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“Ah. You mean because of all the yelling they usually do down at the stock exchange? They do like noise.”

“Yes.”

She ponders the thought, and then a smile slides into place. “Probably. Never thought of it that way. The cave is on the opposite side of the atrium.” She starts whispering, “The accountants and HR are in this area on the left. They like quiet at all times. It’s like a library over here. I’ve been shushed a time or two. And the financial advisors take up the offices on this side. Thewindowoffices.”

Answering a call, she skips right over an office that appears to take up the space of two. The plaque reads CEO, but there’s no name attached. There’s also an open-door policy sign posted. “Last but not least, our legal department.” Pulling me into the break room, she whispers, “Are you single?”

“I think that’s against most company policies to ask.”

“Oh, I know, but we’re friends, right? My point is if you are single, there are so many hot guys. Some sexy married guys too, but that’s against my personal policy.” Rubbing her baby belly, she laughs. “Well, before and after I was married.”

“It’s a good policy to live by, no matter what your status is.”

Opening the fridge, she pulls out a yogurt and points it at me. “I’d kill Kellan if he cheated on me.” I’m thinking she veers easily from topic to topic. “As I was saying, if you’re single, it’s not against policy to date a coworker is all I’m saying, though they do frown upon it.” After grabbing a spoon from the drawer, she hip-checks it closed. “Do you want a coffee or anything?”

“No, thank you. I finished one just before I arrived.”

“I think that’s it for the office layout. Each door is labeled, but if you do need help, you can ask almost anyone. Most people around here are nice. There are a few moody members of the CWM team, but we’re careful not to talk about them.” Cupping her hand to the side of her mouth, she rubs her belly again. “At least not until we get to happy hour. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to The Watering Hole, though. Any questions so far?”

“About the office layout or happy hour?”

“Either.” She laughs. “You’re hilarious, Juni.”

“Thanks.” I give her a nod of appreciation, and then say, “I noticed there’s no plant life.”

She waves it off as if that’s insignificant, as if breathing fresh oxygen isn’t the basis of survival. “The last receptionist left a plant behind. I think it was a fern. Big leaves with a long vine.”

“Sounds like a philodendron.” When she doesn’t blink, I wave my hand between us. “An ivy.”

“Oh! Yeah, I don’t know. It sat here on the counter until it died.”

“Did you water it?”

Setting down the yogurt and spoon, she begins sorting through the papers left on a table. “Guess that mystery is now solved.” With a burst of energy, she waggles her thumbs in the air. “Did you say you’re all good with the office?”

“Yep. All good.”

Marching past me with her snack in hand, she says, “All right then. Let’s get back to the front desk and start on phone protocol. I have a baby shower to get to in the atrium before lunch. You think you’ll be ready to cover the front?”

I have faith I can handle it. “I’ll be ready, and you can enjoy the shower.”

“That would be fantastic. We thought we’d have to move it to the reception area while I answered calls.” And then she answers another call. “It’s a great day to invest in your future with Christiansen Wealth Management. How may I help you?”

Although my temp career has had me working everywhere from offices to retail to once being hired for the Big Apple Circus for a week as a stand-in ballerina (all those dance lessons my grandmother insisted I take for poise paying off), I’m not sure what to make of this one.

I only took this job as a favor to the temp agency. They begged. Apparently, it was big money, and they wanted to land this account for future opportunities. They’ve had two others rotate through, but neither was a good fit. Now they’re sending me, the best they have.

Agreeing to something steady for six to eight weeks will be a change in pace. I prefer variety to my days, and this job is feeling a lot like commitment. The last thing I want to dedicate my time to is something with the potential for permanency. That never works out well for this soul.

But I made the commitment, or had my arm twisted, I should say, so I’ll follow through.

It’s only six weeks, max eight, depending on when Melissa wants to return.

Weeks.That’s it.

Not for a year or for life.

After completing Tuesday’s task of organizing the supply room, we return to the front desk.