My feet feel locked on the floor, and any minute now, the wooden floorboards are going to swallow me up. “I don’t know, Mags. But it didn’t help.”
“Don’t do something stupid or rash just because you’re still reeling from that news. For the love of god, Locke, give yourself time to think it through.”
“It’s too late, Mags. I already accepted the job.”
Sometimes it’s hard to tell which what’s the action and what’s the reaction. My dad and this job and Greer and me—everything swirls down into a mess, like the paint scrubbing off into the sink. All I know is I’ve set something in motion, like throwing a deck of cards into the air. I have to get through today and tomorrow and a week from now, and then maybe we’ll see how everything turns out.
Let the cards fall how they may.
25
Greer
By the time I slink to my desk on Friday two hours later than normal, almost all of my colleagues are in the office, sorting through emails, working on project designs, and slurping their caffeine fix of choice. Everyone except Damien, that is.
The bitter scent of strong coffee makes my stomach turn over as I take my seat, and Eden casts me a sympathetic glance as if she somehow knows I spent the last two hours meeting with Mary from Human Resources, telling her exactly what Damien did at the holiday party. I thought I was hiding my inner turmoil with my pencil skirt and soft, fitted cardigan, my painted red lips that I wore like armor, but maybe not.
Locke sits at his desk in stony silence, glaring at his computer and so pointedly not looking at me that my chest crushes. And yet I can feel every other eye in the room on me as I take my seat at my desk.
What the hell is happening?
I rouse my email, and a message from Curt appears at the top of my inbox. End of year organizational changes.
Oh god, not another re-org.
I click into the message, and that’s when the words freeze me, absolutely lance through my heart.
We’re pleased to announce that Lachlan Mills has accepted the position of Content Experience Manager, reflecting growth in both our organization and in Lachlan’s responsibilities. Mr. Mills will report to David Brinkley out of the San Francisco office and will bring his five years of experience with WanderWell to help lead the team in a customer-focused direction.
Lachlan Mills.
My Lachlan Mills.
Or maybe not mine anymore.
Stinging tears spring to my eyes, and I swipe at them furiously. I knew he was pissed at me, but until I saw the words on the screen, I didn’t think it would ever come to something like this.
I thought we could work through anything.
Guess I was naively, stupidly wrong.
“Can I see you for a second?” I call over the desk between us.
A muscle in Locke’s jaw flexes, and he runs his hands through his hair before he meets my eye with a sigh. There’s so much stark pain in his gaze that my heart shreds into pieces. It’s like I’ve just scraped every tender nerve along a road of shattered glass.
Locke doesn’t say anything, but he nods, and I stand from my desk. The team room feels too close—too obvious—so I hurry toward the supply closet around the corner. When Locke steps in behind me, I close the door and seal us into the quiet tomb.
A single bulb illuminates the small room, and the smell of paper and ink seems almost cruel. Don’t let something I love turn into a bad memory.
Locke stops in front of a stack of Post-It notes, and I can taste my heartbeat as I make myself say the two words that carry the weight of the entire world. “You’re leaving?”
“You got the email.” It’s not a question.
“But it’s San Francisco, Locke.”
He rubs a thumb over his lower lip. “That’s where the opportunity was, Greer.”
It’s not that simple. “That job didn’t happen overnight,” I whisper. “You knew for ages. Since before we ever kissed, since before we ever crossed all those lines.” I shake my head. We could have been safe. He could have spared me all of this pain. Why let me fall for him if he was going to take it away? “Was any of this real?”
His mouth wrenches in a bitter twist. “You tell me.” The words land like a slap.
“What do you mean?” He was there with me, falling with me. I didn’t make this up.
“You and Damien.” The accusation hisses out between his teeth. “I saw you.”
“No.” I swallow down a lump in my throat. “You might have seen a kiss, but it wasn’t me kissing him. He kissed me.”
“Does it make a difference?” he scoffs.
“Yes, Locke, it matters.” My voice starts to shake with frustration and anger and remembered fear. “It matters when your boss corners you in a quiet room at a company function and forces himself on you. It matters when you said no the first time and he does it again. When he tells you you only have your job because of him. That’s sexual harassment, Locke, no matter what our history may have been.”
Hesitation fills his eyes. “Greer, I—”
My chest heats with anger. “God, did you really think I wanted him? After everything you and I—” I bite off my last words. Locke has to know how I felt about him. Feel. “For the record, I reported him to HR.”
His eyes widen, and his words puff out like someone punched him in the gut. “You what?”
“Yes, Locke,” I groan in exasperation. “I know I sometimes run late and all, but two hours would have been a new record. I spent the morning with Mary, and then I came back to that email…” My voice drifts off. I shouldn’t be on the defensive here. Not when this all could have been avoided. I
