My Buddy Archie [3]

73..

Our office, along with the other three floors that belonged to Flander Inc. in the building, everything was very modern looking. Black and white and grey—to match our dress code most likely. Sleek, square. Glass walls so Camp could see everything without actually going in. As cold and unwelcoming as possible. Nice.

Brandon, Vince and I barely talked as we worked. Noise was to be kept at a minimal. We covered the usual 'how was your night', and 'was there much coffee left in the break room'; other than that, we kept the chatter to mostly business questions.

At lunch, instead of actually eating lunch, I finally went down to the HR office to ask about my paternity leave. I knocked on the door until someone grumbled 'come in', then walked in.

"Niall, yes?" the old woman's voice was raspy, as if she'd eaten a pack of cigarettes instead of smoked them.

"Yeah, I wanted to ask about paternity leave."

"Okay, have a seat—I'll pull up your file." As I sat down in the hard leather chair, she typed and clicked around on her computer. I don't know why I was nervous. "Niall Horan?" I nodded. "Right. Our usual policy is up to twelve weeks."

Three months. Okay, that sounds good. "Are they—?"

"They're unpaid."

And that's what I feared. Twelve weeks unpaid. Connie has six months partial pay, and she says she'll do side work from home to keep herself busy. How much do I have in the bank right now? Would that, combined with Connie's salary, be enough for us before we have to go into our savings? My brain was buzzing trying to making calculations and predictions. I was so caught up in my thoughts, I didn't even notice Camp walk into the room.

"...Oh. Am I interrupting Queenie?" He looked from the old woman to me. "Afternoon, Horan."

"Afternoon," I muttered.

Queenie spoke up, "I was just talking to Mr. Horan about—" shut the fuck up, Queenie! "—paternity leave. Just told him the policy."

"I see." Camp's face was passive, almost bored looking.

"So, hon?" Queenie pressed. Camp kept standing there, radiating disapproval that I was even here instead of working. He might as well have yelled 'take your twelve unpaid weeks and be fucking done with it' in my face.

I cleared my throat, "I...guess it'll be enough time off."

"When do you plan to leave?"

"Next Wednesday, if that's alright." A couple days before Connie's due date. Should be safe enough.

"Sounds good, hon." She looked at Camp, "The submission has been sent to you. Just needs your stamp of approval—then you're out of here, Niall."

Camp's eyes drifted towards me. "Forgive me if I don't get to until tomorrow. I'm very busy."

"Of course," I forced myself to say, instead of, 'fuck you and how busy you are'. Then left the office to return to mine.

The majority of the day panned out smoothly and quietly. I ate the lunch Connie, bless her soul, made for me as I waited for someone to email me back. My fingers drummed on the black table top that nor replaced my desk. The clock ticked. Three more hours.

My computer pinged with an email. I sat up to read it, but my eyebrows pulled together when I saw it was from the RF Recruitment Team. Not who I was expecting. And as soon as I opened it, my stomach dropped—because I should've expected it.

You've been chosen to work in our new building!

As if this is fucking exciting.

As if I fucking wanted to get moved to fucking Bristol.