ZOEY ARCHER WAS three steps away from her desk when the phone rang. Three steps toward her first weekend off in months. And she hadn’t even left early, unlike all but one of her colleagues—the weird girl who spoke to people in a variety of accents and dressed in monotone outfits that didn’t quite match under the greenish fluorescent light of the Loring Industries customer-service call center, deep in the heart of Texas.
The phone chirped again. Weird Girl shot a look at Zoey, grabbed a pinkish red jacket and ran out the door before the call could roll over to her section. Zoey wondered what life Weird Girl was running to because nobody chose working in a megacorporation’s customer-service call center as a career. This was a survival job, one people kept to pay a few bills until they became successful in their real lives.
Zoey’s real life, however, was...complicated, meaning she’d taken a few wrong turns on the road to success. She wanted a career where she could help people, but, to be honest, many people no longer wanted her help—specifically, those she’d encountered in the health-care and teaching professions, the food-service and travel industries and anyone who ran a children’s summer camp. People loved her, at least in the beginning. She was described as sincere, enthusiastic and full of great ideas. She’d also been called impulsive, but Zoey considered herself proactive. She took charge and made things happen.
Unfortunately, some of those proactive things had been mistakes. Huge mistakes. Expensive mistakes. Her intentions had been good, but the execution was flawed, as they say.
But she was always a big girl about it. When she messed up, she accepted responsibility, apologized, tried to fix whatever she’d gotten wrong and paid for any damage, even when she couldn’t afford it. Did she learn from her mistakes? Sure. Did she get a chance to prove it to those she’d wronged? No.
She understood why people were reluctant to give her a second chance. Money couldn’t fix everything and some opportunities were lost forever.
However, recommending a competitor’s product because Loring’s cream caused a rash had not been a mistake...even though going off script had landed her on the night and weekend shift in the shipping center to prevent her from talking to actual customers. And it had cost her a boyfriend, who hadn’t liked the fact that she worked every night. But even that hadn’t been a mistake.
Management had meant the suspension as a punishment, but Zoey had become inspired while filling thousands of orders during the Christmas season. She happened to know a thing or two about skin care. For years, she’d mixed her own organic moisturizers and soaps. The complaints she’d fielded in the customer-service call center had shown her that the world needed her products. That’s how she could help people—by offering them a better alternative. Nobody would get a rash from her creams and lotions, unlike the cheap chemical cocktail Loring put out.
Not that the Loring Quality Control Department had appreciated her input. Well, they’d had their chance. They’d pay attention to her when she started selling her Skin Garden products online, and word of mouth created a huge demand. In fact, she was going to go home right now and mix up a new batch of lemon–olive oil balm.
Never mind that it was Friday night, party night. Zoey didn’t have anyone special to party with, anyway. And honestly? She wasn’t all that torn up about it. She hadn’t had a date since Justin—wait, Jared...or was it Josh? Whoever it had been didn’t matter. All her ex-boyfriends had been fixer-uppers who she’d tried to fix—er, help. Ultimately, they hadn’t wanted her help, either.
So no more wasting her life on time-consuming, energy-zapping relationships. No more distracting boyfriends. From now on, it was going to be all about Zoey.
The whole weekend stretched ahead of her. Zoey hung up her headpiece, slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door. Now that it was January, Loring no longer offered twenty-four-hour live customer service, as though people magically stopped having problems on nights and weekends. Zoey vowed that Skin Garden would offer full-time customer service, even if she had to answer the phone herself.
Speaking of... The phone warbled again and guilted Zoey into stopping. A person who called after hours—and seven minutes after five counted as after hours—would have to wait until Monday morning to talk to an actual customer-service agent about whatever issue they were having with whichever one of the thousands of products Loring Industries manufactured for their dozens of brands.
Someone probably had a rash.
Zoey could see the blinking light at her station out of the corner of her eye. It wasn’t as though she was abandoning someone in their hour of need. The customer could talk to a company rep through a live chat on their computer. Unless she was a “legacy customer,” Loring’s term for those who didn’t use computers. Zoey swallowed. What if the caller was some poor, elderly widow with a bad rash who could barely read the contact number on the label because her eyes were swelling shut? She wouldn’t have a computer, and even if she did, she certainly wouldn’t know how to do a live chat. Besides, the live part was likely another computer, anyway, at least for the first few levels....
Damn her work ethic, anyway. Zoey hurried back to her station and snatched up her earpiece.
“Loring Industries. How may I help you today?” Technically, the extent of Zoey’s help was routing the call to someone else who could do the actual helping, registering complaints or sending out coupons. Lots and lots of coupons. She was very generous with coupons. She was the coupon fairy.
“Zoey Archer, please.”
It was so unusual to hear herself asked for by name that it took Zoey a few beats to recognize her sister’s voice. “Kate? Is that you?” No wonder the call hadn’t rolled over. Her sister had dialed Zoey’s extension.
“Oh, Zoey. Thank goodness!” Kate exhaled in relief. “I tried calling your cell, but you didn’t answer.”
That’s because Zoey kept her phone on vibrate and hadn’t checked it yet today. Call-center operators weren’t allowed to make personal calls while at their station. Only during breaks. Or emergencies. Kate knew that.
Which meant... A sick feeling settled in Zoey’s stomach. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong...”
Alarmed, Zoey had been smashing the earpiece into her head. Taking a calming breath she adjusted the rest of the headset as Kate continued, “It’s just...”
Clearly Zoey was going to have to coax it out of her. “Just what?”
“Alexandra of Thebes has gone into heat.”
These were not words Zoey had expected to hear at her customer-service call station at Loring Industries. And Zoey had heard lots of strange words in the Loring Industries customer-service call center. “Uh...okay.”
“Ryan and I are in Costa Rica! Remember, Zoey?”
“Right—the wedding is this weekend.” Friends of Kate’s were having a fancy destination extravaganza. Kate and her husband, Ryan, had introduced the couple and both were in the wedding party. “Are you having a good time?”
“Zoey.” Her sister sighed and there was a whooshing sound as she partially covered the mouthpiece. “I told you this was a bad idea,” she said to someone in the background.
“I heard that.” Zoey steeled herself against the automatic guilt that flooded her every time she heard her name spoken in that tone of resigned disappointment accompanied by a faint sigh the speaker didn’t bother to hide.
Some people were late bloomers, and others bloomed early and withered fast, she reminded herself. Except Kate. Kate had bloomed early and perfectly and showed no signs of withering. “Kate, so far all you’ve told me is that one of your dogs is in heat and you two are in Costa Rica. I haven’t heard an idea yet.”
“Zoey! You know Alexandra’s not our dog.”
Actually, she didn’t. “You have a bunch of dogs. I don’t remember all their names.”