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Prior to the situation that ended Catherine Rose's incomplete career, a truckload's worth of coffee may or may not have been involved, which in turn induced her sudden lavatory distress.
Catherine's stomach had been churning and threatening to expel its liquid contents all day long, but she had successfully evaded such embarrassment two times already and did not foresee an incoming third round so soon. Hence why she decided to steal a fifteen-minute nap before resuming the tedious task of composing documentation and specifications.
She could've sworn it was when Delancey started shaking her that caused this unfortunate happening—throwing up on a tall, lean figure obstructing her intended path towards the washroom called David Marquis, president and CEO of Marquis Tech, a multinational conglomerate. A. K. A, Catherine's boss. And all she could do was cry inwardly because slowing down wasn't an option at the speed she had been rushing; neither was opening her mouth to warn him.
"I didn't mean for that to happen," Catherine said, recalling numerous people accompanying David—colleagues who had watched her embarrass herself; their thunderous footsteps suspended in time and space, quietly living on within the enclosure of her mind.
"Good God... I'm fired aren't I?"
Stacey placed a hand over Catherine's lovingly. "We can't be sure about anything until tomorrow." A drunken smile splayed across her face. "So you can start bawling tomorrow, just not today."
"Gee, thanks."
Eying the curious sight, both disturbed and fascinated by Cat and Stacey's drunken camaraderie, Delancey's half-eaten meat featured unashamedly within her ajar mouth cavity until Gideon pushed it close.
"I can still see their wide-ass gasps, Stace!"
"And hear their indiscreet mummers!"
"Their insults!"
"Albeit weak insults," Stacey said, earning a skeptical look from everyone across the table, and Catherine jumped out of her seat, upset.
"Their fucking degradation was uncalled-for! I genuinely wanted to apologize!"
"Gag reflexes are indiscriminate!" Stacey cheered her friend on, encouraging behaviour easily considered indecent and would likely result in a public disturbance charge. "Gag reflexes are indiscriminate! Gag reflexes are indiscriminate!"
It was true—Catherine had tried apologizing but gagged instead, heightening the sense of anxiety that filled the heart of everyone in the room; their unnerving eyes narrowing in on her, eager to see if she would repeat her mortal mistake.
But she had given them no such satisfaction, bowing a bow of utter melancholy, unable to look Mr. Marquis in the eye—or speak at all—when a group of heavily equipped janitors raced to rid him of her biohazardous material.
Engrossed in removing himself from this dreadful situation, she felt encouraged to examine David's hazel orbs to see if there lay even the slightest hint of compassion behind them.
For the first time in the longest while, Catherine had actually prayed to God, hoping that underneath Mr. Marquis' pompous demeanour would be a kind soul. A man who valued integrity, honesty, and benevolence. But as expected, there existed none. Only a pair of creased brows boring into his savvy features and thinned lips flattened by suppressed rage.
"I guess even situations like this are outside God's expertise," Catherine sighed and drooped back in her chair.
"Of course," Amara said, disappointed. "There is only so much deities can do for mortals who choose not to help themselves," she scolded, performing her role as the ever-so-pragmatic mother of their little group. "Whatever happened to clearing your system or something? How could you brazenly do what you did, knowing fully what it'd cost you?"
"Uhh... so, Cat," Landon interceded, trying to level Amara's over-arched shoulders. But she swatted him away, earning a bruised expression that almost overturned her stone-cold persona.
Almost.
Feeling a sharp sense of guilt overcome him, "Have you told Kenneth about this yet?" Landon continued, forming a relevant question which Rose iterated, rubbing her chin convincingly before gleaming in delight.
And because those who knew her were conscious of her evasive penchant, "Why tell him now when I can reveal it on his birthday?" Catherine said, making (almost) everyone slap their foreheads, complicated with mixed feelings. "The element of surprise is lacking in such celebrations, don't you think?"
"While I'm inclined to agree, I'd like to know a bit more about this Kenneth person." An unfamiliar voice jumped in.
"And you are?" Delancey sneered, regarding the intruder with baleful contempt. "Who is she, Hun?"
"She,"—Gideon stuffed his girlfriend's face with an idle piece of chicken—"Is Elizabeth Williams, who's very nice. So do try to keep up with her benevolence. Alright, babe?"
"I've literally been dining with you people for thirty minutes now," Elizabeth said, affronted.
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah."
"Is it trying to tell me to feel sorry for its non-existent presence?"
"Alright, guys! Calm down!" Landon interceded again, getting out of his chair to stand behind Elizabeth. Squeezing her tense shoulders, "I know how you feel about new people, Delancey, but Eliza's pretty cool. Trust," Landon offered Miss Williams a dazzling, friendly smile, which Amara perceived as a flirty gesture.
Awash by emotion, her fork clicked against its ceramic counterpart, fretting over the possibility that Landon earnestly had an interest in a woman outside their tight friend group.
"You call her Eliza?"
Amara's brows creased uncomfortably, perturbed by the way he eased into Elizabeth's personal space—a social scenario nobody knew why she disliked so much but accepted, and Amara preferred it that way because expressing affection towards the opposite sex had always been challenging.
Gideon was very accommodating of her weird quirk compared to Landon, whose outgoing personality came without boundaries. He can never go a second without hugging someone—or something.
"Yes," Landon replied. "Is that a problem?"
"No."
Afraid of dwelling on the bothersome experience, Amara swallowed her discomfort and began fidgeting through a platter of fries and honey-garlic drumsticks. Pretending to be disengaged from the matter when she was everything but, Catherine suddenly shot out from her chair (again)—a butter knife in hand this time—causing restaurant staff and paying customers to move warily in their seats.
"Fucking hell! The only problem here is how you people keep ignoring me!" She yelled. "Listen to me, damn it! I'm the victim here! I'm the one who's going to be fired and can't afford a decent white wedding. Needless to say a court wedding!"
"You exaggerate." Delancey adeptly swiped the cutlery from Cathrine's hand as Gideon caught her unstable form from behind. Then, pulling, folding and shuffling three straws from a dispenser, "Guys, we'll need to draw these. Now," she went around the table, offering one to each person.
"Straws? What? Why?"
"Someone's gotta drive you and Stacey's drunk asses home tonight."
"I'm not drunk!" Catherine wobbled in Gideon's grip, and Delancey raised a questioning brow.
Eventually, two unfortunate individuals with the shortest straws—Amara and Landon—got stuck with Catherine, while Gideon and Delancey took charge of Stacey, who clearly mistook her dinner plate for a gossamer pillow.
Since all the tissue papers on their table were used up and Delancey had gone to hail a taxi, Gideon was undoubtedly disgruntled. Seeing this, Amara offered a wet wipe from her tote bag before excusing herself, pulling Landon away into a discrete corner.
"Hey."
"Hey." Amara crossed her arms, visibly upset. "I don't want things being awkward between the two of us—"
Landon released a throaty breath, utterly relieved.
"That's good. That's good because I didn't either."
"—But could you please settle the bill? Catherine and I will head out alone. Thank you."
"That... doesn't that sound awkward to you?"
"No," Amara said matter-of-factly, quitting the conversation as she headed back to their table. With half the group prepped to leave, she whispered something in Catherine's ear, smiling, before heading elsewhere—presumably to the washroom—and Landon wobbled back (alone) as well, disheartened.
Readying his grey wool coat and office backpack before he proceeded to the reception desk, Eliza twisted in her seat, gawking at her friend's forlorn state of mind.
Then, as Landon wobbled away, she kept count of how many times his belongings slipped from his grip because of his unsteady gait before returning to face Catherine, who was nibbling away on a discarded piece of meat. "This get-together thing, it's ended on an awkward note, hasn't it?" Eliza jested more than asked. "Are your guys sure she and Landon aren't dating?—that Amara chick?" she asked, and Catherine bubbled, choking on a random piece of bone.
Coughing and laughing hysterically, "Before those two even dare hold hands, Jesus, Lucifer, and Kim Jong-un will have to become best friends first!" Catherine cried out. "Heaven and hell will sign a neutrality pact on that day, I swear!"
"Kim Jong-un?" Eliza scratched her nose; a habit she exhibited whenever her thinking cap went on. "Why would Kim Jong-un be an element in a deity set?"
"Well, someone's gotta complete the unholy trinity. Why not some supreme-leader-god mortal?" Catherine's face turned serious.
Eliza protested objectively. "Why would Jesus be in an unholy trinity?" Catherine shrugged objectively, stating that it was more reason their relationship will never happen, when Gideon clicked his tongue, silencing the contentious conversation.
Before leaving, "Hint, hint, try not to say that around either of them," Gideon winked playfully, lifting and anchoring Stacey with his right shoulder while lugging two small, yet heavy, handbags on the other.
After saying their goodbyes, both women sat alone at the table; Catherine still chewing and convulsing from an unwitherable portion of bone and Eliza attempting to keep busy on a calculator app. The restaurant—bustling with discussions, revelling, and activity—somehow perforated both their eardrums with silence because neither person initiated a conversation; Catherine knew little about the stranger Landon had dragged into their gathering, while Eliza was weary of her interlocuter's spontaneity.
Mater of fact, she herself was often called spontaneous. But upon witnessing Rose break away from her friend's restraint and march toward David Marquis, acting against better judgment, it was impossible to categorize herself as so.
The apprehensive ocean of staff that seemed to have dried out, like a deluge, resurfaced, thirsting to see what the latest commotion was all about. It was Catherine Rose, pulling an impertinent stunt that deafened whispers with a loud, "Hey, shithead!"
The renegade stopped Mr. Marquis in his tracks, behaving in a manner that Manager Vladimir, who Eliza had happened to be beside, called "everything to gain and nothing to lose." Defeated, the old man had been massaging his nose bridge, irked because he tried putting in a good word for Catherine, pleading a persuasive case that she just had to ruin.
"What you did today..." Eliza begun with trepidation. Despite her medium frame, she knew that Miss Rose wasn't a coward, unlike her, and packed a punch that shouldn't be messed with. "Do I regret it?"
"No."
"Oh?" Elizabeth swallowed, more scared of Catherine than ever. "How can you be so confident about such a life-altering decision?"
"Miss Williams, I wanna work in an environment that sees and respects me as a person, not my worth," Catherine dropped her bone, passionate about the topic, speaking in all sincerity. "So, no. I would still fire myself because there's no way I'll stoop low for such a FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!" she abruptly exploded, earning a beleaguered smile from Elizabeth.
"I remember saying to myself, 'wait a goddamn minute!' If I'm going to get fired here like this, I may as well end it with a bang!"
"I... I see."
"I was going to go big and go home!"
"Going home is exactly what you will do, little Cat." Amara returned from the washroom and handled her stupored friend. Picking up both of their belongings, Amara placed them around Catherine's neck and slid on her coat and handbag. "I can't believe you kissed six figures a year goodbye, just like that."
But before that, Catherine broke away from her friend's grip to confirm Miss Williams' reasons for attending the occasion—regardless of the possibility Landon may have coerced her to come along—impressed with her generous patience.
Seeing Landon approach from the reception desk, Eliza rushed a response, not pausing to consider her words. However, they the words were chosen wrongly because Catherine's smile faded instantly, unbelief brimming in her grass-green eyes.
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