The Brenda Diaries by Margo Candela Read Free Book Online Page A

buzzed in the person who served him with divorce papers. That my job was to buzz people in didn’t excuse me from being a stupid bitch. Mostly people are cool, but I’ve learned to never stay anywhere long enough to get sucked into office politics or get too chummy with anyone I work with.
    My only exceptions are Glenn and Sherri. I’ve even been to their house a few times and we send each other Christmas cards. That’s as close as I want to get with anyone who I don’t have to let into my little bubble. I like my bubble. But right now Constance, event planner to the stars and other jerks, is not only in my bubble, she’s also right up in my face.
    “Who are you?” she asks.
    We were last introduced for the third time in as many hours, but I’ve failed to register. Constance, who is as skinny as a flagpole and just as tall, doesn’t have that problem. Her bright red hair, cut into a severe angled bob, also makes her extra memorable and more than a little bit scary.
    “Hello, my name is Brenda. I’m from the temp agency.” I don’t hold out my hand for her to shake. Instead I use it to hold the clipboard in front of me for whatever protection it can offer. At this point I’ve been working for 11 hours straight and I don’t like rude people. So, yeah, I’m a little cranky. “Remember?”
    “Why should I?” Constance is wearing head-to-toe black, which makes her pasty-white skin look extra bloodless next to her equally black hair. “And who told you that it was okay to stand here? Wearing that?”
    I’m smart enough to keep my smart mouth shut and not answer. She gives my outfit of a cream colored sweater, gray tweed skirt and my most comfortable raspberry colored peep toe heels a withering glare. This one is worse than the one I got when she first saw me earlier tonight.
    Because my outfit didn’t match the color palette for this event, I’d been relegated to keeping an eye on the hors d'oeuvres in a hallway that was being used as a makeshift kitchen.  I’d been taking my task very seriously until Keelin, Constance’s senior assistant, asked me to mind the front door for her while she dealt with a passed out guest in the men’s room.
    I have no good answer for Constance so I just shrug.
    She snatches the clipboard out of my hand. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I fire you.”
    I stroll back to the hallway/kitchen at a leisurely pace. On my way there, I grab a drink off a tray. I’ll need something to wash those hors d'oeuvres down.
     
    Tuesday, May 10:
    Short of begging, I have to somehow convince Keelin to keep me on gift bag stuffing duty. Rumor has it that I’m supposed to help out at some lunch party and there won’t be the usual two or three assistants between me and Constance. Not that I’m afraid of her; I just want her to forget I exist for the rest of my assignment. 
     
    Wednesday, May 11:
    Wyatt is doing more texting than reading and I’m way too frazzled from another day of trying to avoid Constance’s hair-trigger wrath to keep him on task.
    I’ve been staring at the same paragraph of Don Quixote , the next book on Wyatt’s English class list, for the last 10 minutes. Instead of reading, I was trying to figure out what Constance’s evil rat brain will come up with tomorrow.
    He looks up from his iPhone, startled. “What’s that?”
    “What’s what?”
    “That shaking? See! There!” The table shakes slightly, causing water in the glass in front of me to ripple slightly. “Earthquake!”
    “No. It’s not. It’s me. When I get stressed or nervous, I jiggle my knee. When I’m stressed and nervous, I jiggle both. I’ll try to stop…. See? No more earthquakes.”
    “What’s wrong?” Wyatt sets aside his phone and tries to focus his sleepy eyes on me. “Are you worried you’re pregnant?”
    “Where the hell do you get ideas like that, Wyatt?” It’s actually kind of funny, but I’m in no mood to laugh. “Just some issues with this job I’m temping