Strictly for Now by Carrie Elks
CHAPTERTWO
MACKENZIE
One week earlier…
My phone won’t stop vibrating. It’s getting stupid now, buzzing every few seconds. There are ten missed calls – thanks, Mom and Dad – plus a hundred messages on the family group chat. I slide it under my behind on the chair to stop the alerts from filling the air because my boss is giving a speech and the last thing I need is to bring attention to myself.
Or the wrong kind of attention, anyway.
“Three years of hard work,” Mark says, a grin splitting his lips. And so it should. My boss’ closing bonus for actually finishing this project and handing over a profitable business to our corporate clients will probably pay for a private jet or two. “Three years of sacrificing family life, of missing school plays and parent evenings, of telling our friends that, no, we can’t attend their wedding to the love of their lives. And here we are, older and wiser, and we can say one thing to ourselves.” He takes a pause, lifts his glass to his lips and looks out at us.
We hang on his words. Possibly because we have no idea what to do next. Sure, we’ll be assigned to other projects. Some of us will get promotions, others might take a break, actually go to those school shows.
As for me, I just want to sleep for the next hundred years.
Just as Mark opens his mouth to tell us exactly what we’re all desperate to hear, the door to the boardroom swings open. Every head turns to see Alice, Mark’s personal assistant holding a phone in her hand.
Mark frowns because he hates being interrupted mid flow. His speeches are legendary, and this speech is three years in the making. I wouldn’t want to be in Alice’s place right now.
“What?” he asks her. He doesn’t bark because Mark just isn’t that kind of boss. But the twitch in his eyebrow tells us he’s not impressed.
“I’m so sorry,” Alice says, her eyes wide and flustered. “There’s an emergency phone call.”
“For me?” His brows dip this time. Mark’s a man who communicates with his eyebrows. You could probably draw a chart for every emotion.
“Oh no, Mr. Simons. Not for you.”
A chill shoots down my spine. They wouldn’t.
But they would. I know they would.
When my family wants to talk, they make sure it happens right then. It’s not entitlement, exactly. More like a learned behavior.
And now I’m sitting here on my phone – which has stopped buzzing for obvious reasons – waiting for the inevitable.
“Who is it for, then?” Mark asks her. His right eyebrow is twitching like he can’t stop it if he tried.
That’s the angry sign.
Alice’s eyes scan the twenty of us sitting in the boardroom. Her gaze feels like a searchlight seeking its prey. When it locks on me I take a ragged breath in, accepting the inevitable. I slide down onto my chair, wishing I could disappear.
“Mackenzie Hunter,” she says.
I stifle the groan that’s been brewing in my throat ever since my cellphone started buzzing.
“Well go on then,” Mark says, turning to me. “Take the call before I forget what I’m supposed to say next.”
I stand, which is easier said than done in these heels. I rarely wear three inches, but we’re heading straight out to a club after this to celebrate and the dress code is impress or die trying.
Well it's not, but close enough. We’re going to the Colosseum, the achingly hip club that nobody in New York can get into right now. Apart from us, that is. But now I’m regretting my choice of high heels and super tight skirt because I can only shuffle sideways between the row of chairs, muttering apologies to everybody who gets an eyeline view of my ass as I move.
“I’m so sorry,” I breathe as I finally reach Alice.
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “It’s your mom,” she mouths.
Of course it is. I turn to Mark to tell him I’ll be right back, but I think his eyebrows are about to fly off his face and stab me. He makes a shooing movement with his hands and I totter my way out of the room.
When the door closes, I let out a low sigh.
“Here you go, dear,” Alice says, passing me the phone. “Just hit number one.”
“Thank you.”
Luckily, there’s an empty room next door, so I slide myself in there, bracing myself for the whirlwind that’s my mom. My heart is already pounding before I press the button on the phone.
I take a deep breath and give into the inevitable.
“Mom?”
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.” She has a soft voice but it still feels like knives stabbing at my head. Or maybe that’s just the oncoming migraine I know I’m going to get because phone calls like this never turn out well.
Like the time I got the call to fly to Montreal to bail my brothers out of jail.
Or the time I had to drive to Boston to pick my sister up from her ex’s apartment which she’d redecorated – and I use that term loosely – with a can of vermillion paint.
We don’t really talk anymore, but that has nothing to do with her impressive knowledge of dirty words.
“I’m in a meeting,” I tell her. “Can I call you back?”
“We need to talk about Gramps.”
I sit down heavily in a beautifully molded leather chair. Nothing less than the best for employees of Warner Power, voted the best New York Management Consultancy firm three times in the last four years.
“What’s up with Gramps? Is he ill?” I ask. I’m not close to him, but I have a heart. And he’s in his late eighties.
He’s also scary as hell. And shouts louder than anybody I’ve ever met.
Somebody says something in the background. My mom replies with her sweet voice. “Honey, I have to go to rehearsals now. We’ll talk later.”
“What?”
“Tonight?” she suggests, ignoring the outraged tone in my voice. Did she really call me out of one of the most important meetings in my life for this?
“I’m busy tonight.” Much like I was busy right now.
“Let’s say ten o’clock then,” she says. “Bye, darling. Love you.”
Before I can open my mouth to tell her I won’t be around at ten, there’s a dial tone filling my ear. I grit my teeth and put the phone on the table in front of me, before dropping my head into my hands.
And then I let out a long, pained, and very silent scream.
Because that’s the effect my family has on me.
* * *
Somebody has ordered another three bottles of champagne. It’s flowing like water and everybody is happy and laughing. I can’t remember the last time the whole team socialized together. Our Christmas party was canceled when we came up against a software issue on the twenty-first of December last year. We spent Christmas Day mainlining coffee in the office.
And yeah, maybe I was kind of glad that I had to work because otherwise I wouldn’t have had an excuse not to fly to L.A. to spend time with my family. But I did, and that was that.
“So, did Mark catch you after the meeting?” Rachel asks me.
I shake my head at my favorite co-worker. Once the urge to throw myself into a fire had gone, I’d snuck back into the boardroom, but by then Mark had finished his speech and everybody was getting ready to leave.
“I’ll apologize tomorrow,” I tell her. He’s here tonight but he’s in the corner booth with our clients and there’s no way I want to interrupt them.
“Okay, ladies, I have the perfect thing for you.” Allison, our intern, slides into the booth next to us, a glass of champagne in one hand, her phone in the other. She’s been working for us for the last two years since she graduated from business school. She also makes me and Rachel feel really old.
“There are ladies around here?” Rachel jokes, looking around.
I snigger.
“I’m serious. My boyfriend’s working on this app and I think it’ll solve all your problems.”
Allison’s boyfriend is some kind of digital wunderkind. He’s also permanently broke and mooches off Allison, but whatever.
“Does it give you multiple orgasms and then empty the dishwasher?” I ask.
Allison blinks. “No.” And I immediately feel bad. She looks so earnest and I don’t want to rain on her parade.
Rachel doesn’t look like she feels bad at all. “Okay, so will it go for my pap smear for me, and then give me a full body massage while telling me I’m beautiful?” she asks, trying not to grin.
“It’s not that kind of app.” Allison says patiently. “But honestly, you’re going to love it. It’s made for older women like you.”
Ouch.
Rachel’s eyes meet mine. She’s been as unlucky in relationships as I have, but for entirely different reasons. She believes in happy ever afters and no man can meet up to her daydreams of Prince Charming sweeping her off her feet.
Whereas, I… just don’t believe in that at all.
“Older women like us,” Rachel repeats.
Allison doesn’t notice the warning in her voice. She just nods like an excited puppy. “For women over forty who haven’t found love yet.”
“We’re not over forty,” Rachel points out.
“I know, but you almost are.”
I wince again. We’re not even close. Or at least, it doesn’t feel like it. And any reminder that I’m over halfway through my thirties is distinctly unwelcome.
“By your age a lot of women will take any guy that has his teeth left, right?” Allison smiles, revealing her own too-white set of teeth. I’m slightly concerned that Rachel might smash them out.
She doesn’t like being called old. She wore black for a year when she turned thirty.
“Tell us all about it,” I say, shooting Rachel a warning glance. I’m pretty sure smashing an intern’s pretty smile is a disciplinary offence.
“So, when you reach a certain age, your requirements change,” Allison says, her eyes darting from Rachel to me. “You’re going to have to spread your net wider. Maybe settle for less than you would have when you were in your prime.”
I’m pretty sure Rachel let out a growl.
“So, this app does it for you.” Allison continues. “It pre-vets the guys to make sure they understand the ladies they’ll be matching with are of a certain age. But also of a certain quality.”
“Sure.” I nod, absolutely not interested. “That sounds great.”
“Fabulous.” Allison claps her hands together. “So I can put you on the Golden Mates beta team?”
Rachel turns to look at her, and Allison visibly cringes. “I only go for alphas,” she tells her. “So no.”
“The alpha testing phase has already finished,” Allison whispers. And now I’m feeling sorry for her, because she’s worked really hard this year. She’s a whizz on spreadsheets and works as late as we need her to. So I nudge Rachel in the chest and she grimaces in response.
“I’ll do it,” I tell Allison, because I feel bad about teasing her. “Just send me the link.”
“Thank you. Ryan’s going to be so pleased. He doesn’t know many women in the older demographic so it’s this or he has to grab random people on the street.”
I swallow down a laugh.
“I’m going to call him now,” she says, happily, standing and grabbing her glass. “You won’t regret this, Mackenzie.”
I’m almost certain I will. But at least I’ve done one good deed today. That should help me feel better when I say no to my family later tonight.
And yes, I don’t know what they’re going to ask. But this isn’t my first rodeo. You have to be firm with my family. They always play to win.