“No. No. You-you’re right. It’s-it’s fine.” The stammer gives me away. It always does.
And it’s not fine. My cheeks burn. Shame squirms under my skin. Why did I fall for his flirting and compliments and secret grins? I’m an idiot.
“Good. I want us to be friends and I was thinking about asking Presley out. You’d be cool with that, right?”
Swallowing past my tongue, which has suddenly swollen in my mouth, I manage to eke out an answer. “Yeah. That’s fine. Totally . . . fine. I have to—”
I have to get out of here.
I flee the room like it’s on fire, stalking across the hall to the bathroom, my vision crowding with black spots. Once in a stall, I sit and breathe. I have to force the air in and out slowly, counting, counting, counting until my heart evens out.
It’s not like I’m in love with Mark or anything, I just thought . . . My jaw clenches. I saw what I wanted to see. I was so eager for someone to see me that I would have taken anyone that showed the slightest bit of interest.
Bright side. There has to be a bright side.
I’m still alive. I paid my rent for this month, so I have a few weeks until I have to worry about being homeless. And I guess I won’t have to worry about things being strained around Mark since I no longer have a job here.
A wet giggle bursts out of me, an abrupt and braying noise, echoing in the tiled bathroom.
A toilet flushes.
Aaand, of course, I’m not alone in here.
Why me?
A few minutes later, I’m standing at my desk, eyes tracing over the contents scattered across the surface: sticky notes, highlighters, the pens lined up neatly next to where I normally set my laptop.
I guess I came over to pack up my desk, but why? Nothing here is mine. I have no photos, no plants, no personal items. It all belongs to them.
“How did it go?” Presley stops at the corner of my desk.
“Fine.” An automatic response to everything in my life. It’s all fine. Even when it’s decidedly not fine. Just smile and keep going. That’s what I do.
“You don’t look fine.”
My head doesn’t quite shake. It tilts. “Yeah. I’m not.”
“Oh no. Do you want to talk about it? We could take an early lunch.”
Early lunch? I don’t have a lunch hour, not anymore. All day will be my lunch. I swallow down some strangled, hysterical laugh threatening to emerge like a drunk hyena.
“No. I’ve got to go.” I lift my gaze.
She’s always been kind to me. She’s never made snide comments when I stumble over my words or spout random things irrelevant to the current topic when my mind bounces away from me, and she’s offered to go to lunch at least once a week since she started.
And now Mark wants to add her to his list of office hookups. And I can’t hate her. I’m not sure I actually care if Mark wants her, but I worry a little for her sake.
“Thank you, Presley. For everything.”
She shrugs. “No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Sure.” There’s no point in telling her I’m not coming back. It’s not like anyone here, even Presley, would notice or care for more than a blip before moving on with their lives.
Chapter Three
Outside, it’s a dreary and grim foggy morning in San Francisco.
Karl. That’s what locals call the incessant fog that rolls in, especially prevalent in the June months. Karl even has his own Instagram account. I squint up into the gray haze.
It’s perfect.
I’m halfway down the block, fingering the tear in the side of my nicest blouse, wondering how I’m going to explain to my parents that I got fired, when footsteps slap the pavement behind me.
“Hey, Jane. You okay?”
I stop and turn around in the middle of the sidewalk, letting Alex catch up to me.
This is a horrible time to have to talk like a normal person to my biggest male fantasy brought to life. This day is like every awful thing I thought would ever happen to me coming true. I always tried to tell myself it was the anxiety talking, but this time the anxiety was right.
I’m doomed.
“My shirt ripped,” I tell him. I’ve reverted to a toddler who’s got an owie and can only focus on one thing.
He regards me, head tilted, eyes concerned.
Now I’ll have to wear the blue shirt to job interviews, but it’s a little on the tight side and the button right in front of my boobs always pops open. I guess that’s one way to get a job. If I can even get another job. I guess I could apply to other marketing firms but it will mean starting all over again. How to explain my sudden departure from Blue Wave? I doubt they’ll give me a nice reference. On top of that, I’m terrible at interviews. I was lucky to get my job at Blue Wave.
Lucky. Ha.
“I might have a safety pin in the truck.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Just wait here a sec?”
I nod. I have nowhere else to be.
The air is heavy with moisture. I forgot to grab a jacket. My hand clenches on the handle of my briefcase. Random people pass me on the sidewalk. A couple holding hands. A man jogging. A group of teenagers laughing. Are they laughing at me? Probably. I’m standing on the sidewalk alone, out of it, clothing ripped. I can’t even imagine what I might look like right now.
Alex comes jogging back, holding up a safety pin. “Here.”
I take it, our fingers brushing, eyes locking for a heated split second.
Alex wouldn’t be greedy in bed, like Mark. He would never use anyone for an escape. Oh no. I bet when Alex takes a woman to bed, he takes his time and makes sure everyone is satisfied.
Not that I’ll
