Read Missed Connections Online
Authors: Tamara Mataya
Missed Connections
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Copyright © 2016 by Tamara Mataya
Cover and internal design © 2016 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Eileen Carey
Cover images © city by Adam Kazmierski/Getty Images, couple by pressmaster/Shutterstock
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Contents
For Amber Tuscan-Clites and Heather Griffin. I love you both more than you know. Thanks for never giving up on me.
Chapter 1
I blot my sweaty palms on my black A-line skirt, feeling horrifically overdressed. The scent of sage and sandalwood hits the back of my throat as I inhale deeply and sneak a glance at the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes down.
Fern crosses her jegging-clad legs and leans back in the seat. Her dark-chocolate eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Where do you see yourself in five years, Sarah?”
Damn. This is my least favorite question, second only to “What are your weaknesses?” Like anyone truthfully answers either of them. My typical answers would send me shooting up the corporate ladder, but I’m in unfamiliar territory dealing with New Age hippies and the patchouli highway.
I have to answer carefully. “I don’t like planning that far in advance because it’s too rigid. I think it’s better to take things as they come and to stay as flexible in regard to the future as I can. There really isn’t a future; there’s only now. You know?”
Please buy my babbling.
She smiles. “Great answer.”
Ziggy nods. “
Great
answer.”
Nailed it! I duck my head and try to look modest but maintain eye contact. New Age hippies are all about meaningful gazes. Should I add a
namaste
? No, that would be too much. God, I need this job. Even if I didn’t have tens of thousands of dollars of student debt to repay, New York’s cost of living would cripple me.
Ziggy holds his paper out to Fern and points at something. She nods. He swivels back and forth in his chair, and I try not to stare at his bony knees peeking out from his jean shorts. I also try not to stare at his hair. His salt-and-pepper ponytail wings out above his ears, giving him a sort of wild vibe, like Jack Nicholson in
The Witches of Eastwick
. “What made you want to work here at Inner Space?”
The fact that I got laid off from the law firm six weeks ago and my standards are rapidly plummeting in the city’s employer-friendly job market?
“There was just something about the ad. I couldn’t not reply, if that makes sense.”
Fern and Ziggy share a smile, and Fern leans forward. “I’m going to say something, and I want you to tell us the first words that come into your mind.”
“Word association?”
“Yes! You’re sharp.” Fern’s voice has grown steadily warmer through the interview. She brings her long, blond braid over her shoulder. “Okay. The law of attraction.” She spreads her fingers like a slow-motion explosion.
Not this
Secret
“Law of Attraction” crap again. This is the third interview that’s mentioned it. “You attract what you expect.”
Ziggy squints. “And what does that mean to you?”
Nothing, because I put so much good out there and life keeps crapping on me but rewarding assholes left, right, and center! “Well.” Can I answer this being mostly truthful? “If you go around treating people badly and putting bad energy out there, chances are that’s what you’re going to draw to yourself.”
“Great answer.”
Ziggy claps once. “Great answer. Do you have any questions for us?”
How much would you be paying me?
“Why did the last receptionist leave?”
“Ah. We’re sort of about looking forward, not backward.” Fern frowns.
Damn it, I’m losing them. “I totally get that. I just sort of got a weird vibe around the desk when we walked in.” In the dark, on a Sunday, in an empty spa.
“Very astute of you.” Fern’s smile returns. “She wasn’t a good fit for us here at Inner Space. Between us, she was putting all kinds of negativity into the place that really messed with the whole business. But she’s leaving just as soon as we find her replacement.”
Suddenly, the Sunday interview makes sense. “She doesn’t know yet?”
Ziggy shakes his head. “We had a talk with her spirit. A real etheric heart-to-heart about where she wanted to be. It wasn’t here.”
They talked to her spirit? What does that even mean? My mind scrabbles around in the rubble of a few New Age things I’ve read about and discarded as BS. “Like, astral traveling?”
“Yes!” Fern looks at Ziggy. “She gets it. You know, I’d be happy not looking at any other applicants.”
“Are you guys typically closed on the weekends? Isn’t that a lot of revenue you’re missing out on? Some people can’t make it in during the workweek.”
Ziggy frowns. “The people who truly need us will find a way to make it happen.”
Fern nods. “We pick up so much energy during the week, we need the weekends off to de-stress and clear our fields of any karmic weight that’s not ours. Money isn’t everything—and we do have a part-time therapist, Blake, who comes in on the weekends for anyone who absolutely can’t get in during the week.”
“I completely agree,” I say, trying to erase the frowns from their faces. “I think it’s a brave, admirable choice on your part to eschew the…rat race.” Damn it, I need to learn more New Age terms if I’m going to make it work here.
If
I get the job.
Fern smiles again. “I think you’ll fit in perfectly.”
Relief that this might work out actually brings tears to my eyes. In the six weeks I’ve been unemployed, I’ve sent out hundreds of résumés and been to thirty unsuccessful interviews. This is my first glimmer of hope. “Really? I would so love to work here. It’s such a beautiful place, and it’s so peaceful.”
“You’re so open.” Ziggy puts his hands out about three feet from me, palms up. “I get a good vibe from you. You have such a vibrant energy. We wanted someone who
wanted
to be here, who would be a good fit spiritually. We have a couple more applicants, but we’ll give you a call tonight and let you know our decision.”
“Thank you. I look forward to hearing from you.” I stand and shake their hands before they show me to the door.
* * *
The apartment feels empty when I return from my interview with the hippies.
“Pete?” Silence greets my call, so I relock the door behind me and step inside. Going to the duffel bag in the living room, I find a pair of shorts and a tank top and take them to the bathroom to change, thankful Pete’s window-unit air conditioner is strong enough to cut through the sweltering heat. I’ve been crashing on my best friend Pete’s couch since I lost my apartment. While I’d heard that we’re all supposed to have a safety net of three months of salary in a savings account, with my student loan payments coming out of my bank account with alarming alacrity every month, I didn’t have the chance to create that safety net while I was gainfully employed.
Then I was fired. It was just over six weeks ago, and the way they let me go still makes my face burn with resentment and shame. I’d made it to twenty-five years old without being fired. Technically, I wasn’t fired, but whatever the wording, I was still marched from the building, clutching my small box of personal items as though it were a life raft as I sank further and further into my shock.
I savagely pull my dark hair back into a ponytail and scrub the makeup from my face. The worst part was that I was unable to stop the tears. Those bastards saw me cry. The dismissal clause in the contract had been ambiguously worded in their favor, but I’d been so eager to start work for one of the biggest law firms in the city that I’d foolishly signed anyway. I’d been so flattered, thought myself so lucky to find a salary that covered my bills—barely—without having any experience in my field. Fresh from graduation, they snapped me up…and spat me out six months later.
And I’d gotten such a good feeling from Brenda, the partner who’d hired me—and then fired me. She was sincere when she’d told me that if it were up to her, I’d be staying. She even assured me it had nothing to do with my job performance, as if that would have made me feel better. It hadn’t. For whatever reason, the senior partner in the firm had decided he didn’t like me, and since his name was above the door, his was the only opinion that mattered. He didn’t even fire me himself, just slunk out early that day, trusting that he’d never have to look at my face again. Coward.
But he was right. I’m still unemployed, and he’s still rich and powerful and a domineering misogynist with rancid breath. The last of the hopeful buzz from my interview at Inner Space fades away, and I head for the kitchen. The clock on the stove says it’s 1:08 p.m. I could eat something for a late lunch, but my stomach is too tense for me to think about food, so I pad over to Pete’s desk and turn on his laptop.