I lightly smack her feet away and stand in front of her desk, scrolling through all of the different windows and programs she has open on her computer, “Get some flats for work.”
“They’re too much like slippers to me,” she says as she’s sliding her chair closer to me. “Besides, the floor’s carpet, so I don’t mind walking around barefoot with my leggings.”
For a brief moment, she shows me the list of different clients, residents, and various buildings that she’s currently working under. Although most of it is just a list of names of residents in apartments and condominiums, some of the building names are known for high class services and hosting large-scale events. We soon start doing a comparison of which names give us the hardest trouble for the simplest of issues. As we’re looking through her workload, she start to hear a few footsteps walking through the office.
“Um, excuse me, Miss– oh. She’s not here.”
Hearing a soft, feminine voice behind us, Eliza and I pop our heads out of the cubicle to see who’s wandering the isle.
It’s the new girl, Heather Walters. She started just a few months ago as our boss’s assistant, mainly taking down messages, scheduling appointments and doing other basic tasks on a daily basis. Every now and then whenever there’s a heavy workload for one person to tackle, she’ll take a spot in one of the open cubicles and help whoever she’s assigned to. When I focus on her I notice that she’s standing in front of my cubicle; she must be looking for me about something.
“Ah, it’s ‘Cotton Candy’ head,” Eliza says. As is the usual lifestyle at an office, everybody’s given a nickname based on what they say, do, or how they act. As for Heather, her frosted blue pigtails in her natural blonde hair has given her the name “Cotton Candy.”
“Hey, Heather,” I call out, “I’m over here.”
Caught off guard, Heather quickly turns around and notices me. She jogs down the hallway to quickly close the gap between us. As I’m looking at her make her way, a faint scent lingers around my nose; it’s sweet, but starts to irritate my sinuses.
I sneeze a bit before I can speak, “Anybody else smell peppermint?”
“Oh, sorry. That’s me,” Heather apologizes. She reaches into the breast pocket on her buttoned up black blazer and pulls out a tiny travel sized jar, “My summer allergies are kicking in and I use peppermint oil to try and help clear out nasal congestion.” She lets out a small chuckle from embarrassment.
“That explains why I feel like I want to rip my nose off.”
“Is it bothering you? Sorry sorry sorry. I think I put on a bit too much before I left the house.”
I wave my hand and let it slide, “It’s fine, it’s fine. Not so much of an issue. So, you needed me for something?”
“Oh, right!” Remembering why she even came to get me in the first place, Heather goes into her pants pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. She opens it to look at it for a moment, “I was looking this resident’s name up in the system, but for some reason I can’t find him. I tried checking under both is first name and last name individually, but I still can’t find him in our records.”