by L. A. Witt
“Absolutely.” She took off her glasses. “You doing all right?”
“What do you think?”
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I wish there was more I could do.”
“I know. I appreciate it.”
“My friend… He’s looking into it.” She scowled. “They wisely didn’t put their ultimatum on paper, so—”
“So it’s my word against theirs.”
“Our word against theirs.” She looked me right in the eye and set her jaw. “Whatever you decide to do, I’ve got your back.”
“Thank you. As far as today, though…” I exhaled hard. “Listen, I’m just not…here today. I need—”
“Go.” She shooed me toward the door. “I’ll make excuses for you if you need them.”
“Are you sure?”
Marie nodded. “Jon, I’m on your side here. Whatever I can do, I will. Including running interference with the partners until this situation is sorted out.”
“I really appreciate it.”
She offered a thin smile. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.” I turned to go.
“Jon.”
I looked over my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. If I’d known what they were going to do, I’d have done something. Shut it down, or…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. At least someone on this floor still knows what ethics are.”
We held each other’s gazes for a moment, exchanged slight nods, and I finally left her office. On the way back to the elevator, I admittedly felt guilty for some of the bantering that went on behind closed doors downstairs. For as much as my crew and I had ripped on her for being a tyrant, I knew better. I’d known better for a long time. It was easy to forget when she tore into me or one of my people for something, or when she pinned us to impossible deadlines. The conversation we’d just had, though, underscored the truth that Cal and Scott could never quite see—that Marie was caught in a male-dominated world where she had to play the hardass so the good ol’ boys would respect her. Even if it meant letting her subordinates believe she was a bitch. She really couldn’t win.
As I stepped onto the elevator, I promised myself that things were going to change in the Zone. Marie was a ball-breaker, but when the rubber met the road, she was our ally.
Once I had my brain back, the first thing to go would be that Empire Strikes Back soundtrack.
For now, though, I only swung by the Zone to get my keys and my coffee cup. “Hey, Teagan. I’m calling it an early day. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
She lowered the piece she’d been shaping with an X-ACTO. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Just…” I waved my hand. “I’ve got some stuff I need to deal with.”
She held my gaze.
Don’t push, T. You know what this is about.
Finally, she nodded. “See you tomorrow.”
From behind me, Cal piped up, “Taking an early retire—”
A look from Teagan stopped him dead. No one else spoke. She tilted her head toward the door, and I didn’t wait around.
Without another word, I got the hell out of there.
* * * * *
I hadn’t even taken off my shoes or my tie before I opened the bottle of whiskey. Day drinking wasn’t my usual MO, but it was today, and I didn’t give a fuck.
I dropped onto the couch, careful not to spill my drink, and propped my laptop on my knee. I opened the long-neglected document that was my résumé and went down the list, tweaking some dates and updating my contact information. Working on my résumé under the influence probably wasn’t the brightest thing I’d ever done, but hell, why not? I was on a roll these days. Kissing Rick at work and gambling on the assumption that no one ever checked the cameras? Not my proudest moment.
In the end, I still had my job but couldn’t make myself believe it was worth it, because I didn’t have Rick anymore.
What else could I do, though? Keep fooling around with him until the charade got old and I got tired of trying to tell myself I wasn’t really being a prostitute for the firm?
Well, whatever the case, maybe it was time for a switch. A change of scenery. Maybe a new flavor of bullshit that didn’t get its stink all over my personal life.
Though I had been with Mitchell & Forsythe for years, I still kept my résumé up to date. Well, that wasn’t true. I had a document containing my résumé, and I brought it up to date whenever something made me question how many more years of my life I could piss away at that place, working my fingers to the bone and inhaling rubber cement fumes. Inevitably, the feeling would pass, but at least my résumé would be current.
I opened my browser and searched for “architectural modeler” on one of the more popular employment websites.
Four matches. Only one within fifty miles.
Fuck.
I needed another drink, so I went back to the freezer. After the second trip, I brought the bottle into the living room with me. The floor was about to start getting uneven, so the fewer trips I had to make, the better.
I was…too many glasses in and still somehow too fucking sober when the front door opened. A second later, my ex-wife appeared in the doorway.
“You’re home early. Sick?”
“No, no. Jus’ needed some downtime.”
“Can’t blame—” Karen glanced at the bottle and then did a double take. She faced me fully. “What’s wrong?”
My shoulders sank. “I…fucked up. Royally.”
“How?” She came closer and took a seat beside me on the sofa. “What happened?”
I swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. After the burn wore off a little, I took a deep breath and ran her through everything that had happened since Marie and I had stepped into that conference room right up until I’d walked away from Rick this morning. Everything after that was unimportant, and it was all starting to get a little blurry anyway.
When I was finished, she shook her head. “I wish I knew what to tell you. But it’s a shitty situation all around.”
“Yeah. It is. And fuck if I know where to go from here. Or if there’s a goddamned thing I can do that’ll actually do any good.” I took a drink, nearly draining my glass. “About all I can do is just keep working for—”
“What?” She stared at me. “You’re not seriously going to stay at that place.”
“What else can I do?” I shrugged. “I still need a paycheck.”
“Yeah, but…Jon, they were asking you to be a prostitute for them.”
“Yep.” I brought my glass to my lips. “Guess I should be used to it. Given what the universities are charging, it’s only a matter of time before they start asking for blowjobs.”
She watched me silently, not saying a word as I finished the glass and poured in another splash of booze. “Is that what this is about? The universities?”
I flinched, avoiding her eyes. “I have to pay them somehow.”
“Not like this.”
“Then how?”
“Jon. Listen to me.” She took my hand and gripped it firmly. “We made promises to those kids, but they’re mature and understanding. They know things can change that are beyond our control.”
“Except I brought this on myself.”
“Yeah, maybe. But you didn’t expect—and you don’t deserve—what your bosses are asking you to do. And ten years from now, do you want those kids to remember you killing yourself to pay for their school? Or do you want them to remember their dad putting his money where his mouth is after all those years he told them that doing the right thing is the most important thing?”
I winced.
She went on, “They can get student loans if they need them. You and I can get loans if we need to. Their tuition will get paid if we have to rent a one-bedroom apartment together. But don’t you dare be a coward in the name of money. That’s not you. That’s never been you.”
“No, it hasn’t. But, I mean, it isn’t like the kids will know what happened with
me and Rick.” I gestured with my glass, nearly losing my grip as I did. “They don’t even know I’m seeing anyone, so how the hell would they know if I’m working for people who told me I had to keep fucking him?”
Karen scowled. God, that look. I’d seen it a lot during the last year we were married and the first year we were divorced, before we both grew up and got our shit together. Much more calmly than she would’ve thirteen years ago, she said, “They don’t have to know the details to know that you’re unhappy or that you’re working yourself into the ground. And they know the biggest financial strain in your life right now is paying for them to go to school. They’re not stupid.”
I lowered my gaze, absently swirling what was left in my glass.
“We raised three good kids,” she said. “They know there are things in this world that are more important than money. I seem to recall someone telling them repeatedly that even if their job was mundane and miserable, they didn’t have to put up with abuse. That their self-respect and dignity were more important than a paycheck.” She inclined her head. “I seem to recall that same someone paying for his son’s car insurance for three months while the kid found another job. Do you happen to remember why he was out of a job in the first place?”
I stared into my glass. I’d lectured my son for ages over the fact that flipping burgers was not beneath him, and that minimum wage was enough for someone just starting out. A few months into that job, I’d sat him down and explained that while burger-flipping for minimum wage was something you just sucked up and endured, the verbal abuse he took from his supervisors was not.
“There are things we all have to put up with on the job,” I heard myself telling him. “And there are things no one should have to tolerate.”
Closing my eyes, I pressed the glass to my forehead. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I wish I knew what to tell you. But whatever you decide, please do it because it’s the right thing to do, not because you’re worrying about the bottom line on the kids’ tuition. Financially, we’ll find a way.”
“It’d be a lot easier to do the right thing if I could see the way.”
“Isn’t that always the case?”
“Pretty much.”
We sat in silence for a long moment. When I leaned forward to top off my drink, Karen didn’t stop me. I sat back and took a deep swallow. She was watching me, but she didn’t say anything. She’d never gotten on my case about drinking—I didn’t do it often, and very, very rarely to excess—but she never liked it when I did. Anything more than a beer didn’t sit well with her. Drinking myself stupid in the middle of the day after bailing on work? Yeah, I could only imagine what she thought of that.
I rested my elbows on my knees, clasped my drink in both hands and pressed my forehead against my thumbs. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “This is… Fuck, this is such a mess.”
“Don’t apologize to me. I’m just concerned about you taking care of yourself.”
“I’ll get it together.”
“I know you will.”
Eventually. If you know what’s good for you. If you don’t want me to verbally hand you your ass.
I sighed, feeling lower and lower by the second. “On the bright side, this is one of those rare times when I’m really glad the kids are out of the house.” I blew out a breath. “They don’t need to see me like this.”
She didn’t respond right away. After a while, she touched my shoulder. “You’ll be okay. It might not happen overnight, but I know you’ll sort this out.”
Well. At least someone still had faith in me.
“Take it easy tonight, okay?” She squeezed my shoulder. “You’re not going to drink yourself any closer to an answer.”
“I’m not drinking for an answer. If I wanted to think, I’d still be sober.”
“Fair enough.” She paused. “Do you want something to eat?”
My stomach lurched at the thought of anything besides more booze. “Not right now. If you want to, go ahead.”
“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I will.”
She rose but didn’t move away from the couch. Slowly, I lowered my hands and looked up at her.
Her thin eyebrows pulled together, and her lips twisted with sympathy. “You know, this whole situation is bullshit, but it’s a damn shame about you and Rick.” She touched my shoulder again. “Seemed like you guys really had something.”
“Yeah,” I said into my glass. “It did.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
My skull throbbed. My eyes ached. I never drank like that, especially not before work, but I had last night, and now I was paying dearly for it. Hopefully I hadn’t kept working on my résumé. God, I didn’t send it to anyone, did I? Guess I’d find out.
Sunglasses on and coffee in hand, I shuffled into work about twenty minutes late. The door to the Zone must have weighed a thousand pounds as I pushed it open. I didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t speak. Put my coffee on my desk. Dropped my sunglasses next to them.
While the daily banter went on around me, I dug up as much focus as I could find and made myself get to work. Measure. Cut. Fit. Glue. I wasn’t good for much else today. Just as well there were still some simpler tasks on the current model. Measure. Cut. Fit. Glue. I wouldn’t be screwed until later when I had to fabricate a railing for the exterior staircase. It figured this would be one of those models where the client wanted every detail brought to life. In the meantime, measure. Cut. Fit. Glue.
And think about Rick.
And how much I’d blown with one badly timed kiss.
And how much I never expected this to hurt.
Measure. Cut. Fit. Glue.
“Hey, Jon.” Teagan’s voice nudged me back to the present. “You in the mood for sushi today?”
“No.” My response was flat, bordering on terse. I glanced up at her, mostly to make sure I hadn’t inadvertently hurt her feelings, but the way she cocked her head and furrowed her brow spoke of puzzlement, not offense.
“You sure? I’ll buy.”
I shook my head and went back measuring…cutting…fitting…gluing.
Shortly before lunch, payroll dropped off our pay stubs. I didn’t usually look at mine unless I’d been on overtime, but I wasn’t getting anything else done today, so what the hell. I opened the envelope, pulled out the slip of paper and stared at it.
Numbers. Dollars. A chunk for Uncle Sam. A little something toward my retirement. Health insurance. Whatever was left went to college funds, bills and necessities first, and what was left after that went to anything I damn well pleased, like toys. A new flogger. A coil of rope. Some overpriced but amazing coffee to be rationed until the next period of overtime. That pay stub documented every minute I’d been here for the past two weeks. Everything I’d squirreled into a retirement fund over the years. Everything.
Everything except for what I didn’t have.
Nowhere on the pay stub did it break down what I gave up for the privilege of coming here and earning this money. There was no line for Rick. No deductions for pride or a guilty conscience. No bonuses for keeping the client happy.
What could come walking through that door any goddamned minute, just like every day last week, this week, and every week in the foreseeable future.
I pushed the pay stub back into its envelope and shoved it into a drawer. I needed this job because I needed the money. I was too close to the red line to play fast and loose with my income.
There was still the option of a lawsuit, but I had yet to be convinced that wouldn’t make things worse. It sure as fuck wouldn’t fix everything. Especially since nothing—no amount of suing, reasoning, budgeting, or fuming—could make this morning hurt any less. Crossed lines couldn’t be uncrossed. I couldn’t unlove him any more than I could unfuck him. There was no undoing any of this. We could stop, but we couldn’t go back, and what we’d been would always be, even if it existed only in the past tense.
My bosses came by to check o
ur progress, and the sight of them—especially Mitchell, the fucking rat—nauseated me. So did his voice. And the condescending way he spoke to my crew. Dread climbed up from my stomach as he came toward my table. Normally, he’d just grill me from an arm’s length away, but he stopped way too close to me this time.
I stood straighter. No way in hell was I looking up at him.
I gave up Rick because of you.
“How’s everything going, Mr. McNeill?”
All because I can’t handle taking out some loans?
I swallowed. “Fine. Sir.”
“Glad to hear it.”
In the name of keeping my job…
He put a hand on my shoulder, and it seemed to weigh a ton, especially as his eyes narrowed. “Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”
…working for you…
“Everything’s fine.” Two words couldn’t have hurt more than those two did. For the sake of my job, I had to pretend they were true, but I was dying on the inside.
…I let go of the man I’ve completely—
I forced that train of thought right off its rails and looked him in the eye. “It’s all going great.”
It’s all wrong. It’s all fucking wrong. What did I do?
“Good. Good. Glad to hear it.” He clapped my shoulder. “Keep up the good work, McNeill.”
Get your motherfucking hand off—
He squeezed once more and then let go and turned to grill Teagan.
I leaned forward, resting my hands on the table and closing my eyes. My conversations with Rick and my ex-wife ping-ponged around in my head, their words echoing off the inside of my throbbing skull, and one thought lurched its way to the forefront of my mind:
Well, McNeill? Was it worth it?
“Good work, everyone,” Mitchell said. “The client’s coming by later on to have a look at those models, so, uh, let’s all look sharp?”
My stomach fell into my feet.
Not today. God, not today. Rick came in here all the time, but…not today. Please.
I rubbed a hand over my face. I’d been convinced there was nothing worse than facing my boyfriend in the office—or the bedroom—with my boss’s ultimatum hanging over my head.