Free Thirty Days: Part One by Belle Brooks

should know that, because you are super human and know where everything in the entire world is. Why is she such a mega bitch?” For a split second I think about the possibility of video cameras in the lift, but find myself actually not caring if there are. She’s a witch .
    Asher is busily working when I enter the level, and her head peaks over her shoulder as my heels clomp loudly against the flooring.
    “That’s the staircase,” she informs as my hand reaches for the first doorknob I see.
    “Oh, okay.”
    “It’s this door here.” She points to the door not far from her desk. “Rough start?”
    “You could say that.”
    “You’ll get used to Jasmine.”
    “If you say so.”
    Ringing.
    “That’s the switch. If you need anything I’m extension one, just don’t forget to press hash after.” Her fingers push a button on the side of the headset she has placed over neatly groomed hair. “Good morning, Sims, General, and Klein Attorneys at Law, Asher speaking.”
    The copier is large with many buttons and trays.
    “What the? It can’t be too hard, Abigail.” Encouragement is what I need. “Manual.” Looking in cabinetry along the walls, I’m unable to locate any manuals. It’s okay, don’t panic.
    Removing the industrial-sized staple from the first lot of documents, I begin the task at hand. The papers on the first pile look to be at least fifty pages long.
    “I pity the fool who had to prepare these.” It dawns on me that I’m probably going to be that idiot. Wing it, Abigail.
    Before long the papers begin disappearing on one side and then sliding out on the other. The machine is making noises like it should.
    “Way to go me.” I applaud, removing the next staple with the tip of a pen I find next to the copier. I‘m alerted to an issue when I hear beeping—long beeping.
    “Probably out of paper,” I scoff.
    Red lights flash from the control panel. The noise becomes more urgent.
    “Shit,” I yell when I see crumpled pages. “That’s just fucking great. I’ve fucked the fucking document. For fuck’s sake, why does this fucking shit always happen to me? Why? This is bullshit,” I scream out while pressing buttons frantically and fighting paper that is clearly jamming.
    “Wow! Bad day?” a voice booms from behind me.
    “This piece of shit machine just ate these fucking documents. Why the fuck is it beeping?” I whine before realising where I am. Oh crap!
    He’s laughing.
    I’m so getting fired. Turning around huffing and puffing, I’m greeted by chocolate-coloured eyes, a stubbled chin, and charcoal hair. There’s a scar on his left cheekbone, no longer than a fingernail. My mouth gapes open. I try to close it, but can’t, so I stand there staring at lips that form the perfect smile.
    “It’s you.” My voice cracks before sounding hoarse.
    His smile broadens. “And it’s you,” he says simply, rolling a piece of paper up and sliding it inside his navy business jacket. He makes a fist with his hand and brings it down on top of the machine.
    I jump, startled. “So that’s how you fix this piece of crap?” I swallow hard.
    “No. You just press this button here. The one that says STOP.” He points to a red button. “The thump was just for effect.”
    “Oh. Here I was thinking you were Arthur Fonzarelli.”
    “Arthur who?” He lifts an eyebrow in confusion.
    I try to explain that this man is a television character in a show my mother liked to watch called Happy Days . I know I’m not making any sense, mainly because he stares at me blankly.
    “Don’t worry, doesn’t matter.” I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I wrestle with the paper jammed in tightly.
    He leans in close to my face, his breath smelling like freshly picked mint as it rushes by my nose. “I know who ‘Fonzie’ is.”
    The smile that follows makes me weak in the knees. My heart starts racing as his fingers brush mine.
    “I’ll get the paper out for you.”
    He’s so close my lips want