employees would be a big no-no. I gave up New York for this dumb job. I gave up adventures in the Big Apple and walks in Central Park. For what? So, I could live in cold and wet Seattle? So, I can get fired right before my salary review? So, Ingrid could hang her stupid embroidered cat paintings inmyoffice? My corner office...with a view. I saw the way she was eyeing my desk like a corporate vulture when I was packing up. God, I can't believe this is happening. I didn't slave away at college for years to be treated like this! I didn't work countless overtime and weekends to get laid off!

I let out a shaky exhale. No, it's fine, relax. Everything will be fine. It's their loss. If they want to keep 'can't figure out how to scan multiple documents at once' Ingrid and not me, then that's their prerogative. Good riddance I say. Onto bigger and better things.

The elevator pings and the doors open. Joel at the security desk gives me a sympathetic smile and waves me over. Oh great, the pity farewell.

"Cassandra, dear, not you, too." He hangs his head; genuine disappointment catches his features. "And you and Monique just got a new apartment and everything. Oh, this is awful, truly terrible."

Oh, I hadn't even thought about Monique. She's going to freak out. I was the one who insisted we move into a bigger place, one with in-suite laundry and a functional dishwasher. How am I going to tell her I might not be able to make rent next month? It's not like she can support both of us on an ESL instructor's salary.

"I'll be fine Jo, really," I comfort the sixty-year-old man, patting him on the shoulder. He doesn't need to know that I'm utterly fucked right now. "I have options, I do. Don't worry about me. Just promise me you'll keep doing your daily stretches and drink eight cups of water a day."

"I will, I promise." Joel lifts up his teal water bottle that has the time and motivational phrases etched on the side. "This bottle you got me sure is a big help. The hourly reminders really do keep me on track."

"That's great, Jo!" I smile warmly. I'm going to miss Joel and our weekly tuna salad sandwich lunch dates. "Well, I suppose this is it. Take care, okay?"

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" he asks with a frown.

Straightening out my shoulders, I take a deep steadying breath. "I always am!"

The sound of my Manolo Blahnik heels clicking on the tile floor echoes through the building as I exit through the revolving doors. I'm going to miss the acoustics in this office. There's something about the sound of designer heels stomping against a cold and hard surface that just makes a girl feel powerful.

"But we're going to be just fine, Stella," I whisper, peering into the banker's box. "And you, Stanley, aren't you glad you get to go home with me and not stay with that evil Ingrid? I just know she'd pluck off all your jewels! You were born to shine, Stanley, don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"

As I descend the final stair and step onto the sidewalk, a rock-hard body collides with my shoulder, the force causing Stella to fly out of the box, spilling, her pot shattering on the dirty streets of downtown Seattle.

"No!" I shriek, dropping down to my knees. "Stella!"

Her pot is cracked beyond recognition, soil sprawled about, her little flower petals bent and broken, mirroring the state of my heart. I crane my neck upward menacingly slowly towards the source of the destruction.

On an ordinary day, the man hovering above me would be someone that I'd slip my number to; slim fitted black suit, Haute Couture probably, strong build, wide shoulders, aviator sunglasses, slicked-back charcoal hair, and a chiseled jaw speckled with stubble, but today, he looks like death incarnate.