The Lineup

by Quinn, Meghan

  Lindsay: That tears my heart out. He’s such a sweet, amazing guy.

  Dottie: I know. Okay, I KNOW! I fucked up and if I could, I’d take everything back. I don’t need you two rubbing it in my face.

  Emory: We’re not rubbing it in your face, we’re making sure you drop that shield of yours and allow yourself to feel the pain you caused him.

  Lindsay: You’re so guarded all the time. It’s important to allow yourself to feel, to know that there are people out there who you hurt with your actions.

  Dottie: Are you trying to say I’m heartless?

  Emory: No. But you are clueless. Please don’t be clueless about this. Jason was perfect for you. Everything you needed and so much more. You need to find a way to make this right.

  Dottie: And how would you suggest that?

  Lindsay: That’s for you to figure out. But we’ve known each other for a long time and this is the first time I’m not taking your side. #TeamJason

  Dottie: You don’t have to be an asshole, Lindsay.

  Emory: Lindsay is right. You truly messed up. You can’t blame anyone but yourself. I love you, but I’m afraid I’m Team Jason too.

  Dottie: So I lost my man and my best friends. Great.

  Lindsay: Your man . . . see? You couldn’t even say boyfriend. I know you’ve been burned in the past, but that doesn’t mean you close yourself off to everyone. You might have thought you were giving yourself over to Jason but you still held him at arm’s length. All he wanted was for you to be honest with him and accept him for who he is.

  Dottie: I do accept him.

  Emory: But accepting him means that you know he needs a deeper connection where you’re concerned. You kept it surface level with him. And it led to this, never fully trusting him with your truth, with your heart.

  Dottie: Because I was hurt.

  Lindsay: By other men. Other men hurt you, Dottie. Not Jason. That was your mistake, by sticking Jason in the same group as the men you once dated, you never gave him a chance.

  Dottie: I only didn’t tell him about the Carltons. I gave him my entire self.

  Emory: Don’t you see it? If you gave him all of you, then you would have told him, but you were still holding back in case he hurt you. He never had a chance.

  Lindsay: I love you, but she’s right.

  I toss my phone to the side, annoyed with the conversation, and try to shut my eyes, but even shut they burn from all the tears I’ve shed the past two days.

  Are they right? Did I not truly give myself to Jason?

  I was scared of losing him. Or was I scared of him seeing my true colors, the determined businesswoman I am? Because what if after he saw my true self he wouldn’t want to be with me anymore?

  That seems more accurate than being scared, because I’ve been scared before, and it’s never truly affected my decisions. But with Jason, it was different.

  Because he was different.

  Rolling to my back, I stare at the ceiling and suck in a large breath.

  I fucked up my relationship with Jason.

  I fucked over this deal with the Carltons by cancelling with them.

  I am slowly killing my career with my terrible choices.

  And lastly, once again, I’ve let my dad down. Caused him more discomfort and embarrassment.

  All because of what? A man in my past who mistreated me? Tarnished my reputation.

  A man who I trusted, who lied to me, and broke me . . . just like I did to Jason.

  And that realization strikes me harder than any other thought as Jason’s words return.

  You should know the anguish, the heartache, the unfiltered pain it causes to find out you aren’t loved, you aren’t cared for . . . you’re just a pawn in someone’s game.

  Deep in my soul, I know that’s not how I treated things with Jason, but from the outside looking in, from his perspective, dealing with a woman who unintentionally kept him at arm’s length emotionally, yeah . . . I can see where he’d wholeheartedly believe I lied for my own gain.

  I pick up my phone again and scroll through Emory and Lindsay’s texts, feeling less defensive and more responsive to what they’re saying. It’s time I take responsibility for my actions, or lack thereof, and it starts with telling the truth because the lies have done enough damage.

  * * *

  “Mr. and Mrs. Carlton are here to see you,” Jessica says, stepping into my doorway with a knock.

  Being in the high-powered position I am in my dad’s company, I’ve always prided myself on never being nervous, of being able to stay cool and calm through any business deal or interaction, but right now, I’m sweating.

  I woke up this morning not wanting to get out of bed. I wanted to continue wallowing in my pain by looking through the pictures we took at the amusement park, something I did all weekend. But I knew I had responsibilities and it started with talking to the Carltons.

  Wiping my hand on my dress pants, I stand from my chair. “Please show them in.”

  Clouded with uneasiness, I stiffen my back and face the music. This moment is going to cost me the biggest deal of my career, possibly my job, damage my relationship with my dad, but I know it’s the right thing to do.

  Hands linked in front of me, I give Mr. and Mrs. Carlton a soft smile as they enter my office. We exchange greetings with handshakes, and I set them up with some drinks as we take a seat in my office that overlooks the Chicago skyline.

  When I decided on telling them the truth, I knew it would be hard. I’m putting not only my name on the line, but my dad’s, and it’s why I asked him to meet us here as well.

  Right on time, my dad knocks on the door and is surprised to see Mr. and Mrs. Carlton already seated. I have yet to tell him everything that went down on Friday because frankly, I wasn’t only embarrassed, but heartbroken. I didn’t have it in me to disappoint another man in my life, so I sent him a quick email to meet me on Monday in my office.

  I can only imagine what’s running through his head. He’s probably thinking I closed on the deal from the bright smile on his face.

  Shit, I hate this. Facing the consequences of my actions.

  Once he greets the Carltons, he takes a seat as well.

  With a deep breath, I say, “Thank you all for meeting me here today and adjusting your schedules. I really appreciate it.” I scoot forward on my chair, trying not to fidget like my dad taught me. Fidgeting shows weakness and if anything, I need to be as strong as I can possibly be in this moment. “I’m really sorry about canceling dinner on Friday.” From the corner of my eye, I see my dad pull on his cufflink, an indication that he’s not entirely happy to not be briefed before this meeting.

  “That’s quite all right, Miss Domico. We are understanding people.”

  Let’s see just how understanding.

  “I told you I had to cancel because of an emergency, which in fact, was true. The dinner we prepared caught up in flames.”

  “Oh dear,” says Mrs. Carlton. “Is your home okay?”

  “Yes, it was contained in the oven, but it happened because of me. You see, I’ve been dating Jason Orson, but not for as long as I told you.” Mr. Carlton’s eyebrows sharpen. “I’ve only been seeing him for a little over a month.”

  “I see,” Mr. Carlton says, his usual jovial self, angry.

  Controlling my breath and not letting it escape me, I say, “I was desperate to show you that even though I might not have been the family person you were looking for, we still were a family operated company. I wanted to keep you interested to grant me more time to prove that to you. I went about it the wrong way, and . . . I’m so sorry I deceived you.”

  “I see,” Mrs. Carlton says looking out the window.

  “I never meant to deceive you or make you feel like you’d been fooled. I can tell you from the heart, right now, that Jason Orson is everything I ever asked for in a man and I really—”

  Mr. Carlton clears his throat and grips the edges of his armrest. “Yes, well, I don’t need to hear
you prattle on. I think our time here is done.” He stands, lending his hand to his wife who takes it and lifts from her chair. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  Fuck. Panic constricts my throat, desperate pleas at the tip of my tongue that can’t seem to find a voice. No.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Carlton,” my dad says, standing as well. “Please know this isn’t how we conduct business.”

  “No?” Mr. Carlton asks, a sturdiness to his question. “She’s your daughter is she not? She must have learned how to be untrustworthy somewhere.”

  My dad reels back, as if he’s been slapped. Shit . . . shit, shit, shit.

  The crashing down of the moment drowns me as I try to float to the top, try to find the courage to stand on two legs as I realize this is just like the last time I disappointed my dad. The disappointment in his face, but the need to protect me as well.

  I step in, placing a hand on my dad’s forearm. “I assure you, Mr. Carlton, my dad had nothing to do with this. He didn’t condone what I did. This was all on me and I will forever regret this decision.”

  “Yes, you will,” he says, heading toward the door. He takes his wife’s hand and says, “What you learn quickly in this business, Miss Domico, is even though it’s a take-no-prisoners atmosphere, the businesses and executives who finish in a golden light and live a fruitful life are the ones who take the honest path in business. I hope this lesson serves you well.”

  They vacate my office, disappointment written all over their features, and that’s when I realize, I’m pretty sure they were ready to pick the Domicos. Had I not come clean, we’d be popping champagne and celebrating.

  It wouldn’t have felt right though, especially with the way things ended with Jason.

  God, I miss him so much it hurts.

  When they’re out of earshot, my dad turns on me, anger etched in his eyes. “What the hell was that, Dorothy?”

  And here’s the moment I’ve been dreading the most about today. “It was the truth. They deserved it.”

  “They deserved it from the very beginning.” He drags his hand over his face. “You just cost us millions over that deal.”

  “I know, Dad—”

  “No, I don’t think you do. You not only cost us money, but you cost us our reputation.” He tosses his hand in the air. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this now?”

  “Nothing,” I say, as an acute sense of loss builds inside me.

  In my dream of dreams, I pictured everything going right, that the Carltons would congratulate me on being truthful, and my dad would think it was a risk but proud of me for not hiding behind deception.

  That was the dream. Somewhat misguided.

  Reality? This is the end of everything I’ve built over the last few years, everything I thought I wanted and worked for since college. I wasn’t sure if I was going to do this or not, but I feel as though I don’t have a choice. I pick up a letter off my desk and hand it to him. “Here’s my resignation. Please consider this my two weeks’ notice or until you can find a replacement.”

  “Dorothy . . .” my dad says, resigned. He can barely look at me.

  “Don’t, Dad. I know this is necessary, and I’m saving you the trouble of having to do it yourself. I’d hoped the Carltons would have appreciated my sincerity—my choice to come clean—and maybe still go with us, but I knew that was a long shot. I screwed this up big time, even with your warning. If this were anyone else, you’d have fired them on the spot. I should have listened to you, I never should have dragged Jason into this mess and because of my immature decisions, I hurt the company. This needs to be done.”

  “But this is my legacy. I’ve built this business from the ground up; it was supposed to be passed on to you,” he says, looking weak and disheartened.

  I hate this. That I’ve done this to him.

  “I know, but I’ll be honest, Dad. This job, even though it’s fun working for you, it’s been stressful, and I’ve made choices I’ll always regret. It’s turned me into a person I’m not exactly proud of, and it’s made me jaded and closed off, a trait that didn’t emerge until I sat at this desk. I admire everything you’ve built and done for our family—for me. And I’m heartbroken over how I’ve treated that gift and the responsibilities you entrusted to me. I can see I’ve lost sight of who I am. What I should be doing.”

  “Is this about Nick?” he asks, walking toward me and taking my hand in his.

  I shake my head, but maybe some of it is. “It stems from Nick, from the distrust his betrayal created. I worked extra hard after he hurt me to prove I’m more than the family name, that I’m my own entity. I can see I did anything to make myself feel empowered. To feel powerful.” I shake my head. “The drive blinded me, made my actions unacceptable, and I ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me . . . Jason.”

  “Sweetie,” he says softly, pulling me into a hug. “You need that kind of drive for this business.”

  “It’s not the person I am. I thought it was, but it’s not.”

  He kisses the top of my head and says, “You were always more of your mother’s daughter with the soft soul and kind heart. It’s why you donate so generously. That’s who you are. That’s the woman I’m incredibly proud of.”

  I try to digest his words, but they don’t feel right at this moment. They don’t quite fit with how I feel about myself.

  Sighing, my dad asks, “So if you’re not working for me, what are you going to do?”

  “I have some ideas. Some ideas that will help me feel more fulfilled. At least I hope.”

  He exhales, pulling on his tie before he lowers his head in defeat. “Shit, Dorothy.”

  “I know.” Tears well up in my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dad. So, so sorry.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” He squeezes me tighter, and that’s when I break down against his pristine Tom Ford suit. “Shh,” he says, rubbing the back of my head. But it’s impossible for me to stop crying now the waterworks have taken over. I clutch his suit jacket and sob. “Sweetie, all these tears, there not just for the job . . .”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “It’s about the boy.”

  I nod.

  “What happened?”

  “He . . . he . . .” I catch my breath. “He saw your email. He was so upset, so heartbroken. He broke things off with me and left. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so devastated than I did in that moment.” I don’t think I’ve ever caused anyone so much pain before or felt so . . . ashamed.

  “I don’t know, right now you’re giving him a run for his money.”

  I pull away and wipe away my tears. “I love him, Dad, and before I could even say it, I lost him.”

  “Who’s to say you still can’t say it?”

  “He’ll push me away.” I shake my head.

  “You never know until you try, sweetie, and now that you’ve resigned, looks like you have some time on your hands. Make it up to him.”

  “I don’t know how,” I say, feeling vulnerable and exposed, but I guess that’s what being in love is all about, shedding a layer of skin so the other person can see your true self, your soul. “What if he turns me away?”

  “Then at least you’ll know you gave it your all, like everything else in your life.”

  * * *

  I’m going to puke.

  Yup, right here, in the hallway, puke is happening.

  It took me a few days to gain the nerve, but once I grabbed enough courage, I didn’t let myself turn back.

  A VP from the California office has been wanting to move to Chicago within the company, but there haven’t been any positions open. Now I’m leaving, the transition is seamless and the guy, Kent, is unsurprisingly an intelligent and a trusted employee. I feel comfortable with him taking over and my dad feels safe with his company.

  He flew out immediately, and I’ve been helping him with the transition.

  We gave Jessica a raise, because of everything that’s gone on, and she’ll take on some new responsib
ilities. She was teary when I told her I was resigning, and we both got emotional after that. I’ll miss her, as she’s a very competent assistant. I know this is for the best though.

  Even what I’m about to do.

  I raise my hand to the door I’ve grown quite familiar with and before I can chicken out, I give it a few knocks.

  This is going to be simple. I’m going to lay it on the line for him and what he does with the information is up to him.

  I hear him approach and hold my breath as he opens the door. Wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a shocked face, he grips the side of the door and asks, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Hostile. It’s the only way I can describe his voice. There’s no hurt, there’s no confusion, just pure hostility.

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “We’re done talking. Did you not get that last Friday?”

  “No, I did.” My throat tightens, making it hard to squeeze out my words. “But”—I swallow hard—“I wanted to tell you something, before you shut the door on me.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but stands there, waiting. I guess that means I continue. “My intention wasn’t to use you, Jason, nor was it to make you feel that what we had wasn’t true. Before you knew who I was, I felt something for you, this strong force pulling me toward you, a force I wanted to ignore for as long as I could because I was scared.” I clear my throat. “When I made a slip-up in my business meeting, claiming you as my boyfriend, I knew it was stupid, and the minute the words fell past my lips I instantly regretted them. After the meeting, I convinced myself that because you were trying to get me to go out with you, I could give in to my feelings and take you up on a date.”

  His jaw clenches and I know he’s seconds from slamming that door in my face.

  “I met with the Carltons this week and told them the truth. Like I expected, it was a deal-breaker, but I wanted to be honest anyway—”