Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot bunnies.
A Week In The Unchanging Life Of Rosalie Hale.
Monday
7:15 am.
Alarm clock goes off.
Light goes on.
Shower.
Dress.
Coffee.
Toast (buttered with one teaspoon of raspberry seedless jam and then cut diagonally).
Hair.
Make up.
Keys, Purse, Phone.
Out the door by 8:20.
My morning is always the same. Always. I don't like change and I don't consider that to be a bad thing. I like knowing what's coming next and where I should be.
I put my iPod on and it begins to play. This is one variation in my morning. Today's song is Rihanna 'Don't Stop The Music'. I stop at Starbucks and the kid behind the counter, Riley, fetches my tall black. I pour in one sugar and drink it as I walk to my office block. I take the elevator to the fourth floor and walk down the corridor to my office. My name is on the plaque on the wooden door.
Rosalie Hale – Public Relations Manager.
OK, so I get a little bit smug when I see that sign, but why the hell not? I worked damn hard to get this job and it wasn't easy. I'd started as an intern at this company, running errands for every lazy ass in the building and getting a lot of shit for it too. But I stuck with it, because the quickest way to get a promotion was to work internally. And sure, now I'm PR manager in a major broadcasting corporation, but when you have to take your own boss to court for sexual harassment because he said he couldn't promote you without incentive, it's easy to wish that things had gone smoother.
Maybe I wouldn't have gotten a reputation as the biggest bitch in the hemisphere.
Well… it's not my problem. These people work for me. I don't give a crap if they don't like me, as long as they do their jobs.
I began to click through my emails, sipping the dregs of my coffee as I deleted the junk, forwarded the ones that could be dealt with by my staff and opened one or two from Head Office. They were fairly dull, wanting the stats for the last quarter in my office and asking for a review of the staff. Like I don't have enough to do.
9:01. The phone rings. My day begins.
We had a staff meeting at 10. Tyler Crowley gave me the details on a meeting he'd had with a new computer company who wanted us to organise their television commercials. A nice nest egg for us, as the little company was expanding by huge amounts every quarter.
Mike Newton tore his eyes away from my breasts long enough to admit that he had yet to finish an ironclad contract with a company we'd been chasing for months. When I gave him my Ice Bitch Glare, he reddened and began to mutter about getting it done by the end of the week.
"Get it done, Mr Newton. If they slip away from us now, the Higher Ups will have our heads. Mr Crowley, Miss Stanley, please come to my office in twenty minutes, I have another lead I'd like you to chase." I say, snapping my folder shut. Tyler and Jessica nod and I push my chair back, leaving whilst the rest of them linger for chitchat and caffeine.
I go out for lunch. I go to the deli four blocks over, where they make the best tuna on rye in Seattle, with still water and an oatmeal cookie. It's raining, so I use my plain black umbrella to get there. They have my order already waiting and I sit right in the back, reading the last James Cameron until it's time to walk back the office. I chew a piece of gum on the way to freshen my breath before starting my paperwork and organising my meetings for the week.
6:34. I walk through my front door, a bag of groceries in one hand. I put on the radio to some easy listening as I put them away and grill some chicken and bake a potato.
Tuesday
7:15 am.
Alarm clock goes off.
Light goes on.
Shower.
Dress.
Coffee.
Toast (buttered with one teaspoon of raspberry seedless jam and then cut diagonally).
Hair.
Make up.
Keys, Purse, Phone.
Out the door by 8:20.
The song is 'Why Do You Let Me Stay Here' by She and Him. Riley has my coffee ready. I stop by the little table and pour in my one sugar, stirring it with a wooden stick.
I happen to look up.
I see bright blue eyes. I see short, dark curls. I see a slight smile but huge dimples. He's leaning at the opposite end of the counter, waiting for his order. He watches me. I watch him for a moment too long and then jerk my head away, picking up my coffee and walking out without looking back.
Luckily for both of us, Mike finished up the contract and locked the client into a 24 month contract with us. That made my boss happy, which made me pleased, which made me ignore Mike staring at my breasts as I left for lunch.
Tuna on rye. Still water. Oatmeal cookie.
It's not raining. The umbrella stays in my office.
I get home at 6:28 and eat pasta with ham and cheese. I finish my book and choose another one from my small selection.
Wednesday.
7:15 am.
Alarm clock goes off.
Light goes on.
Shower.
Dress.
Coffee.
Toast (buttered with one teaspoon of raspberry seedless jam and then cut diagonally).
Hair.
Make up.
Keys, Purse, Phone.
Out the door by 8:20.
I go to Starbucks. It's Riley's day off, but Bree knows my order and points to my cup. As I pick it up, I realise that it is not a plain black but a latte with some nutty scent floating from the foamy surface. I frown and glance at Bree. She shrugs.
"The man in the corner bought it. He wrote something on the sleeve." She says, turning to the next customer.
I examine the corrugated cardboard sleeve. Sure enough, scrawled across it in black marker pen are the words, Change is hard.
I look around and see blue-eyes-curls-dimples watching from the other end of the counter. The dimples appear and I frown slightly before taking a sip of the latte. It's sweet but not overpowering, creamy and pleasant. I take another sip.
It's not what I'm used. Bree glances at me warily.
"Want me to make the usual?"
"… No. This is fine." I said shortly and glance again at blue-eyes-curls-dimples before turning to leave. I force myself not to look back. The song is 'No One But You' by Brian May.
I am 12 minutes late for lunch, because Mike fucked up the fax machine and apparently I'm the only person in the building who knows how to fix it. I eat my tuna on rye faster than usual and take my oatmeal cookie back to the office with me.
I see Tyler and Jessica having a cigarette on the street outside the building before I go in. He is watching her mouth as she takes a drag on the white cylinder and he swallows hard. She doesn't notice, continuing to talk whilst waving her hands around in exaggerated movements.
Mike gets in the elevator with me and surreptitiously glances at my breasts again. I don't bother to give him the bitch face.
I get home at 6:26 and make myself a salad with feta cheese. I read until it gets dark and then go to bed.
Thursday.
7:15 am.
Alarm clock goes off.
Light goes on.
Shower.
Dress.
Coffee.
Toast.
I hesitate, with my hand on the raspberry seedless jam. And then I reach for the marmalade instead.
Change isn't that hard. It's only marmalade. I cut it diagonally.
Hair.
Make up.
Keys, Purse, Phone.
Out the door by 8:20.
Riley is back and looks at me nervously as I approach the counter, not looking around to see if blue-eyes-curls-dimples is here. He gestures to a cup.
"This is for you. I can make your usual though…" He says uncertainly. I wave him away and sip the drink. It's not as sweet as yesterday, but with a hint of cinnamon. Slightly bitter, but I prefer it that way. I read the scrawled message on the cup.
Change is the only constant.
I catch Riley's eye and he comes over.
"Is everything OK, Miss Hale?"
"It's fine. Is the man who bought this drink still here?"
"Yes, he's sitting at the table near the back." Riley goes to gesture but I stop him and press a bill into his hand.
"Whatever he orders tomorrow, tell him it's on me." I say and Riley nods bemusedly.
The song that plays as I step onto the grey street, full of grey people is 'No Surprise' by Daughtry.
Jessica is perched on the edge of Mike's desk when I walk through the office. Tyler is making himself coffee and looking miserable. I don't comment. I slip the cardboard holder from my cup into my desk drawer.
I am sent a folder from the higher ups about a potential new client. I delegate to Tyler to keep him busy and after a moment's thought, ask Jessica to assist him in researching their previous marketing and aims for a new campaign. Mike is relieved to have his desk back, Tyler looks pleased and Jessica is painfully oblivious.
I have tuna on rye and an oatmeal cookie for lunch and I finish my novel before I finish eating. I watch people walking by the window and try not to think about blue-eyes-curls-dimples.
I get home at 6:59. I had needed groceries and microwave an instant meal before doing some of my own research on the new client.
Friday.
7:15 am.
Alarm clock goes off.
Light goes on.
Shower.
Dress.
Coffee.
Cereal. Cornflakes, a chopped banana and semi-skimmed milk.
Hair.
Make up.
Keys, Purse, Phone.
Out the door by 8:20.
I listen to 'Love Fool' by the Cardigans. It annoys me and I switch. 'Anyway You Want It' by Journey.
Riley looks less nervous today. He hands me my cup and I sip it. A latte with a hint of orange. Too sweet, almost like a dessert than a caffeine kick.
Change is inevitable – except from a vending machine.
I smile and glance at Riley, who points to the front of the store. I glance over my shoulder and blue-eyes-curls-dimples is watching me. His smile widens and the dimples deepen impossibly. He holds up his cup in toast gesture and mouths a single word.
"Monday."
Tyler and Jessica report back on their findings and I put Tyler in charge of chasing the new client. He beams with pride and I put the cardboard holder into my drawer with the others.
For lunch, I have tuna on rye with an oatmeal cookie.
I get home at 6:24 and watch mindless television until it is dark. I read until I fall asleep.
Saturday.
8:30 am.
I wake up.
Light goes on.
Dress.
Hair tied back.
Running shoes on.
I select a different playlist at the weekends. I jog to 'Born to Run' by Bruce Springsteen. I relish the feel of the pavement and the burn in my muscles. I am sweating and full of adrenaline when I stop outside Starbucks. I always get a coffee and buy a newspaper from the stand outside, take it home and read it whilst I have breakfast.
Riley doesn't work weekends. A girl called Emily serves me. I stare at the board.
I am unwilling to order a tall black.
Emily looks at me impatiently. I'm aware that there is a queue behind me. I deliberate.
Change is hard. Change is constant. Change is inevitable.
I don't know if I am ready for change.
"Two café mochas."
I know it is before I turn around. Emily rings the order through the register and blue-eyes-curls-dimples hands over the money. We move away from the register towards the counter to wait for our drinks and he smiles at me.
"I thought you might take the weekends off." He comments. His voice is deep with a slightly raspy edge. My heart rate keeps the frantic pace I set from my run and I avert my eyes to the sticky table top.
It hadn't occurred to me that he might be here.
"I guess that caffeine addiction doesn't understand the concept of weekends." I say, trying to come across as casual and light hearted. His smile widens.
"Would it be strange to say that I'm glad you came in today?" He asks and I can't help smiling a little.
"No stranger than me admitting that I'm glad you did too."
His name is Emmett. He's an architect. He moved to Seattle four months ago from Tennessee after getting a better job. He likes sports and reading mystery novels.
He comes to Starbucks every day and has something different every day.
He first saw me come in two months ago. He saw that I ordered the same thing every day.
He says that I caught his attention because I was tall. Because I was proud. Because I was trapped in an unchanging routine.
He says that he wanted to show me how good change could be but didn't know how until this week.
He asks me to say something.
He asks me if he can kiss me.
Sunday.
9:43 am.
Alarm clock goes off.
I get up.
Put on my dressing gown.
Coffee.
Toast (buttered with one teaspoon of raspberry seedless jam and then cut diagonally).
On a tray.
Back to bed.
Emmett bites into the toast as I push a cup of coffee to him. He pulls me closer, nuzzling his face into my neck and his stubble scratches at my skin. I love that feeling.
The breakfast goes cold as he kisses me again and again, hands roaming and squeezing and rubbing and stroking as he shows me how good change can be. Emmett is a good change. I think that soon he's going to be something I keep the same, but I think he'll keep making changes for me.
Some changes are good. Some don't need to be made.
I tell him that I like my coffee tall and black with one sugar.
A/N: This plot bunny has been nibbling away for quite some time. Let me know what you think.
Love
Katie