It took years and a transformation of my mind and body for me to understand the saying, "Women don't dress up for men they dress up for other women." This morning that saying has been stuck in my head, ringing louder with every rejected outfit.
Hating the way the black knee length dress falls against my body I scrunch my nose and immediately drag it over my head to join the family reunion of it's rejected kin on the floor. The pile reminds me of why I woke up two hours early for this reason alone. I know women who wear makeup that need this type of time to put their face on, for me however, it's deciding on what to wear. It would be simpler if I just picked my outfit out the night before but I can't, I choose my ensemble from feeling. My look for the day depends exclusively on the way I feel that morning.
I'm nervous and when I'm nervous I knit-pick. Everything has to be perfect. I have to be perfect - it's a complex.
Starting a new job is like the first day at a new school, you don't know anyone so you're hoping people like you. For me the stakes are even higher because according to online sources mostly women work at Reynolds Incorporated. Me and women just don't vibe, never have. I'm not one for jealousy or being petty and I'm not easily intimidated so the girls I've come across in life have been hard to relate to. All through school since Kindergarten I've always had more guy friends than girls, I just don't fit in with them.
That's why today, this first impression, this fresh start, is so important. If just one woman tells me I look cute today all of this struggle will be worth it and I'll be put at ease as pathetic as it sounds. I'm hoping in my adult life I can finally get along with my own sex.
Silver hoop earrings sparkle in my ears as I turn from side to side scrutinizing the black and white dress fitting my body. The top of it is black with short sleeves and a scoop neck. It's comfortable like a t-shirt, while the bottom is white with thick black trim. The skirt eases into a pencil skirt that hits at my knee then slinks up to reveal a glimpse of thigh through the sexy yet sophisticated split.
My smooth brown legs glisten from the coconut oil I applied and the shiny black of my toenails can be seen through the peep toe of my black Louboutins that offer an extra five inches to my five foot eight inch build. The paint on my toes matches my favorite Louboutin style on my acrylics that I got a little longer and squarer.
Fifteen minutes later my hair is up in a messy but still work appropriate bun, mascara and eyeliner have met my eyes, and clear gloss covers my lips. The car ride to work is taking much longer than I anticipated making me glad my hair and minimal makeup left me extra time.
Before taking a sip of my Earl Grey tea I sigh into my to-go mug. My nerves are getting the better of me. I woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare and ended up spending a huge hunk of time trying to calm the irrational anxious thoughts the dream triggered.
With the tools I learned in therapy it's gotten better but I remember having more moments like this than I would've liked in the past. One time in particular I recall is when I was twenty and my social anxiety was at an all-time high. My mom needed my help to run a garage sale so we could clear out the junk in the garage and around the house. All she wanted me to do was take care of the money. She would be "working the floor" as she called it.
Seeing the apprehension on my face she assumed I didn't feel safe having control over the money in case of a robbery attempt but that was the furthest thing from my mind. The second the words left her lips my anxiety took over placing all of these thoughts in my head of me dropping someone's money or giving them back the wrong change. I could imagine my hand shaking as I handed them their change and them laughing. I imagined myself accidentally charging them the wrong price or just getting overwhelmed with too many customers. The threat of embarrassment lingered in my mind tainting my thoughts. So, being the coward I was I backed out. The sale went fine but I don't think my mom ever forgot my abandoning her when she needed my help, I sure never forgot the look of disappointment on her face.
When I was younger I could get away with not doing social things under the veil of being a self-absorbed youth and I was okay with that. I would've rather people thought I was a selfish little twit than for them to have known the truth, that I couldn't get a handle on my own mind. I couldn't control the one thing that's supposed to be under my complete authority and the saddest part was I had been that way for as long as I can remember.
It took me until my twenty-first birthday, a year after that incident to finally get up the courage to tell my parents about my self-diagnosed anxiety. That self-diagnosis soon became a real diagnosis of social anxiety as well as acute general anxiety. It's tough to deal with, especially now that I'm an adult and can't just hide away in my room, but I'm managing.
Before I realize it I'm pulling into the parking space on the far end of the lot in front of Reynolds Inc. thanking God I got here earlier than most of my co-workers. I cannot walk far distances in these heels.
The thought that maybe I'm taking a veteran employees "spot" runs through my head but I push it away. Fûck them they should've gotten to work earlier. Stepping out of my car I make sure there's no name on the spot and after fully inspecting it I grab my black Givenchy purse from the passenger seat. It's a structured bag so it can double as a briefcase and I paid next to nothing for it since it's a knock off. I went a little crazy at the mall thanks to my signing bonus but I'm not insane enough to drop two grand on a purse at least not right now. I came here with practically nothing but the clothes I had on my back but I had to replace and replenish responsibly.
Hitting the automatic lock on my car remote must've been a beacon because cars fly into the parking lot immediately, filling the spaces like mad. I have to rush to the sidewalk to avoid getting run over.
The man gets out of his car, black square briefcase in one hand coffee in the other, and grunts an apology before rushing past me. I don't even have the time to accept or reject before he's dispersed into the building. Noticing the slams of car doors I put a little pep in my step. We must be late if they're rushing like that.
When I get to the front door there's not a co-worker in sight. I reach to push on the huge glass door in front of me but it won't budge. Thinking I must have to pull I try, only to rattle the doors loudly catching the attention of the guard sitting at the desk.
My entire body gets hot and I can feel the prickle of oncoming sweat as my anxiety kicks in speeding my heart.
"Can I help you?" the man asks through a screen mounted into the wall.
I walk over to it feeling like a complete idiot.
"Yes...I um," I pause trying to get my words planned out in my head first, that always works, "I'm Bailey Duncan and I'm supposed to start here today but the door is stuck or something. Can you let me in?"
He smiles, "Sure, I just need to see some I.D. hold it up to the screen."
My hand gets lost in my bag until I can produce the I.D. for the man inside the screen. After an inspection from him a quick buzzing noise sounds as the door unlocks.
Before I can step in the door he steps halfway through opening it for me. He's very cute, looks to be in his mid to late twenties with strong bone structure, deep brown hair and eyes that shine a bright hazel when the sun hits them. A distinct Southern twang lies in his charismatically smooth tone that floats past his kind smile and extremely white teeth. The dental plan here must be all that.
"I'm Chuck." He offers a hand to me and I take it, shaking firmly. "You'll get a badge that you'll use here," he explains pointing to the little black device beside the door. "Hold the badge over it and it'll unlock the door. Mr. Reynolds will give it to you once he gets back from Dublin tomorrow. So in the morning just knock on the glass and I'll let you in."
"I'll have my I.D. ready," I insure him walking past. I'm probably late by now but according to him the boss is M.I.A. so I guess it doesn't matter.
"No need," he says, rounding his station to sit down, "I never forget a pretty face."
I smile, unable to find a more proper response. As the elevator doors close we toss a wave to each other and I decide I like Mister Chuck the security guard.
The elevator doors open in moments and I'm thrust into activity. Phones are ringing off the hook, people are running from room to room, it's like a scene from a movie when the company is shredding papers to avoid investigation. I feel lost in the sea of moving bodies. It's almost like I'm in a crowded club, a very well dressed non sleazy club, but a club nonetheless.
"You're here!" an excited voice shrills from behind me.
I turn slowly but don't bother waving or answering just in case he wasn't talking to me. No need to be embarrassed twice in a span of ten minutes, I still have the rest of the day ahead of me.
A smile forms on my face when I realize he actually is speaking to me. "I am!" I reply hopefully as enthusiastically as his greeting.
His cheerful expression never falters and instead of walking past me he loops his arm with mine and pulls me along with him. I take in our surroundings as he tells me about himself.
His name is Damien Ramirez - the floors are carpeted black. He's Mr. Reynolds' assistant - the main walls are made of glass and dark wood while the office walls are made of only wood with doors of both wood and glass. Everything follows a modern minimalistic design aside from the decorated offices of employees. According to Damien we can decorate our offices any way we want as long as it's work appropriate.
"Your office is right around this corner," he gestures and I turn just in time to see his hand dropping back to his side.
My eyes were so busy being locked onto the sleek look of the central hub that holds his workspace that I wasn't paying attention. The desk is circular and made of dark wood that matches the color of the wall behind it as well as the other solid walls in the building. The words 'Reynolds Incorporated' stand out in bold silver lettering against the wood and glow slightly thanks to lighting behind the sign.
"I've got to go answer the phone but I'm glad you're here, we'll catch up at lunch okay?" he informs before rushing over to the phone.
I watch his muscular back retreat wondering how he hasn't burst out of the tight pale pink button down he's stretched across his frame. Dark grey pants cover his tight hips and long legs leading my eyes down to the shine of his black loafers. He's very cute, with pitch-black hair, thick eyebrows, deep brown eyes, tan skin, and adorable dimples. I already feel like we've known each other longer than we have.
Walking around the corner I take a chance on which office is mine in the assortment of frosted glass doors. As soon as I open the first door on my left I run directly into an incredibly stunning woman on her way out of the office.
"Shit," I blurt, only catching myself once the word is already out, "Shoot, I mean. Sorry, I thought this was my office."
The woman smiles, stark white teeth shining. "No problem," she holds her hand out for me to shake, "You must be Bailey. I'm Amita Goswami. I was just on my way out to greet you."
I recognize her once I get a better look at her beautiful face. She's the Lead Hiring Manager who interviewed me for the position. She reminds me of Angelina Jolie with her dark hair, brown bedroom eyes, straight nose, and pouty lips. Effortlessly sexy are two words to describe her but she's also incredibly intelligent. I recall our conversation about politics after the interview process was over. We talked for almost an hour after she asked me everything she needed to, it was a very intriguing conversation.
"I love your outfit," I compliment, just in case she caught me appreciating her beauty. It amazes me that she looks the way she does and yet she's so down earth. It's a mixture I haven't come across very often in my life.
She looks down at the peach wrap dress caressing her curves and smiles. "Thanks, I love yours as well."
We both scoot towards the left side of the hall to let the mail guy through. He's tall with pale skin and wild curly dark brown hair. As soon as we can't see his blue and white plaid shirt anymore we move back into our previous spots.
"Your office is the one next to mine," Amita informs gesturing to the door beside us. "You'll need an I.D. number so you can log into your computer otherwise you can't get anything done. Unfortunately or fortunately depending on how you look at it, Mr. Reynolds is out of the country for today so you'll have to wait on your official documentation, he needs to sign off on it first. I guess today you can spend your time decorating your office and setting up your voicemail, stuff like that. Just keep yourself looking busy because the feds are watching girl."
My eyes bulge at that. I'm all for a free day at work but I had no idea the freaking cops were watching us. I wonder what for.
Upon seeing my expression she laughs, covering her nude painted lips. "Not the actual feds, it's an expression. Mr. Reynolds has little snitches running around the office just begging for brownie points and turning in the new girl for not working would be just the thing they'd report."
I feel my neck heat in embarrassment but I nod as if I'm fine. I know the saying I just didn't think she'd know it I guess. Her pristine demeanor doesn't exactly scream "I've got an ear to the streets."
Opening the door to my office I smile at the bare bones of the place. It seems every employee's office is already painted a different color and mine so happens to be a soft baby blue. I can already see the cream accents I'll add to the room.
My desk is L-shaped and is made from the same dark wood as all the others in the building. Unlike the rest of the workspaces however, my office chair is missing so I guess we buy our own. The wall behind my desk is blank, as is the wall across from it aside from the door and a tall dark wood bookshelf against the small wall beside the door. A closet covers most of the connecting wall and is the current view from the direction my desk is facing. Across from the closet is a wall of ceiling to floor windows that let in way too much light for such a small space. The view of downtown however is spectacular. From the thirtieth floor you can see the entire city.
"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I've got some work to do but lunch is at twelve-thirty I'll see you then," Amita says from behind me just before I hear the door close.
She and Damien both want to have lunch with me but I don't know. Although I secretly love how pushy they are, inviting themselves to my lunch hour, I haven't the slightest clue how to be sociable anymore. It's been so long since I've had to communicate with anyone unfamiliar. I'm out of practice and awkward. I end up staring like a creep more often than not, trying to figure out what to say next or I seem totally uninterested and let them do all of the talking.
I'm thinking I'll skip out on their invitations all together and leave a little earlier. I figure I can visit a few stores and pick up stuff for my office and grab something on the way back in to eat.
By the time noon rolled around I was already done setting up my voicemail and planning out the assortment of things I wanted for my office. Amita stopped in again and offered me the numbers for the company credit card and the catalog for office furniture we're allowed to order from. I let her know then that I had a few errands to run during lunch so I wouldn't be able to eat with her. To my surprise she and Damien are best friends so she assured me she'd let him know I couldn't make it.
The black framed black and white forest photo I'm trying to balance almost slips out of my arm again. Stopping to adjust for what feels like the millionth time, I make the decision that if it comes between dropping the picture or my Jersey Mike's chipotle chicken cheesesteak sub the picture will just become street art.
Luckily before I have to attempt a balancing act with the front door Chuck sees my struggle and comes to my rescue.
"Let me help you with that," he says taking the heavy photo from under my arm.
"Thanks Chuck, you just saved my life," I gush appreciatively, holding up my sandwich for good measure.
He laughs and sits one end of the photo down on the dark hardwood floors of the lobby leaning the other end against the shiny black marble of his security station.
"Oh yeah? Well if you really mean it you'd share a bit of your life with me. Mike didn't come in for his shift so I couldn't break for lunch."
I narrow my eyes at him as if the look alone will get the truth out of him. When all I get in return is an adorable shrug and a smile I cave.
"Fine," I grumble playfully, "Step into your office. Bring the picture with you would ya'?"
His smile grows as he grabs the picture from the ground and follows me around to the back of the security station.
By the time he's reached me I've separated the sandwich and chips in half. He wastes no time sitting down beside me and grabbing up his portion.
"I really appreciate this Bailey. I'm not sure what I would've done had you not come along I'm diabetic so I need to eat on time," he explains taking a huge bite from the sandwich.
I grit my teeth at the sound of his smacking but hold my tongue. I don't know if there's anything I hate more than someone who smacks when they eat. My ears are very sensitive to even the slightest sounds so smacking drives me insane. Since he needs this food for his health and we just met I'll just have to suck it up instead of snapping out.
"Jesus Chuck you should've just said that," I reply with a small laugh, "I might hate sharing but I'm not heartless."
He laughs, wiping his mouth and hands before getting up and grabbing us both orange sodas from the mini fridge beneath the security desk.
"You sound like my little sister. She'd go medieval on me whenever I stole her food. Christmas when I last was home she nearly jumped on my back for taking a piece of ham from her plate."
I silently wonder where he's from. His accent is much stronger than any one I might have. I figure he's from deep in the South like Georgia or even Florida. I've heard some pretty strong Southern accents coming from Floridians.
"Home?" I ask, my nosey nature coming out.
He nods washing the last of his food down with soda. "Kentucky. I'm moving back in a few days actually. I think it's why Mike didn't come in to work today, to punish me. He's pretty pissed I'm leaving."
"I agree with Mike," I reply teasingly, "I'm just getting to know you and you're already running off."
He laughs loudly, a boisterous sound. "It's nothing personal I promise, it's refreshing to meet another Southerner. If I didn't have to go I wouldn't, I love LA. But my grandmother's sick and my mom's giving her full time care so somebody's got to pay the bills."
I feel proud of him even though I just met him. He's the type of person that makes themselves easy to get to know. The type of person I'd love to be more like, he's inspiring. To give up the life he loves to take care of his family is very noble.
"You're a good son," I announce softly. We share a smile until an alarm on my phone goes off alerting me that I've got ten minutes until I have to be back in my office. "I've got to go."
He nods and starts clearing our trash. "Same here, duty calls."
I grab my purse from the ground and pick up my picture as well. Walking over to the elevator I realize I didn't give him a proper goodbye. I'm not the most social person in the world but I wasn't raised in a barn.
"Thank you for today. You've been so nice, I had a really good time talking to you," I inform him just as the doors to the elevator open.
He smiles widely, "You're very welcome. I'll see you on your way out."
I nod to him as the elevator doors close and he does the same. It hits me fully that the first potential friend I have is already leaving but I don't let it get me down. I learned a long time ago people aren't always in your life forever. Sometimes they serve their purpose and you both move on. How does the saying go? People are around for a season or a reason? Yeah, sometimes it's like that.
************
What's up my good people!!!!
I hope yall liked the chapter! I know it's late but the weather here has been insane all day so I forgot! It's still a little slow but I want to show the way life really is, kind of mundane and basic.
Story FYI's
Chuck in my mind is Josh Hutcherson which is funny because he's actually from Kentucky IRL, I had no idea until I was looking him up!
The song seems like something Bailey would listen to ironically because like me she doesn't fw 2 Chainz lol
As for new follower S/O's...
This time we have: @neneohsoloveable !!!!
Thanks so much for following and I hope I don't disappoint!
Until Next Time,
WBN