Company Ink [PUBLISHED]

t w o

"Cassandra Michelle Carrington!" The fierceness in Monique's voice causes my entire body to tremble, a lone slice of cucumber slides down my cheek and onto my chest. "What are you doing?"

I twist my neck and squint. "Relaxing?" I say hesitantly, popping both cucumbers into my mouth. Ew, I think I just ate some face mask residue. My gaze shifts to the digital clock on our PVR console. Damn, she came home early, it's only 7 pm. Her classes usually go late on Fridays. I hope she didn't come home just to yell at me. I knew I shouldn't have texted her with my news. I made sure to include a shit ton of emojis to soften the blow. Can't get mad at a smiley face.

"You just got fired and you're lying here in pajamas listening to Usher?" Monique shakes her head, her voluminous tight curls swaying with the motion. "You should be looking for a job, Cass!"

Wow, straight to it. "First of all, I wasn't fired! I was laid off. There is a big difference." I sit up, dusting the chocolate chip cookie crumbs off of my shirt. "Secondly, I think that taking a few hours to unwind after such a stressful day is within my right!" Our entire dining room table is covered in dirt from my attempt to revive poor Stella. I won't know for a week or so if my surgical skills were successful, but I'm hopeful that she'll make a full recovery.  

"Cass, come on. You told me you'd look for a job as soon as you finished with your little DIY spa session, that was four hours ago. I'm not trying to be pushy or mean, but we have rent due in three weeks."

I roll my eyes. "I'll have you know that I did take a few minutes to look for a job earlier."

    "Really? On what website?" Monique purses her full lips, her foot tapping repeatedly on our walnut hardwood floor.

I hope she doesn't scratch the wood with her shoes. We had to search high and low for a condo that had real hardwood, not that laminate garbage. Truthfully, Monique didn't care but I figured if the interiors are designed with good quality material so must the exterior. Living on the 26th floor in a region that's expecting a giant earthquake any day is terrifying. Even though rent is crazy high, I like knowing that this building is seismically sound.

"It wasn't like a traditional website, per se-" I hesitate watching Monique's expression tighten. I'm sensing she might not appreciate my out-of-the-box thinking. "I just sent an SOS into the Twittersphere."

    "Cassie! How is tweeting going to help you?" Monique pinches the bridge of her nose, walking over to the kitchen island. She pours herself a glass of wine from the half empty bottle before sitting down on a bar chair.

My mother once told me that a good Chianti can fix anything. Mother's are never wrong. And personally, I'm feeling much better.

    "I have over three thousand followers," I defend myself. "One of them is bound to see my tweet, DM me, and offer me a job."