Can't I do anything without screwing it up?

Remembering her boss's cruel rant, Evelyn Simmons sat in the Midtown Diner's cramped bathroom and silently cried. Her breath hitched as tears streamed down her heart-shaped face. Overheated, she pulled a moss-green angora cap off her head causing loosened strands of wavy, auburn hair with burgundy highlights, to cascade over her shoulders. She sat on the toilet seat with her dainty legs scrunched between the wall and an overflowing wastebasket. Immobilized with pain, she placed her hand over her chest.

Why does it feel like my heart's being crushed?

Breathing hard, she squeezed her eyes shut. Sinclair's green eyes had shone with the luminous intensity of an enraged arc angel. She shuddered as she remembered the instant searing connection she'd felt—as if she'd been totally naked in his thoughts. As she had approached him with his coffee, she was sure he had felt the attraction too.
A sob escaped her chest. The Human resources meeting had been a disaster. A real barnburner.

Why did he turn into a raging Tasmanian Devil over a lousy cup of coffee?

Hiccupping, she tried to catch her breath. She grabbed a crumpled tissue and dabbed watery mascara from her cheeks, then froze as someone tapped on the door. The brass doorknob jiggled and she heard an irritated male voice. "Can I get in there?"

She held her breath until the urgent rattling stopped. Fifteen minutes later, she was forced to move when the individual returned and impatiently banged on the door. "What the hell. Are you alright?"

No. I'm not alright. I'll never be right again.

"I'll be out in a minute." Splashing cold water on her puffy face, she combed out her hair and then exited the claustrophobic restroom. On wobbly knees, she made her way up the narrow aisle and past the dark-red pleather booths. She left a faint scent of Calvin Klein perfume in her wake.

Hopefully, Dee had gotten her texted plea to meet here for lunch. Overhead, recessed lighting emitted a warm glow that accented the colorful Mexican art adorning the eatery's off-white plaster walls. The restaurant's menu was a mixture of high demand Mexican and traditional American style dining. The retro-style diner was busy today. College-age waitstaff, holding dishes of fresh vegetables and herbs garnished with the diner's secret special recipe salsa, agilely stepped around her as they bustled through the aisle.

What am I going to do now that I won't be in the Marketing position? Screw marrying, Sinclair—how am I going to make ends meet?

The pungent, body-odor-smell of frying onions and cumin that wafted from the kitchen failed to stir her appetite. The accompanying sound of grating plates and clinking cutlery set her nerves on edge as she thought about her dwindling finances. An overwhelming feeling of doom settled on her like a heavy, wet blanket and her shoulders slumped.

Up front, the diner's door chimed. "Evie!" Relief flooded through her as Deedee Diamond, her best friend gave her a wiggly fingered wave from the entrance way. She had met Lady Diamond while she worked at the mayor's office the previous summer. By the end of the week she had bonded with the outspoken community organizer over the mayor's sleazy, regressive LGBTQIA policies regarding same-sex marriage. Deedee had convinced Evelyn to defect from her tedious City Hall internship and join the boisterous protestors picketing under the cowering mayor's office windows.

The forceful November wind didn't budge Deedee's cerise, cotton-candy-textured hair as she fought to close the eatery's glass door. Patrons gaped as she strolled down the narrow aisle and majestically rolled her hips. Servers leaned back on their heels and gave her a wide berth. The effect was as if a six-foot two Aa of red-hot lava had bulldozed through the door. Flinging her faux leather, grommet-studded purse on the pleather seat opposite Evelyn, Lady Dee shrugged off her white, goose down coat and sat down in the corner booth. She cooed as she wrapped an oversized, ringed paw around Evelyn's delicate hand and soulfully looked into her eyes. "Baby, I got your text. Now, tell Mama Dee what happened."

"My boss, Raymond Sinclair, that's what happened." Evelyn swallowed a hiccup. "He's a jackass. He humiliated me in front of the entire staff this morning." She struggled to breathe as she held her abdomen. "I feel as if I've been punched in the stomach."

"That asshole." Deedee's voice was muffled behind the menu as she checked the specials. She lowered the shiny, laminated cardboard. "I told you the man's a soulless billionaire. I don't care how many smartphones or self-driving cars he's sold. Or how hot he looks on the cover of Time magazine. For such a supposedly smart man, he says a lot of dumb things."

A plain, middle-aged waitress arrived and placed two tumblers of water on the brown Formica table top. The trim blonde woman wore a festive, yellow uniform.

"Hm... I'll have the tuna melt special with a side of fries," Deedee said.

"What would you like to drink?"

"Iced tea, please."

"What will you have, hon?" The waitress looked expectantly at Evelyn's face. Pen poised above her pad, she leaned back on her green orthopedic shoes. The server's name tag identified her as Joan. Evelyn smiled for the first time that day. The woman's warm, sweet voice soothed her like honey on an open wound. She glanced down at the menu refocusing on the specials.

Evelyn wearily shook her head. "I'm sorry, I can't decide," she said.

"Anything to drink?"

"A carafe of Sangria, please."

"Take your time." The waitress smiled. "We serve lunch 'til three."

In one swift move, Joan swept up the menus then departed down the aisle, leaving a faint scent of hydrangea perfume in her wake. Suggestively, her best friend laid an exquisitely manicured index finger against her cheek. The jungle-colored nail was painted with tiny, fornicating leopards. "Now tell me. How are you going to get back at him?"