He Who Weaves Nightmares | PUBLISHED (Available in Print and eBook Format)

Chapter 27 - Discretionary Hours

Chapter 27 – Discretionary Hours

Dreamer

I hated dressing up after putting in an 80 hour work week.

I remembered the Work Life Balance workshop my mother insisted I attend earlier. The facilitator said we should only work eight hours a day because we're no longer efficient after the eight hour. She also said that the average person had 35 to 40 discretionary hours a week. That's the time we're not working, running errands, eating or sleeping. If we totaled that, we should have at least two and a half months of free time every year. The speaker urged us to reflect and see if we were using our discretionary time productively or if we were wasting these hours on frivolous activities.

What a load of crap. I had been working full time since I was twenty and I had never experienced these so-called discretionary hours.

I should've dragged my demanding boss to the workshop. I wondered if the lecturer would've convinced my boss about the importance of work life balance. If she'd been successful, I would've exacted my year long vacation and used the matter of discretionary time entitlement to support my case.

But I doubted the facilitator would've swayed my boss. If anything, the slave driver I worked for would've persuaded the speaker to work an extra five hours without pay that day.

Still I envied the presenter. She was a 38 year old Training and Development consultant who juggled high quality work, higher education studies and a growing family—she was two months pregnant with her third child—yet she managed to appear as if she were just in her early 20s.

I couldn't say the same about myself. I was only 26 yet I felt 62. Despite getting dolled up.

I was going to say it again. I hated it.

I remembered the first and last time I had been excited to dress up. Markus had bought me this gorgeous dress and these amazing shoes. Mom had spun her magic and I had barely recognized myself.

Then.

Nothing.

There was nothing to forgive then.

There was nothing to get excited about now.

I just wanted to go home and sleep. I was so exhausted.

But I couldn't. I had to suck it in for a few hours while we fake smiled and fake laughed and mingled with the people who supported this industry that I was trying to prevent from swallowing me whole.

"That long gown is stunning, but the sneakers you're wearing are adorkable," Yvonne said as she stood next to me at the bar.

I was sitting on a stool and didn't realize my dress had hiked up and revealed my shoes. I wasn't wearing my six inch pumps much to Maya's, my fashion guru of a sister, disappointment. I had a reason though. In case Escape Plan A didn't get here soon, Plan B was to drink enough so I could endure the blabber. It was a challenge for me to balance myself in sky high heels while sober—more so when I was in the tipsy zone. I had fallen twice before and I still had that tiny crater on my foot from when I had accidentally punctured my foot with my stiletto.

"They're comfortable. The outsoles are softer and lighter, giving me more flexibility and less weight in my stride. Perfect for running," I replied.

"Planning to run away soon?" Yvonne asked, her lips quirking. She knew I abhorred these affairs as much as she adored them.

"As soon as I could," I answered just as my stomach grumbled. Again. I hadn't had lunch yet. What was it with these social events? They spent so much money on the venue and the cocktails but no one thought of serving real food. I was sorely tempted to slip out and grab a cheeseburger from the nearest fast food.

Yvonne handed me a small plate of bite-sized hors d'oeuvres which I consumed—as gracefully as I could—in less than a minute.

"I hope that shushes your gut. I could hear the rumbling noise across the room."

"You know that barely put a dent in my hunger."

Yvonne smiled at me as she sipped her margarita. I had to stop myself from guzzling my vodka tonic.

Later. At home. Vodka and lemon soda then at least twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. Something to look forward to. Something to help me survive the rest of the evening.

I scanned the crowd and saw Noah Hunter, our chairman and CEO. He arrived two hours late, but that was okay. He was the boss after all.

Charismatic Noah Hunter. He had everyone wrapped around his finger. All the employees, particularly the ladies, worshipped him. He was competent, decisive and innovative. He inspired creative thinking among his employees. He empowered the people around him.

It also didn't hurt that he was a tall, broad-shouldered, blue eyed Greek model. Literally. He was an editorial model in Mykonos when he was younger.

But there were two sides to every coin. Even though he insisted I call him partner instead of boss, I often saw the side that pushed me to work 80 hours a week. And it wasn't always positive, constructive or motivating.

When I told Yvonne about Noah not wanting me to call him boss, Yvonne hinted that perhaps he wanted to be more than just a work partner. I laughed at the absurdity of that idea. Noah was perfect. Stop. Almost perfect. The last time I had hoped to be linked to someone as perfect... well... Markus had a valid excuse why he had stood me up that night.

"Why is he here?" Yvonne snapped.

"Because he's the boss?" I murmured before realizing that Yvonne wasn't glaring at Noah, but someone equally striking.

In my opinion, I'd say Markus had an edge over Noah, but I didn't want to annoy Yvonne. Markus' presence irritated her enough. She had never forgiven him for that night. I couldn't figure out why. Although I had to admit I loved her loyalty as my best friend.

"And he had to bring another bimbo," Yvonne muttered as she finished her drink and asked for another.

"You mean the human rights lawyer who's been actively lobbying for the need to review criminal justice reforms and campaigning against illegal detentions? She's a crowd favorite."

Yvonne scoffed. She was obviously not cheering with the crowd. She swigged another glass and returned to her date whom she'd left at a table with her gallery assistant.

I had invited Markus because he was a good friend and he had never stopped encouraging me to follow my dreams. Noah personally invited Yvonne because he admired her work. Among other things.

And here I was alone again.

I couldn't' wait for the night to end. I was going to enjoy my weekend. I had completed all my deliverables and it was the first time in a long time that I wasn't rushing to meet a deadline. I was going to switch off my phone the moment I got home tonight.

Where was Francis? He was supposed to be my ticket out of here.