Mr Spencer(31)

Sarah smiles warmly and stands from her seat. “This is your desk, Lottie.” She pulls out my chair. “Don’t worry about Veronica. She’s just a massive cunt.”

My eyes pop. “Oh.”

“Yeah, Cunty McCunt Face.” She sighs. “I keep telling Paul to fuck her so she’ll be in a better mood, but he won’t.”

“You fuck her,” Paul cries out. “That vagina would be fucking green, I tell you. Nobody in their right mind would fuck her. I’m Paul, by the way.” He smiles as he stands and shakes my hand. Paul is around thirty, at a guess, and he’s quite good looking with dark hair and height that towers over me.

I bite my bottom lip to stifle my huge smile. Nobody ever talks like this around me. It feels weird… and good.

“Hello, Paul.” I hunch my shoulders together. “I have no idea what I’m doing, by the way.”

“Neither do we,” Sarah says casually. “We all hate this job. It completely sucks. You should run while you can.”

I smile, unable to help it. “Then why do you work here?” I ask.

“Can’t be fucked to look for a new job.” Sarah sighs as she turns back to her computer. “That takes effort.”

“I’m travelling. I’m only working here to save up for my next trip,” Paul admits.

I smile and look around the office. “Makes sense.”

“What are you doing here?” Paul frowns. “Why would you want to work in the mailroom of this shit hole?”

I giggle at his language. “I was working in a nursery and wanted to come to London. This was the first job that I found.”

They both nod, completely buying the story.

“So, it’s just the three of us here then?” I ask.

“No, there are another two boys, but they are upstairs delivering photocopies at the moment. Or hiding in a storeroom somewhere,” Paul mutters under his breath.

“Come on, I’ll give you the tour,” Sarah says.

“Okay.” I follow her over to the large conference tables.

“So here is where we sort the mail every morning. We bag it into floor levels and then into departments. You and I deliver that every afternoon.”

“Right.”

She turns. “Don’t ever let the boys deliver it, that’s our job.”

“Okay.” I frown. “Why can’t they deliver it?”

“Because it’s the best fucking perving session ever. My God. There are some hot men upstairs. If we ever let the boys deliver it, they will never give the job back to us.”

I smirk. I like this girl. “Makes sense.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” she asks over her shoulder.

“No.”

Her eyes light up. “Well, you’ve come to the right place to work. This place is hot dick city.”

I laugh out loud. Hot dick city? Who knew there was such a place?

“This room here is hell on Earth.” I look in and see seven large photocopiers all lined up in a row.

“Why?” I frown.

“Because we have to print out and bind the training manuals for level nine.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s the worst. We do that on Wednesdays. We usually all end up fighting, and then we have to go to the pub after work to recover.”

I smile. Even that sounds fun to me.

“So, we do mail every day, making manuals on Wednesdays. Photocopying happens every day, and we have to answer delivery emails, too.”

I frown. “Delivery emails?”

She rolls her eyes. “If the twats upstairs are waiting for a package, they email us to ask where it is.”

I really do like this girl. She reminds me of Elizabeth.

“All right. What else do we do?” I ask.

“We put up with a lot of crap from everyone. Especially Veronica.”

“Where do we start?” I ask.

“We have coffee and toast while we wait for the mail to arrive.”

“Sounds great.” Sounds normal.





*



Four o’clock, and I’m pushing the trolley between the desks.

“Hey.” A tall dark and handsome man smiles and leans back in his chair. “The mail cart is especially beautiful today.”

I give him a weak smile. “Thanks.”

“This is Lottie,” Sarah introduces as she hands over the mail. “She’s new, and doing a fab job, I might add.”

If I could be excited, I would be, but I’m too exhausted from pushing this two-hundred pound mail cart around the building for the last three hours.

I have been flirted with, teased, whistled at, befriended, and asked on four drink dates tonight.

This is the best day of my life… and the hardest.

I have never been so physically exhausted before. Who knew that all this mail has to be delivered to the whole building by hand? It seems so primitive and labour intensive. And where the hell does it all come from? Hasn’t anyone ever heard of emails, for Christ’s sake?

I have paper cuts on my hands and blisters on my feet. My hair is a mess, and I’m quite sure I stink like a pig.

Sarah hands the last of the mail out. “Let’s head back downstairs, Lottie.”