Own The Night: The Matchmaker Series, #3

One

Andi

Mum, are you out of your bloody mind? A film crew for the next six months? Rubbish! The agitated voice of my boss makes the glass partition vibrate causing me to fish around my purse for an antacid tablet on auto pilot. A glance into the break room indicates it’s early with barely a dent in the fresh pot of coffee. Honestly, I’m waiting for Finn Monroe to start in with the poppycock and wankers.

Since the merger of the two most successful matchmaking companies on the east coast, my eyes have been working out with exaggerated rolls that rival a Zumba class. Monroe Matches and Knight 2 Remember battled fiercely until they finally came to an agreement forcing a Co-CEO situation of nightmare-ish proportions. Finn’s tantrum has lasted two months and counting. The office is still pink and the typical morning bedlam remains argued over a medium brew. Truthfully, I think world peace has a better shot than Finn Monroe and Randall Knights making nice.

Darling boy don’t overact. Carla Monroe coos. Something heavy slams on the conference table in response. Followed up by a flutter of paper files flitting to the floor. A quick peek through the glass partition shows me an epic storm of confetti falling to the floor like its Y2K all over again. Geez, I haven’t even settled in for the day and it’s crystal clear that someone pissed in Finn’s fruit O’s. His level of ogre grouchiness is impressive this morning.

My dusty pink marbled leather Coach bag slides off my shoulder resting on my desk, a gift from the big boss herself last Christmas. My outfit of the day is complimented by pink heeled sandals. Cringing for anything to be out of order, I slip behind my desk assessing the situation. Behind the partition, the shadow of my boss appears cursing eloquently, his British accent echoes inside the conference room. I groan as his footfalls pace the office with the allure of a beefed up dashing Benedict Cumberbatch this morning.

Under no circumstances will I venture in there right now. My life as an assistant would be in grave danger for not leaking this tidbit of information to him sooner. Finn would know it the second he saw me. I don’t even have the proper snacks to toss at him as a distraction if I need to make a run for the door. I have zero skills with poker faces and all the grace of a scared bunny sitting down and pushing my chair as far back to the wall as I can manage. I rationalize if they can’t see me, I’m invisible to the incoming cat five hurricane complete with Jurassic Park dinosaurs. The worst decision of the day by far was leaving my apartment.

In retrospect, I should have stayed home.

I should have called in sick.

Or dead.

I spy the Yankee pennants hanging inside my other boss, Priscilla Monroe’s office. Hey, not everyone can be the starting pitcher in a perfect nine inning game. My stomach churns recalling that they lost their game last night which would sour her mood considerably and pit brother and sister against each other in a feral match. A smart assistant would have called it a day by now glancing at my watch. I wait for the rest of the office to find me demanding something of my secretarial skills not limited to alphabetizing and color coding the single men and women who seek our matchmaking services.

Hunkering down, I rub my temples counting meditative breaths knowing that this kind of peace only lasts nano-seconds around here and I haven’t yet filled my prescription for anxiety meds I got from the campus health center. I’m sure the psychiatrist who spent all of two minutes with me would have a snarky opinion about denial. No shit Sherlock, our office has always been high strung and fueled by obscene amounts of coffee adding to our collective insanity.

Shit balls.

For a Monday it’s heading downhill fast and while it might be 5 o’clock somewhere, the responsible me realizes it’s too early for a nip of alcohol. I need caffeine, also bad for my anxiety, but I’ll be damn if I let that stop me, and hope that this is only a mini-cluster-fuck I’ve walked into today. I won’t make it to the office’s break room without being spotted. My stomach gurgles because I refuse to drink cold brew in deference to my acid reflux before noon. I’m going to need more Pepto to ease my upset stomach. The fact that it’s pink is only a further insult to the irony. The entire office is pink. It’s no wonder I feel sick. It’s all freaking pink.

Pink. Pink. Pink.

I don’t know how Finn keeps his manhood in check given the overt feminist drive here. I mean, in theory there’s nothing wrong with pink, but if you could see how much pink you’d probably jump ship. Finn isn’t the womanizer he used to be since Maxie showed up, but he must be a special kind of hero tolerating the pink, the hormonal changes that cycle this office monthly, and the influx of Bride’s Weekly, and Cosmo magazines without another male on staff. Rand doesn’t count because they hate each other and his office remains across town at Club Taboo painted in hyper masculine electric blues. At least Finn’s office is decorated in chrome and black marble. If the office ever staged a coup, I’m positive the valiant dark heart of its headquarters would be Finn’s safe space in morbid shades of… black.

The current head honcho of Monroe Matches is back in the office after taking time off to renew, refresh, or whatever it is eccentric rich entrepreneurs do. Carla Monroe is a tornado of energy to be reckoned with in the business of love. She knows everyone who is anyone and she’ll do her best to pair them up in forever matches whether they want a date or not. It’s set us all in a tailspin over the holidays when she left us high and dry last year to figure out the holiday mixer which thank goodness for Maxie went off without a hitch. I have my own theory it was all a sneaky plot to match up her children, but I’m keeping those thoughts to myself.

It’s safer that way.

Trust me.

When I initially interviewed for this job, Carla asked me how I felt about soul mates and love. I told her I was working my way through school first and luckily she hasn’t tried matching me. I probably pose a quandary for her. I’ve been the office manager and PA here for close to two years now and I still don’t know how she does it all managing this company, matching couples, and writing tons of advice columns for various magazines as a contributor. We even have a closet filled with style samples, makeup products, and anything you can imagines needing endorsements. That’s probably why she’s the boss raking in six figures and allowed her horrendous taste in pink while I’m just the office manager three semesters shy of my Bachelor’s Degree in business.

However, the recent word on the street is that she’s retiring. So far I haven’t seen much evidence to corroborate this. I know she wouldn’t leave her son, or daughter to fly solo. She loves this business too much to give it all up, even if she did come up with this cockamamie idea to join forces with the devil. The office has been in chaos since Randall Knights, owner and creator of Knight 2 Remember joined us. His online computer generated dating company threw Monroe Matches for a loop and it’s all been on me to handle it…

Where the heck did I put my prescription?

Children, settle down, we discussed being open to the expansion and new marketing ideas provided they still fall under our current brand and quality clients recognize from us. Carla lectures the senior staff, but the animosity inside is palpable between Finn and the rest of the occupants at the table.

Keeping my hands busy, I sling shot a rubber band across my desk watching it hit the wall and bounce down into the potted fern joining a half dozen other bands from last week. I seriously do not get paid enough to deal with all of this.

We didn’t discuss anything mum. You made an executive decision leaving us to follow blindly. Finn growls at the woman who spent decades at the helm running this tight ship successfully. I would never question her business savvy–just her taste in style glancing around.

Intuition tells me she’s sporting a black suit with pink pin-striping. I’ve been working here long enough to know serious conversations lead in with pinstripes. If so, please commence stabbing me in the eye since cocktails are off the menu until Thirsty Thursday.

I glance at my watch again.

Please.

I listen diligently taking notes chewing the end of my pen when appropriate in case I have to remind anyone of times, dates, or other things Carla Monroe deems necessary. These skills make me indispensable around here. I love my job and my bosses are typically great people, great friends actually, but let’s face it, while the boss may be the anchor, a good administrative staff is what sails the ship, and I’m not tooting my horn here for nothing.

You know Finn, it might actually be fun. Let’s look at the preliminaries. Resident party planner, Maxie MacKenzie attempts to hold her fiancé back from going nuclear during the meeting. Crossing my fingers and toes, I hope I’m spared from getting called in at the end to follow up on whatever administrative task is left.

Filing, check!

Grabbing some Starbucks, double check!

Answering phones, triple check!

Making appointments and picking up dry cleaning, check and check again! I pride myself on anticipating their every need like a good little assistant. Recognizing every need possible like the oxygen they need to breathe. Their voices hush and I lean over in my chair dangerously close to falling out of it to hear them mumbling and debating. I’m waiting for the moment Finn pulls out the Rand card.

We were doing fine, in fact I worked up last quarter’s statistics and we’re up by twelve percent. Papers slap the table. Leaning, I wobble close to toppling out of my chair.

Only twelve percent? Finn is just getting started.

We were aiming for fifteen percent growth. Priscilla rattles off.

We know how important this quarter’s numbers are which is why I think we should– Maxie doesn’t get to finish.

Well if someone hadn’t been busy shagging the bloody competition we wouldn’t be in this pickle now would we? Ah, yes, there was the dastardly Rand reference I waited for all morning.

You just hate this because it was Rand’s idea and you’re still mad at me. Grow up Finn. Pris’ sarcasm hits the room like acid volleying back and forth between the siblings. It’s especially worse since she hooked up with Randall Knights. God love a nerdy billionaire with glasses, hunky dog owner, a competing company based on statistics, and a rocking hot beach body. Did I mention he drives a red Lamborghini that sports a size nine heel print? He’s not my type, a bit too flashy and since he’s got it bad for Pris you can bet his eyes don’t stray under threat of death.

But a girl on a budget can always window shop.

Grow up? How about you keep your legs– Finn doesn’t get to finish when I hear a smack and I imagine him getting the death stare right about now from every female in the room. I could use that cup of fresh coffee, but this office drama is too good to pass up.

Alright you two that’s enough. Maxie interrupts them stopping murder and mayhem for the moment. The last thing I want to do today is clean up a bloody mess in the office. I have it on good authority that red and pink don’t complement each other.

More bickering and yelling comes from inside as I riffle through my desk drawer for a candy to suck on, anything to ease the tension in my head and the acid reflux these folks cause me. I prop my feet up on my desk having tackled all my morning tasks and wait them out like a good little minion.

Going on a matchmaking cruise is over the top! Finn gets louder and the heavy footfalls stalk back and forth like a caged bull in the office.

Finn, think of all the exposure that would be good for new clients. Maybe we could take this international? Do a world matchmaking tour? Maxie tries to reason with him. We call them Fiona and Shrek affectionately behind