The final thing of note—no one talked to Research. Don’t take it personally, Krista was told, but just know that Research employees weren’t the social stars of the company.
That was all Krista had learned. Not a great start. But one thing was for certain, she fervently hoped Jacob wasn’t as hot as Sean.
Time passed quickly after that. In a new job, a person never really knew what they were doing for the first few months, and Krista was no exception. But the pace was slow, and the database her department used for all their statistical information on products was pretty easy to figure out. Soon Krista was churning out reports like a pro, turning them in exactly on time so as not to get a pink slip.
That had been something she wished Rachel would’ve hinted about. When to turn in a report!
The first request for research Krista got, which was on toothpaste for an ad campaign coming up, saw her working like a beast, wanting to do her best work and impress her boss. With a satisfied smile, she had emailed her completed report a day early! She’d wanted to do jazz hands and shout, “Wacha wacha,” like Fozzie Bear. Why, was anyone’s guess.
A few minutes later Mr. Montgomery called her into his office. She could barely contain the strut she was so impressed with herself. That lasted until she appeared in his open doorway and saw the world-class scowl.
“When was that information due, Miss Marshall?” he’d asked immediately.
“Oh, well, it wasn’t due until tomorrow but I thought you might want to check it over early…”
“We aren’t sprinters here. We take time to thoroughly review our work before turning it in. I suggest you get back to it.”
She didn’t bother to argue that out of the million flaws she possessed, one of them wasn’t lack of thoroughness. Her entire school career could attest to that fact, usually with grumbles from her other team-project members. The way he’d said thoroughly hinted that wasting time was better than allowing the rest of the company to know the department could handle more work.
“Right, good point!” She’d thrown him something barely closer to a smile than a grimace, and scampered out. It had been a bad start to her new job. One of them, anyway.
It was a nice day in October, nearly four months after her start date, when Krista got to work in the usual, insufferable way via San Francisco’s public transportation. She had the schedule down now, though. Pretty simple, really. You showed up. If the train was there, you got on. If not, you waited. Once on, you hoped to hell it didn’t break down.
After just adding carrots to her grocery list, and wiping residual fear and pain out of her head from her latest bad dream the night before, Krista walked into the break room with mug in hand. She slammed into something unexpected, and went careening off toward the wall.
Her lucky mug hit first, bouncing off and twirling through the air. The universe paused, waiting for the reaction of a breakable object falling toward a hard surface.
The crash drowned out Krista’s thoughts.
“Oh no!” she said softly. “My lucky mug…”
Two large hands braced her, but she couldn’t focus; her brain started replaying all of the horrors of her first real job thus far. Things like her horrible first week where, in addition to getting lost constantly, she did most things wrong, and once actually walked in on a group of women gossiping about her. Then there was that fiasco with the guy in the art department, Tommy—she hadn’t seen that coming! He’d completely blindsided her asking to go for coffee, which followed with him getting a rejection so blunt she couldn’t sleep that night from guilt.
But seriously, he just kind of sprung it on her. She’d reacted more in fright than anything else. Then when she tried to apologize, they basically shooed her away. She went from a funny Research girl to a hated monster overnight. They didn’t even care that he found another girl within a couple weeks, Krista became enemy number one.
All this was egged on by the habitual nightmares of Jim she couldn’t shake even though she’d moved away from that old life. A broken lucky mug might as well be a funeral song. It was the symbol of good luck she got with each new venture; new semester, new job. She wasn’t all that superstitious but this one thing was law. She wouldn’t stand a chance.
With glassy eyes, she bent to collect the two biggest pieces. Forlorn, with thick fingers, she tried to fit them together, remembering the last time she’d broken a lucky mug. She’d had to drop a class. It had been that bad!
Near tears, she barely recognized the presence kneel beside her.
“Are you okay?” Sean’s voice rumbled gently.
She looked up into his concerned Romanesque features. For the first time, she no longer cared if he was handsome. Or his fantastic smell. She’d landed in a crisis.
“My lucky mug,” she pleaded. “I don’t think I can fix it.”
~*~*~*~
Sean’s chest constricted strangely with Krista’s words. She looked like a fallen angel perched on her knees, holding the fragments of her blue mug in her outstretched hands. Her eyes were filled with desperation as they pleaded with him, begging for a different outcome than what she was experiencing.
If he wasn’t so drawn in by her despair, he’d be outright laughing. She couldn’t have picked an uglier mug if she’d tried.
“We have plenty. We can have this cleaned up in a flash.” He bent over to scoop up the biggest pieces and stood, leaning towards the garbage can.
“No!”
He froze.
“You can’t throw them away!”
“I don’t understand.” Sean looked from the pieces in his hand to those in hers. Cracking a smile, he said, “I don’t think it’ll hold coffee anymore.”
“It’s my lucky mug. If I have a test or get nervous or something, I have my lucky mug to comfort me. You can’t just throw it away. It’s a process. I know it sounds dumb…”
“And I broke it; your lucky mug.”
Krista shrugged, sadness haunting her. “I was the one that ran into you.”
The downtrodden look on her face pinched Sean’s insides, while the smell of her, lavender and mysterious femininity, tickled his nose.
He’d seen this woman around a lot, noticing her gliding through hallways and getting printouts or making copies. He kept trying to catch her on her own, to get her to agree to an afterhours meet up. Unfortunately, when she saw him she either went sprinting in the opposite direction, or she stared at him mutely and made ready to leave immediately. He was sure it was because of the rumors and his track record, but she was a hot little number. Geeky as all hell, but there was an intelligence there that befuddled him. When she looked at a person, you could tell she was analyzing; working things out. She constantly had him intrigued and turned on at the same time. He wanted to sample the merchandise.
He’d just stumbled on his chance.
“I’ll fix it,” he said quickly, taking the few fragments she held.
Her large round eyes met his. The connection sparked intensity, a rush of lust that had him hard immediately. He stepped closer. He needed to turn this feeling into sex; to get her to make a promise here that he could cash in later that night.
Her hands tightened convulsively. Sweat beaded her brow. She was uncomfortable; struggling with their proximity. Wanting to get away, but drawn in despite it. He had an effect on her; she just didn’t want to give in to it.
And while usually a girl’s reluctance was like a hunt, the thrill of turning her initial rejection into begging to orgasm being the best high, suddenly Sean became aware that something about this was different. Krista wasn’t worried about the rumors the ladies told about him in the break room, or him not calling after they hooked up—something else was making her hesitate. Like a cloud hanging over her, something else was riding this scene.
Sean’s insides pinched again, making him squirm uncomfortably for the second time. He backed off.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it then, if you’re sure you’re okay?” Sean murmured, keeping the fragments. The time wasn’t right, but the in was gold, and he wasn’t about to let that go.
Krista nodded mutely, staring at his hands containing the broken mug with baleful eyes.
“Okay, then. See ya…”
As he walked up the corridor, letting the strange feelings of a moment ago dissipate, he couldn’t help a smug grin etching his face. He didn’t know what just happened, but he had the key to her chastity belt in his hands. The timing might not be good right now, but they worked together and he was a master. He’d get that afterhours meet up, he just needed to put a little effort into it.
*****
The tears of defeat were on their way, Krista could feel it.
As she entered her house, welcoming the familiar feel of her space, she immediately turned left toward her room. The day had tap-danced on her last nerves. Her future looked bleak within that department, she broke her lucky mug, and people didn’t like her solely because she was from the Research department.
“Krista! Come in here a second.”
Krista let her head fall back and groaned. It was the last thing she needed.
Ben was in the living room, standing in a murder scene, staring at a reddish mess of canvas. Clear plastic covered ceiling to floor in large swoops. Purple sheets protected furniture. Green sheets protected lamps and tables. The only area left uncovered was the ceiling itself.
“Hi-ya, Ben. Are you plotting to kill me?”
Ben was wearing goggles and white coveralls smeared with paint. He turned toward her, a brush dripping red paint onto his runners.
He lifted the goggles to his head and looked around. “Oh, ha. I didn’t realize it looked like a murder scene. Wait!”
Ben turned back to his canvas, on the brink of some great epiphany. Krista waited patiently. There was no point in rushing him when he was like this. The guy had more creativity than Krista knew existed. He could use that creativity for graphic design, which was his profession, or art school, which was his daytime activity, but also for fixing things, like the sink or a lopsided table. He could rig up a contraption to keep a car wheel on if he really put his mind to it.
He was also wicked smart. He knew things that normal people had to look up on their smartphone. If he could be persuaded to go to Pub Trivia Night, his team always won. Always. Kate and Jasmine badgered him to go constantly.
Sometimes the guy came out with things, as random thoughts, that made Krista feel like a first-grader talking to a college professor. His intelligence would almost be more manageable if he rubbed her face it in. But no, he remained an anomaly because he was also the sweetest guy alive. His quirks had to be borne and dealt with, because in turn, he would drop everything for a friend.
So now, Krista found herself staving off her crying session to stand in a living room, dodging a flying paint brush, just so Ben could work on his painting.
Abruptly Ben turned toward her, his hands on his hips, the red from the paint brush bleeding down his leg.
“How was your day?” he asked analytically.
“Well, uh…”
“I’m sorry, that was brusque.” His voice softened, “How was your day?”
He wasn’t asking to be supportive, he was asking to solve some weird puzzle he knew existed. It made her nervous. “It was fine...”
He stared at her, his mental gears turning. She knew that look. Either she could just tell him now, or he’d follow her around and make her tell him later. Sweet, but also pushy when he was working on something.
“Well, actually, it was awful.” Krista walked over to the dining room, which was just across the way, and dumped herself into a chair. “Probably the worst day in a series of bad days, dating back months. Seriously bad.”
“I knew it!” Ben exclaimed, looking back at his large abstract painting. He turned back just as quickly, his excitement melted down into a look of concern. “How horrible of me. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to be excited for your—“
Apparently Krista wasn’t the only socially awkward person around, which is why they got along splendidly. She cut him off by swiping her hand through the air.
“I know, I know. You care, blah blah. What is it that you think you know? Are you clairvoyant, now?”
“Krista,” Ben took a step toward her, his feet approaching the end of the painter’s canvas. He looked up in frustration. “I do care. Do you need a hug?”
Krista started laughing, she couldn’t help it. Her day was bad, and things weren’t going well, but admittedly, she was being a bit overdramatic. She’d been through worse problems in her life; she’d figure this out. It just took Ben’s over-anxious concern to shed light on it.
She changed the subject. “You know, Abbey is going to kill you if she sees her living room looking like this.”
Abbey was the other roommate. She was the touchy one; prone to bursts of anger and anxious about her stuff. She was also the master tenant, which made ignoring her impossible, since 90% of the stuff in the house was hers and she could kick them out if she wanted.
A great part of San Francisco was rent-controlled, but even still, it wasn’t what most young people—or any people, for that matter—called affordable housing. Often one person would take on the contract, responsible for the rent and the responsibility of dealing directly with the landlord, then take on roommates to help pay the rent, ensuring rent control kept everything affordable. It was how Krista found the place; she’d seen the ad for a third roommate on Craigslist, interviewed, and been accepted.
Ben had been a great addition to her life. Abbey, on the other hand, she avoided at all costs.
“This is important,” Ben said, not to be deterred from his painting. “I know she’ll hound me about it, but I need to do this. I need to put this on canvas.”