One Thursday Dreams are such strange things to have and to hold. They can be as big as wanting to be the next Naomi Campbell-the bougie-on-a-budget version. As outrageous as hoping to find true love in a seven-billion-person haystack. Or even as innocuous as hitting that fabled Inbox Zero before the end of the workday. Forty-seven emails to go. Joy doesn''t know what happened. One second, she was wasting on-the-clock time by searching for and deleting junk email, and the next, she''d become intensely obsessed with seeing the number in the red notification bubble drop lower and lower and lower . Her intercom beeps, breaking her concentration.
"Joy?" "This is, and you''re bothering me," she answers playfully, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder to keep her hands free. Forty-three emails now. "It''s Meg. Do you think you could come to my office for a second?" Her voice sounds too high and strained. Joy frowns, but says, "Be right there." Down the hall and five seconds away, Megan sits at her desk, face crumpled in despair as she stares at a pile of papers. Her office is a mirror image of Joy''s-from the slate gray pair of chairs for guests to the corny-as-hell inspirational wall art. Most employees at Red Warren added personal touches to make the space theirs.
Megan brought in her adorable cross-stitch creations, displaying them everywhere. Hanging on to the door jamb, Joy says, "You rang, my dear?" "I did." She looks up-her hazel eyes dominate her light brown face, with her patchy freckles coming in a close second. As if she isn''t already cute enough, loose brunette curls cascade over her shoulders like a Rapunzel in training. "Is that a new outfit?" Joy twirls into the room, ending in a pose. "New-ish." She''d bought the chic olive green pantsuit-flared high-waisted slacks and sleek blazer, both tailored to perfection, and paired with a tasteful plaid crop top-a few months ago, but this is the first time she''s wearing it to work. "Special occasion?" As far as Joy is concerned, fashion is life, but Megan clocked the situation correctly.
Her hopes are sky-high for something about to go down, most likely in the next hour. It''s why she abruptly decided to devote her immediate future to securing Inbox Zero. Approximately sometime around two hours, thirty-seven minutes, and twenty-four seconds ago, her focus had shattered from anticipation after her boss, Malcolm, sent a short email. He asked if she had plans for the holiday on Monday. He hinted about clearing everything from her calendar for Friday and the following Tuesday. He needed to talk to her about something important. "Hopefully?" Joy answers. It''s a miracle her heart hadn''t spontaneously combusted after she finished reading the email because her brain moved at the speed of light, jumping to the only possible conclusion: her time has finally come.
A reluctant laugh bursts through Megan''s stress. "Well, I''m rooting for you, whatever it is. Come look at this, please." She''s holding a signed contract with some questionable language around distribution and follows it up with pictures of the product itself:a line of craft beers with an explicit NSFW label. "Huh." Joy''s eyebrows are nearly at her hairline. The image is so realistic, she can''t tell if the model''s 3-D or not. If she''s real, despite her excellent, perky posture, she most certainly has back problems from having boobs that big and a waist that small.
How she managed to hold a perfect spread-eagle side split would have been a small miracle on set. The image slides straight past comical, bypassing artistic expression, and ends up a little too close to exploitation. Red Warren Nightclubs pushes the envelope here and there, but this kind of advertisement isn''t in line with the brand. "You approved this?" Joy asks. "No." All the color drains from Megan''s horrified face. "I was there because I was filling in for Johnny. Remember when he got sick and was out for two weeks?" "I do.
" "I remember the product they showed us. I can literally see it in my head and it''s definitely not this." Joy nods, keeping her cool. "I''ve always wondered if people are born with a photographic memory or if they have to develop it." "It''s eidetic memory, not photo- Oh, Joy, oh no." Joy grins, chuckling at her brilliant pun. She isn''t above doing that. Everyone teases her for laughing at her own jokes, but it isn''t her fault they don''t appreciate her humor.
The most important thing is to calm Megan down. This mistake isn''t the end of the world. Or her job. Situations like this happen all the time on the backend because Malcolm prefers working with a smaller team he knows he can trust. When one of them is out, they band together and fill in the blank even when they''re not exactly sure what they''re doing. Red Warren Nightclubs have a somewhat infamous reputation in the local industry for being the places to be and work. They meet every code and regulation, have enough staff, supervisors, and managers, and pay them well enough to avoid burnout. Everyone who works for them is the best of the best: dancers, DJs, bartenders, and security.
Red Warren the Office, however, runs with a skeleton crew in a modern office building. Megan handles all things human resources, Allie watches their money like a hawk in accounting, Nikkiee networks like a cult leader in talent and communications, and Johnny uses his keen senses in development and acquisitions. Joy fills the role of manager to an unholy amalgamation of office, operations, and finance, and at times, doubles as an executive assistant. And Malcolm is the CEO-the dreamer, the face, and the heart of the company. Megan says, "Johnny was reviewing everything and spotted the discrepancy." "That must have gone well." "He was so mad, oh my god. I thought steam was going to start whistling out of his ears.
" Joy laughs, and Megan continues, "But it''s not just me, though. Malcolm missed it too. He was there. He reviewed the contract before I signed off on it." Her gaze is practically a laserbeam of sincerity aimed right at Joy. "It seemed like he''d been doing better lately." Malcolm hasn''t really been the same since Caroline (the Cruel) called off their wedding a year ago. A Virgo through and through, Malcolm lives and dies by planning and micromanaging every detail he can get his hands on.
He likes order and precision, needs structure and control. Joy had seen Malcolm heartbroken before-he played fast and loose with his heart on a regular basis. He''s in love with love, always searching for The One, but that breakup broke him. Completely and utterly. Afterwards, he missed important meetings, left work early on the days he even bothered to show up at all, overlooked major and minor details that caused everyone headaches later. Mistakes like this contract were a dime a dozen. Red Warren survived by staying in red alert mode. But in the past couple of months, glimpses of the real Malcolm began to break through.
His focus and dedication to Red Warren returned. Missteps became less frequent, nearly disappearing. He seemed better, lighter, and happier for some reason. Joy fidgets at her side. "He''s okay. He, um, I think he might be a little distracted right now." Everyone knew Malcolm and Joy had originally met in college. A classic story of boy sees girl first, girl meets boy but then has an immediate revelation about her sexuality and completely ignores boy for two weeks before randomly popping back up into his life.
They''ve been best friends, for better and for worse, in sickness but mostly in health, ever since. And she''s deeply in love with him. But no one at Red Warren needs to know a single shred of truth about her feelings for Malcolm. None. Nada. Over her dead and cold body. Hers is the kind of workplace secret you take to the unemployment line after promising to keep in touch even though you know that won''t happen. Because you''ve had and left enough jobs to know better than to make false promises.
"I had a feeling." Megan nods. "Do you know what''s up?" "I don''t," Joy lies. There are perks to moonlighting as an executive assistant. All signs point to Malcolm planning something big for the weekend. "Anyway"-she gestures to the contract-"this is fine. Everything is fine. Even if I have to go old school, pay them a visit, and remind them who they''re dealing with.
I''ll take care of it." "Knock, knock." Malcolm stands grinning in the doorway. Tall, dark, and ever handsome-in the literal sense. None of that thinly veiled colorist propaganda. Rich brown skin, black curly hair cut short, and deep chocolate eyes. Joy unconsciously gives him a bright smile in return, just like she always does because she can''t help it. Her brain recognizes him and there''s an instant hit of dopamine to all the receptors that make her happiest.
He asks, "Joy, can I borrow you for a second?" "Wow, I am popular this afternoon," Joy jokes to quiet her sudden nerv.