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Zara
Headphones on, I force myself to focus on the grid on my screen. A Brady Bunch patchwork of three-inch heads stares back at me. It’s the daily design team Zoom call for my nine to five, and yes, it’s as boring as it sounds.
A ten-person, twenty-minute daily check-in where we repeat everything that was said the day before, assign tasks that will take less time to do than discuss, then update a progress report which leadership never reads. Rinse, repeat five times a week.
Have I considered putting a cardboard cutout in front of my laptop and use these twenty minutes to do anything else, you bet I have. Have I uploaded a thirty-second video of me staring at a screen and nodding every few seconds on a continuous loop in the past? I cannot confirm nor deny. Okay, I’ll tell you; I totally have. I’m not big fan of keeping secrets.
My gaze wanders up, above the tiny camera on the top of my screen, to take in Coffee Loft’s newest barista. For the last hour, I’ve watched Devon trip and stumble behind the counter as Mrs. Whitehead gives him a crash course in how she likes to run theshop. It’s been so entertaining I’ve yet to open TikTok for my daily dose of distraction. I steal a sip of my latte and remind myself to take advantage of his employee discount before he’s fired. No way will he last longer than one shift.
“Zara? Based on the project plan, you’re in charge of verifying the printing of the labels from our vendor. They should be shipped to the factory by Friday. Will you be able to meet the deadline?”
My eyes snap back to my meeting. Nine sets of eyes staring at their cameras, waiting for my response. I’ve worked at the Design Emporium for three and a half years. They have a vast network of fashion lines supplying designs to both online and brick and mortar stores, covering the spectrum from discount to high-end fashion. They recruited me as a designer assistant with the promise I’d be able to pitch my own designs. I’m still holding my breath.
“The labels are done. They’ll ship a day early.” I keep it short and succinct. The quicker I answer, the faster this torture meeting ends.
Christine raises a virtual hand, and I brace for a follow-up question. “I reviewed your proposal to have us print the labels inhouse.”
I feel my brow pinch. I submitted the proposal six months ago and had assumed it had suffocated in corporate red tape. On the A-to-Z list of importance, fabric labels don’t rank. However, they’re legally required, and one of the lines had a delay sometime before I was born. They had to pull a big media campaign and lost a ton of money. Ever since they’ve overindexed on its importance.
“Although you laid out a good business case and the cost and time savings are very compelling, we’ve decided to not pursue it at this time.” Christine takes a hundred words to say what I knew from the expression on her face—not happening.
I chew on my tongue and resist tossing my latte at the screen. Christine and I are corporate frenemies, that’s if you removed the friend part. There’s no reason for her to bring up my proposal on this call, in front of the team, other than to give me a public smackdown.
“No worries, Christine. I appreciate the update. I’ll keep it handy as I’m sure the next director of operations may want to revisit a slam dunk proposal that saves the company time and money.” I manifest a vision of the world where Christine is no longer the gatekeeper, shooting down my every proposal.
The evil curl of her lip gives her away; she can’t resist having the last word. “I have no plans on going anywhere.”
I nod and give her my best plastic corporate smile. The one I’ve mastered for the quarterly mandatory in-person happy hour. There’s nothing happy about seeing them in person, and I never stay a full hour. “You have us running like a well-oiled machine. Surely, you’re exploring your next challenge. Sometimes, the person most in need of a change is the last one seeking it. Think of me as the mama bird tossing you out the nest so you can soar.” It takes everything in me to keep my smile in place, knowing Christine isn’t ready to fly. If I tossed her from the nest, she’d crash hard to the ground.
Her reply is nothing but a mumble in my head as I’m distracted by Devon meticulously wiping down the table in front of me. Head down, focused, I take the opportunity to ogle the man. He’s African American, just under six feet of handsomeness with a lean, athletic build. Eight-inch twists dangle from the top of his head, a hairstyle that exudes both discipline and flair. It’s a look I adore. I lift my latte to my lips to disguise what I’m doing. I’m not fooling a soul. If he glanced my way, he’d know, but something in his kind demeanor lets me rest easy that he wouldn’t call me out on it.
I lose myself in his movement, the way his sinewy muscles flex underneath his Coffee Loft T-shirt. I snicker as the speakers in the café streamHello Goodbyeby Charlie XCX. I mouth the wordhelloas my eyes trace the lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the tilt of his head. He’s handsome from every angle.
Devon lifts his chin, his gaze finding mine. His dark eyes sparkle with a playful glint, and a brief smile filled with mischievous charm. Café etiquette dictates I look away, but it doesn’t account for the fact that men like Devon don’t frequent small towns like ours on a regular basis.
I press my elbows to the tabletop, my fingers intertwining in prayer beneath my chin, and I give him a nod of acknowledgement of this special moment we’re sharing. His curt nod causes a warmth to spread through me. I feel heat rushing to my cheek but don’t make a move to hide it. We’ve been like this all morning. Stolen glances across the café, aI see youtip of our chin at each other. He points to my cup and mouths the wordRefill?
I nod and wait for him to turn away. I watch him go, my heart still racing, and I whisper, “You can do me again anytime you want.”
“Zara?” My name being shouted through my earpiece causes panic to shoot through me. I’m not muted. “Did you have something to add, Zara?” I drop my hands and lean forward, ordering my face to behave.
“Just some background noise. I’m going on mute.” I mash the keyboard and don’t take a breath until I see the microphone icon turn gray with a hash mark across it.
I take a long exhale, hoping to calm the drumming in my chest. When it finally slows, I lean back, my gaze rising with it to find the approaching Devon.
His eyes are laser focused on the top of the cup he’s holding, walking as if he’s in an egg drop race in summer camp. I’d findit unusual, but I’ve seen him spill three drinks already.Look away.I repeat the instructions in my head, but my eyes refuse to cooperate. I shamelessly ogle him every step of his journey.
He slips the drink near the edge of the table and finally looks up at me. I lean in his direction. His lower lip quivers, and I hold my breath. He juts his chin toward my screen and mouths the wordWork.
“I know.” I giggle. Why is he telling me he’s at work? “How is it going?”
He presses the palms of his hands onto the top of the café table, his arms straight, and I tip my chin up to take in his beautiful profile. “I thought you might be on a call.”
Call?It takes a second for his words to click. Work. Call. This man makes the rest of my world fade away. Panic floods through me again, but I won’t let him see it. I raise my finger to the screen, confirming it’s still on mute, and give him a sexy nod. “Back to it.”
He waves and collects my barely touched morning cup. I watch him move to the next table, recording his every movement, knowing future me will appreciate what I’m doing. I’ve entered my full-on Devon crush era.
Reluctantly, I force my eyes to move from pleasure to pain. Gone are the blank zombie stares of half the team, replaced by the equally numbing to-do list for tomorrow’s meeting. I didn’t miss a thing. I lift the latte and pause, looking for Devon before taking a sip. As much as I hope to find him staring at me like I’m an irresistible treasure, I’m hopeful he’s not. That first latte tasted like mud water.
