Thirty Days: Part One (10 page)

“That’s the staircase,” she informs as my hand reaches for the first doorknob I see.

“Oh, okay.”

“It’s this door here.” She points to the door not far from her desk. “Rough start?”

“You could say that.”

“You’ll get used to Jasmine.”

“If you say so.”

Ringing.

“That’s the switch. If you need anything I’m extension one, just don’t forget to press hash after.” Her fingers push a button on the side of the headset she has placed over neatly groomed hair. “Good morning, Sims, General, and Klein Attorneys at Law, Asher speaking.”

The copier is large with many buttons and trays.

“What the? It can’t be too hard, Abigail.” Encouragement is what I need. “Manual.” Looking in cabinetry along the walls, I’m unable to locate any manuals.
It’s okay, don’t panic.

Removing the industrial-sized staple from the first lot of documents, I begin the task at hand. The papers on the first pile look to be at least fifty pages long.

“I pity the fool who had to prepare these.” It dawns on me that I’m probably going to be that idiot.
Wing it, Abigail.

Before long the papers begin disappearing on one side and then sliding out on the other. The machine is making noises like it should.

“Way to go me.” I applaud, removing the next staple with the tip of a pen I find next to the copier. I‘m alerted to an issue when I hear beeping—long beeping.

“Probably out of paper,” I scoff.

Red lights flash from the control panel. The noise becomes more urgent.

“Shit,” I yell when I see crumpled pages. “That’s just fucking great. I’ve fucked the fucking document. For fuck’s sake, why does this fucking shit always happen to me? Why? This is bullshit,” I scream out while pressing buttons frantically and fighting paper that is clearly jamming.

“Wow! Bad day?” a voice booms from behind me.

“This piece of shit machine just ate these fucking documents. Why the fuck is it beeping?” I whine before realising where I am.
Oh crap!

He’s laughing.

I’m so getting fired.
Turning around huffing and puffing, I’m greeted by chocolate-coloured eyes, a stubbled chin, and charcoal hair. There’s a scar on his left cheekbone, no longer than a fingernail. My mouth gapes open. I try to close it, but can’t, so I stand there staring at lips that form the perfect smile.

“It’s you.” My voice cracks before sounding hoarse.

His smile broadens. “And it’s you,” he says simply, rolling a piece of paper up and sliding it inside his navy business jacket. He makes a fist with his hand and brings it down on top of the machine.

I jump, startled. “So that’s how you fix this piece of crap?” I swallow hard.

“No. You just press this button here. The one that says STOP.” He points to a red button. “The thump was just for effect.”

“Oh. Here I was thinking you were Arthur Fonzarelli.”

“Arthur who?” He lifts an eyebrow in confusion.

I try to explain that this man is a television character in a show my mother liked to watch called
Happy Days
. I know I’m not making any sense, mainly because he stares at me blankly.

“Don’t worry, doesn’t matter.” I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I wrestle with the paper jammed in tightly.

He leans in close to my face, his breath smelling like freshly picked mint as it rushes by my nose. “I know who ‘Fonzie’ is.”

The smile that follows makes me weak in the knees. My heart starts racing as his fingers brush mine.

“I’ll get the paper out for you.”

He’s so close my lips want nothing more than to connect with his.
Abigail, what’s wrong with you?
I step back, breathing heavy as my thighs press together.
Who are you?

“Must be hot in here.” He smirks, working on the machine.

“Really? I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re blushing, Miss McMillian.”

I swallow even harder. “How do you know my name?”

“Magic,” he breathes. “And you’re an eye roller, I see?”

“What?”

“You just rolled your eyes.”

Shaking my head, I look everywhere but at him.

“Uncomfortable, are we?”

Closing my eyes, I just breathe. “No.”

He chuckles. “It’s fixed now. Can I assist you with anything else?”

I shake my head.

“Do you always bite your lower lip like that?”

I’m not biting my lip. Oh yes, I am.
I release it from my teeth immediately. “Do you always ask questions?”

“I do.”

Leave the room, Abigail.
I don’t.

“Who are you?”

“Marcus.” He smiles kindly at me. “You have very pretty eyes.” His compliment is random.

“Are you an assistant here as well?”

“You could say that.”

“Okay,” I say, each letter of the word drawn out.

“Are you nearly finished here?” He points to the photocopier.

I burst into laughter. When I look back at him, he’s smiling again.

“Something funny?”

“You could say that.” I point to the folder on a table beside the copier. “Yeah, I’ve got to do that. Given my first attempt, I’d say give me at least two hours.”

He chuckles again. “If I help you, maybe it will only be fifteen minutes.”

“Great.” Walking towards the door, I turn back and our eyes make contact. “I’m on level two. I’m guessing you know where my office is, Mr. Magician. Just bring them up when you’re finished.”

He smirks, so I wink and leave him and my pile of work to get acquainted.

Asher is just outside the doorway as I exit. Her arms are crossed and there’s a look of amusement plastered across her face.

She whispers, “What was that about?”

I mouth, “Wow.”

She in turn mouths, “So hot.”

She wasn’t wrong.
I think I will enjoy working with Marcus.

Not long after returning to my office, Jasmine enters. She doesn’t knock. Barging in must be her style. I remove the headphones I’m wearing.

“Documents, Abigail?”

“Yes, they are coming any minute. I delegated that task. I’m in the middle of transcribing dictation.”

“You delegated the task?” Her hands fall onto the desk before she leans down.

“Yes.”

“To whom?” Her eyes narrow.

“To someone who apparently loves photocopying. This way I can get two jobs done at once.”

She tries hard not to look pleased by my assertiveness, but fails. “Fine, get them to me as soon as possible.”

“Yes, boss,” I reply, giving her a thumbs-up.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

Jasmine is definitely growing on me.

Keys press down quickly. The voice of Mr. Sims plays in my ears, a voice that is aged and oddly deep.

“(New sentence)
Anthony James Stewart (comma) hereby agrees to give thirty days (comma) until ownership of this asset becomes that of (change to upper case) MURTELLl PTY LTD (full stop). (New sentence) Property pertaining to Mr. Stewart will stay mute and undisclosed under the privacy laws of Australia…”

I’m interrupted by the sight of two folders falling onto my keyboard from behind me. The headphones I’m wearing are slowly pulled from my head. I sit frozen.

“Task complete, Miss McMillian.” His voice is warm as his words flow softly into my ear.

“It’s just Abigail.”

“Abigail.”

My name coming from his lips sends a shiver coursing down my spine. The chair begins to swivel around. His gaze is unwavering and intense as he leans down, gripping both armrests. He’s so close I can smell the mint on his breath, the smell urging me to taste him.

“Thank you.” I’m utterly thrown by the sight of him before me.

“You’re welcome.”

As quickly as he appeared, he disappears. The sound of the door closing means I finally inhale air. I hadn’t realised I’d stopped breathing.

I think I might like this place.

Amusement

“Abigail, are you hungry?” Asher clears her throat, standing in the open doorway.

“Famished,” I reply, rubbing at eyes that sting from the glare of my computer screen.

“Well, come on, let’s go eat.”

“Am I allowed to? Should I run it by the Nazi down the hall first?”

She giggles as she leans against the doorway. “The Nazi will be fine with you having lunch. It’s one p.m. That’s your break time and mine.”

“Awesome. Hang on…I didn’t bring lunch. What do you have for lunch? Sharing is caring, my new friend.”

She laughs. “I eat at Leyton’s next door. Most of us do.”

“But there’s a staff room?”

“That mainly gets used for coffee.”

“I’ll need to go to the car and get my bag first.”

“You left your bag in the car?” Her hand presses to her forehead.

This concerns her, why?

“Yeah, morning rush.” I shrug. She laughs again.

“Okay, I’ll meet you there. Two shops down. Big yellow sign. You won’t miss it.”

“Sounds good.”
Document saved.

As I’m about to leave, there’s a ringing sound coming from the desk. It’s the phone, which hasn’t rung all morning. In fact, I had no idea what it sounded like.

“Hi,” I answer.

“That’s not professional, Abi.”

“Who is this?”

“Samantha, your best friend and ally, in a world you think is filled with enemies.”

“No, doesn’t ring a bell, sorry. I think you have the wrong number. This is a law firm, lady.”

“Stop dicking around. How’s the first day going?”

“Stellar.”

“One word? That’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, this was a waste of forty cents.”

“Firstly, you wouldn’t be paying the forty cents, the television network would. Secondly, where did you pull the cost of forty cents from, your arse?”

“You’re very funny.” Sammy laughs, making over exaggerated and quite frankly dorky snorting sounds.

“It’s a gift.”

“Stop changing the subject. Seriously, how are you?” Her tone fills with frustration.

“Okay. I have to be quick because I’m on lunch. Well, that’s what I’ve been told, and, girl, I’m hungry as fuck. I’ll give you a quick rundown. Hold on to your seat.”

“Listening intently, seat is bolted down,” she retorts, making me laugh.

“Good. Office: small. Direct boss: a bitch. Overall boss: have not met. Probably a dick—”

“You can’t say that about Trish’s dad.”

“Well, have you met him?”

“No.”

“So possibly a dick it is then. Now stop interrupting.”

“I only interrupted once,” she argues.

“No, there you go again, interrupting. That’s twice now.”

Sammy giggles. “Carry on.”

“Okay. Front desk operator: awesome. Lift: I use it a lot. We’re acquainted. I think we’re friends. Well, it hasn’t stopped on me today so far. Male assistant on the lower level: hot, funny and does my work for me.”

Her gasp pierces my eardrum. “What, there’s a hot guy? Tell me more!”

“Interrupting,” I say in song.

“I hate when you sing words.”

“No, you don’t, you love it.”

“Continue,” Sammy encourages.

“Computer screen: hurts my eyes, and lunch breaks are taken at a place called Leyton’s and not in the fancy staff room provided. Apparently, that is only used for coffee. That sums it up, Ginger. I have to go. Ring me tonight. I’ll come round?”

“Sounds like a plan, Dorothy.”

“Now if you don’t mind, food is about to be my bitch.”