Chapter 6

For the first time in the entirety of my career, I participated in casual Friday. It was weird to wake up in the morning and not pull out a hanger with a business suit, but I reminded myself that it would be stupid to wear a business suit to the office, change into casual clothes for Wes’s place and change yet again into the sleeping outfit I’d bought from Victoria’s Secret.

I put on black skinny jeans, a tight knitted black turtleneck with a triangular cut in the back that wasn’t low enough to be considered anything close to suggestive, black ankle boots, a dark cranberry-colored wool infinity scarf and a long navy blue coat for the rain. It doesn’t always rain in Southern California, but when it does, we act like a bunch of babies and get all our warm clothes out like it’s the middle of winter in the Arctics.

I curled my hair with a one-inch curling iron, brushed it out into beach waves, put it up into a messy ponytail and sprayed some hairspray to give it some volume—something that I usually did, but never for the office. Then I spent a good forty-five minutes putting on that makeup that had cost me more than I’d wanted to spend.

When I finished and looked in the mirror I saw that I wasn’t myself.

I was Gal Gadot’s Mexican cousin.

Whatever. It wasn’t like I was ugly. I’d never said I was. Putting on makeup to look like this felt like a lie to me. This wasn’t who I was. I’d always been a straight-forward person. What you saw was what you got. Looks had never been important to me. Some light makeup to cover up the dark circles underneath my eyes and even out my skin tone was usually all I needed, and even that I only did to look presentable at the workplace. There was a certain amount of professionalism that came from looking like I hadn’t just rolled out of bed.

I liked that my brain was my best attribute. I didn’t have to go to medical school like Wes, or even go to college like the other people my age to know that I was smarter than average. I’d been an excellent student in high school, but somewhere between changing schools too many times, I’d ended up barely having enough credits to graduate. That was not my fault, but I’d learned to accept it. I’m sure there were grants and scholarships for foster kids, but I’d jumped right into career mode after high school. It was possible to make it without a college degree. These days experience mattered more, and I hadn’t even had to go into thousands of dollars of debt to get where I am. I’m living proof that sometimes grit and dedication is all you need.

Still, maybe a guy like Wes deserved Gal Gadot’s Mexican cousin. Tonight he was going to have that. I was going to offer ‘whatever’ exactly in this lie, but I wasn’t going to give myself shit for it. I wanted to do this for him. I just hoped I was enough.

I packed an overnight bag. All my toiletries, the clothes I’d bought from Victoria’s Secret(with the tags cut and discarded), a pair of slippers, knee-high socks, my long black plush fleece robe with sherpa lining to wear over my sleeping outfit in case his apartment would be cold, an extra set of casual clothes for tomorrow, a fucking business suit just in case I had to go into the office, plain black heels for just that fucking outfit, an extra pair of bra and underwear because you never know, and all the makeup from Sephora. I’d need to touch this shit up. It was going to be a long day. Fridays always were.

Then I grabbed my umbrella and headed out into hell.

I let my Tesla do most of the work to drive because fuck all, Californians were bad drivers to begin with, but on rainy days they were especially horrendous. Accidents lined up the freeways every few miles, but I’d been prepared for that. I’d left a half-hour earlier than normal, but on the road, I realized that I should have left even earlier. It was pouring, and people were driving like assholes to get to work. I didn’t let myself get distracted. I stayed alert so I could take control of the car at a moment’s notice if I had to. That was the law anyhow. You can’t read or text or whatever in a self-driving car. You just drive with your eyes.

It was barely twenty minutes to seven when I pulled into my parking space. As manager, I could technically walk in any time I wanted, but I preferred to be there at opening. I liked to boost people into starting their day in full swing. Dragon Lady was really enough to get people awake, with or without their morning coffee. I didn’t accept anything less than perfect.

But maybe this morning I should have come in late.

Fucking hell, I felt like I was in one of those movies where the nerd shows up to high school with a makeover. Starting all the way from the main entrance I got all stares, all whispers, all “Celine, you look amazing” and all the shit I really didn’t fucking need because I just wanted to get to my Floor to walk it before the early bird shift got on the phones. And the last thing I needed was to run into David. That thought alone had me lowering my head to conceal my face, snooping up to the elevators like I was fucking Sherlock Holmes in his trench coat.

The elevators that led to my department were located in our break-room. God, that was the fucking worst. Watching a handful of my agents spit their coffee into their cups was not how I wanted to start my morning. If they were my supervisors they might have stopped me to chat and say something about my look, but the agents were wee little babies with no balls whatsoever. They knew they weren’t allowed to talk to me unless I talked to them—well, that wasn’t really true. I’d help any of them if they needed it, but I didn’t mind letting them believe otherwise ... at least for this morning.

I dropped off my bag, my laptop case, my trench coat and my umbrella in my office and did a quick check of my emails to see if there was anything that needed urgent attention, but thankfully nothing had really happened since five yesterday. Lisa had managed to hold her own for the night. I planned to treat her to dinner sometime.

I grabbed my walkie, started a transmission to check if all the scheduled supervisors were ready to start their day and then started my Floor walk.

Heads. Turning. Everywhere.

Fucking hell.

I checked in with some of the agents that I knew were struggling, walked them through a few suggestions to boost their referral counts and improve their call stats, and checked on some of my favorite agents that I’d promoted to Floor-walkers. I’d hand-picked the agents with the most knowledge and leadership qualities to walk my Floor when my supervisors were short. They got a small pay bump and it got them off the phones. They loved it, and I appreciated them for their help. They were always the ones passionately defending me, saying that I wasn’t really Dragon Lady, just misunderstood. Ha, if only they knew.

Still, I was appropriately touched (for a Dragon Lady) whenever I heard what they’d done. I’d been grooming them to promote them to supervisor positions when they opened up. I’d seen quite a few of my supervisors transfer to other departments over the years. My people were highly sought-after. Underwriting especially loved cherry-picking through my staff. What-the-fuck-ever. I would’ve told them to fuck off if it wasn’t for the fact that it was furthering my staffs’ careers. I only wanted the best for them.

The day started at seven o’clock sharp. The phones started ringing, and I began to check in with all the supervisors in their cubicles. Just my regular morning routine. I felt like I was in my zone. This job had a way of sucking the soul out of me, but I lived for these moments. The day was starting perfectly, the agents were working hard, it was raining outside (which I loved), and I was going to see Wes tonight. So many good thoughts. I hoped it would last me through the day.

“Holy—I can’t cuss. I’m on the Floor. But holy—ugh. Celine, girl,” Rita said when I tapped the raised glass of her cubicle window as I entered into her line of vision.

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m going to start and then I’m going to finish too. I feel bad for every single man and lesbian in this entire building today. You unattainable babe.”

I rolled my eyes.

Addie walked in carrying a tray with three iced coffees. One for herself, one for Rita and one for me. Sea Cream Black coffee. I fucking loved Addie.

“Thanks,” I said gratefully.

Don’t ask why we were drinking iced coffee at eight in the morning on a rainy day. It was just the way we functioned.

“I’m not on the coffee run today, thank God,” Addie said with a sigh. “George is on it when he gets here at ten, but I thought I’d get us some for the morning. God knows we need it. Traffic almost killed me this morning.”

“Tell me about it,” Rita muttered.

“So,” Addie said, giving me a one-over. “Gal Gadot’s Mexican cousin is on the prowl today.”

“Shut up. Get back to your desk,” I said, getting into manager mode. “Listen in on your agents’ calls this morning. The insureds are going to be annoyed over the traffic too. Expect a lot of claims calls. Make sure you watch the call volume. Stop routing new claims at the mark and route to your manual claims trained agents to take some of the load off the claims adjusters.”

“There aren’t enough of those manual claims agents. I’ve been telling you forever,” Rita said.

“I’m working on setting up another training class after the new hires rotate out of the bullpen.”

The bullpen was the term we used in our call center for where the new junior agents were grouped. They usually spent a month there with two highly experienced supervisors to answer all questions and guide them into becoming fully-functioning agents. That first month is one of the most trying times for a new call center employee. It’s their first time on the phones dealing with customers live outside of training. You could usually see them sweating when walking by their section.

“Thank god,” Addie said. “Our claims hold times are through the roof these days. I’m gonna go check in with my agents. See you guys later.”

I sipped my coffee as I checked in with the four other early-bird supervisors. No surprise, their eyes bulged too.

“You need to start doing this every day,” Bethany said, taking her headset off. “You’re the best-looking thing to have ever walked in through these doors.”

“I’m considering firing you. Right now.”

She laughed.

“When are you going to learn how to take a compliment?”

“When you get those numbers where I want them,” I said, looking over her agents. Some had been staring at me and quickly averted their eyes.

One of them was shuffling over, looking like he was going to pee his pants.

“Good morning,” he said to the both of us.

Ah, Ralph. I knew this kid. He’d impressed me when he’d mastered auto so fast that he’d gone into training for home, watercraft, and umbrella within the first three months out of the bullpen. Almost as good as me. Almost.

“What’s up, Ralph?” Bethany said, beckoning him into her cubicle.

I slurped my drink, watching in mild interest. I had nothing else to do on the Floor now. I could just observe the morning happenings for a little while before heading back to my office to tackle some reports.

“Just wanted to double-check something I couldn’t find in the product line manual,” Ralph said, glancing at me nervously as he talked to Bethany. God, I scared everybody.

“Shoot,” she said.

“So the first driver’s record point is forgiven after traffic school and the DMV removes it, right? Like we can’t even see it on their record?”

“Yup.”

“But the second isn’t,” he continued. “How can I make sure that it’s a second? Do I count it as if it’s a first?”

“Yes,” I said, cutting in. “Let me see the record. I’ll show you how to recognize what’s the first point excused from traffic school and what to do if it’s a second.”

I followed Ralph back to his desk.

“Do you have the insured on hold?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“What’s the hold time so far?”

“Five minutes,” he said. “I’ve been looking for the answer.”

“Okay, remember to check in once every three and a half minutes to keep from going over the hold time. Check in now and put them back on hold.”

Ralph checked in with the insured, assured them that he was working on it, and pulled up the driver’s record for me to look at.

“Okay,” I said, pointing out the driver’s record point. “This one for speeding, right?”

“Yes.”

“How did you find out this was a second point?”

“The insured told me. He was calling to see if it was going to affect his rates.”

I dropped my empty coffee cup in his trash can and got a closer look.

“That’s the only way we’ll know. If they tell us themselves,” I said. “The second will always show as a first, as if the first had never happened. Even if the insureds tell us they had a first we won’t charge them for it because whatever isn’t on the record, we can’t charge. You have to treat the second as if it’s the first. Any after that would be counted as second, third, and so on. Act like the first never happened because it’s not on his record. The Department of Motor Vehicles doesn’t exclude points on their reports starting from the second, regardless of if he goes to traffic school again so we do start charging from there. You can’t advise him whether or not to go to traffic school though. That’s the judge’s job. Let him know the rates will stay the same until the policy renewal, but if he switches insurance in the meantime that company is within their right to charge it because the speeding ticket is viewable on his record now. We have an obligation to tell him that or he’ll call back and complain that we hadn’t mentioned it. Other companies have to charge what they can see. We don’t change our rates in the middle of a policy period. Underwriting will apply it only upon renewal. This information actually is in your product line manual, but it kind of gets convoluted in all the lawyer jargon. I know the exclusions can get confusing.”

I could tell from the hungry look in his eyes that he was drinking all this information in. I knew for a fact that this kid was never going to ask this question again. He was storing it in his brain for future use. He reminded me so much of myself when I’d first started out. He was just like me too—fresh out of high school. And hungry. So hungry for a chance.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Come see me in my office after this call. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. I’ll have Bethany adjust your times so it doesn’t affect your call stats.”

He looked scared, like he was in trouble even though I’d just said he wasn’t. Whatever. He’ll find out in a few minutes that I was giving him a promotion and pay raise.

I walked back to Bethany’s cubicle.

“I’m promoting that kid to Floor-walker. He’s good.”

“Yeah, he is,” Bethany said, smiling dreamily like he was her own biological child. It was kind of cute. I liked this level of dedication and care from my supervisors. This was what made their agents trust them. Which, in turn, boosted efficiency. The agents should always be able to feel comfortable enough with their supervisors to ask questions. A hundred questions asked to a supervisor was better than one wrong answer given to an insured.