by Nikki Castle
My eyes nearly bug out of my head. I've been very vocal with Brian about my struggles with the engineers, so the fact that he's even asking this is unbelievable.
Useless.
"I rarely receive enough information from the engineers to create an entire datasheet," I answer delicately. I've never been one to burn bridges or throw anyone under the bus, so I need to be careful about how I answer this question and the inevitable next one.
Even though I'm dying to rat out those lazy motherfuckers.
"I'm not sure how that's possible," Brian argues with a glare. "I talked to Cassandra on Friday and she said she gave you plenty of information to work with for that datasheet."
I'm grinding my teeth so hard that I'm surprised I haven't bitten through my own jaw yet. I have no idea how to respond to that without calling both my boss and a valued employee a blatant liar.
Brian continues his scolding. "And anyway, why aren't you checking your work before you pass it to the Creative team to get published? How did a mistake like this get all the way through to publication?"
By now, my words have taken on a sharp edge. "I triple check everything I create," I say tightly. "But this is the exact reason I've asked for another person on my team, so it goes through quality control and so I'm not the only person—"
"I can't hire someone just to check your work," Brian interrupts.
I stare at him for a moment in complete disbelief. He really hasn't ever listened to a word I've said.
Either that or he's just trying to save face in front of his boss by using me as a scapegoat.
"I don't need someone to check my work, I need help in general," I say firmly. "None of the other marketing teams are made up of only one person. The company has grown significantly in the past year, which means marketing demand has increased, and I'm not able to give each document the attention it needs because of that. Every document should have at least two eyes on it to avoid situations like this. And with the engineers not providing enough information, the time spent on these documents is—"
"We can't hire anyone else right now," Mr. Templeton cuts me off. My eyes widen at both the rude interruption and the blatant effort to shut me down. "We can revisit that idea at another time but for right now, we need to deal with the issue in front of us. And going forward, I expect you to pay closer attention to your work."
A red haze clouds my vision and I'm sure they can see that I'm seething. But I'm so beyond caring that I just nod.
Mr. Templeton turns to the lawyer on his left and motions for him to begin.
The lawyer opens the folder in front of him before fixing me with a firm stare. "The first step here is obviously to remove that datasheet from the website and anywhere else that we can pull it down. Our team is handling that. The good news is that the competitor caught it quickly, so your customers haven't had a chance to share the document very widely. That might work in our favor—they might not be able to claim damages or much of a loss of revenue. I'm going to push for a settlement so that this doesn't make it to litigation, but if they find any way to prove that this was willful, or if they really want to push this to the max, they might take us to court for statutory damages. It is imperative that you do not talk to anyone about this. You say one wrong thing to the competitor or their lawyer, and we get taken to court for hundreds of thousands of dollars. Do not talk to anyone without me present. Do I make myself clear?"
I glare at him. I know he needs to talk to me this way, but I hate it anyway. "I understand."
He nods in approval and turns back to Mr. Templeton, who fixes me with a stern look. "Make sure you do as Sam says. This is costing us enough money as it is, so we don't need anything making this even worse. Please let myself and Sam know if anyone tries to contact you about this." He motions to Brian. "For the time being, you will submit all of your work to Brian for approval. Please check your work going forward. You won't be let go because of this, but I expect that it won’t happen again."
I'm so furious that all I can do is give a stiff nod. I know I made a mistake and that they need to do damage control, but I'm being treated like an incompetent child. Not to mention this could've been avoided if my boss cared to listen to any of my suggestions. And on top of all of that, I should be grateful that they're not firing me. I can barely hold back my angry sneer.
Brian is the last to chime in. "You and I will meet again later today to discuss this further." To further scold you and to talk about your punishment goes unsaid. But the message is clear: even though companies hire lawyers and have money set aside for exactly these kinds of issues, I'm still going to be severely punished.
The meeting ends abruptly. At some kind of unspoken signal from Mr. Templeton, all three men stand and exit the room, leaving me sitting in shock at the conference table.
I didn't exactly expect someone to tell me 'it's okay, it could happen to anyone,' but I can't help but feel hurt that there wasn't a single positive message or appreciative comment throughout that whole meeting. No one to tell me I do a great job otherwise, or that the company is perfectly equipped to handle this kind of thing. After all, copyright lawyers exist exactly because this is a common issue.
Instead, I once again feel like I'm undervalued by my company, and like the only purpose I serve is for others to bash me. It's the same story with my boss, the engineers, even the people that sit in the cubicles around me that don't care enough to talk to me unless they're teasing me for one thing or another. I'm completely unappreciated in every part of my work. Even though I'm damn good at my job.
Eventually I stand from my seat and go back to my cubicle. I spend the rest of the day on autopilot, working normally while my brain is lost in very different thoughts.
I think about my dreams in college. I think about my career up until this point. I think about my 5/10/20 year plan and where I want to be, and what I want to be doing.
I think about what makes me happy, and what makes me miserable. I think about the fact that I spend almost sixty hours a week doing something that I absolutely hate, and only eight hours a week in the gym being actually happy.
I think about what a horrible ratio that is.
I'm lost in my thoughts all day. I'm quiet throughout my entire existential crisis—as I work, as I go out for lunch, even as I talk to coworkers. I dissect and analyze everything in my life for my entire Monday workday.
Brian sends me an instant message at 4:00 to come to his office. I no longer feel angry or hurt—I just feel calm and sure of myself. I close my laptop and make my way to his office.
"Have a seat, Remy," he says by way of greeting. I close the door behind me and sit down in the chair he indicates. My calmness remains even as my boss leans forward on his desk, a smug expression appearing on his face as he clasps his hands together and gets ready to deliver what is most likely a verbal lashing.
"As you're aware—" he begins.
"I'd like to give you my official two-week notice," I interrupt, much like he and his boss kept interrupting me this morning.
Brian's eyes go wide. He clumsily leans back in his chair, looking physically taken aback.
I wait patiently for his response.
"Remy, just because you're in trouble doesn't mean you need to make any rash—"
"That's not why I'm doing this," I interrupt again. "This is not me trying to get away from any kind of legal consequence. I will still deal with my mistake. But I no longer want to work here, so I’m giving you my two weeks’ notice."
He stares at me, wide-eyed, for a few seconds. I'm sure this isn't the way people usually resign, so it looks like he's struggling to figure out what to say to me.
"But… why?" he finally asks.
"Because I'm unhappy. I don't like what I do." I spear him with a steely glare. "And without trying to burn any bridges with this company, I have to admit that I did not mesh well with anyone here."
He swallows roughly, and I'm sure that he caught my not-so-hidden meaning. Despite his comment
s this morning, he knows how unsupported I am and how much the engineers take advantage of me. Not to mention he has to be aware of his own role in this game. Or lack thereof.
"I'm resigning, that's all there is to it. Let me know what you need from me to get it done." I stand from the chair and turn to leave.
"Quitting like this won't get you a recommendation from this company," he blurts out as I reach the door. "And it's the only job you've ever had, so it won't be easy getting another job in the industry."
I turn to face him, my hand on the doorknob and a sad smile on my face. "If I'm lucky, I'll never even look at this industry again." I leave his office without a single glance back.
I had already packed my tote bag before walking into Brian's office, so I grab it now and walk out of the building, not saying a word to anybody. I can practically feel people's surprised glances follow me out—it’s only 4:00 and no one has ever seen me leave even a minute before 5:00.
But right now I don't give a flying fuck. I feel too good, too free, for the first time in a long time. I don't want to spend another second of the day being unhappy.
Part of me wants to go to the gym, not caring that I would probably run into Tristan. But for some reason the rest of me doesn't find the idea of a workout appealing. I know I need to deal with the gym issue soon—I will never be the kind of girl that quits something solely because of a boy—but that day is not today. Right now, I feel myself wanting to do something new and exciting. Something that I've always wanted to do but have put off for one reason or another.
And maybe it's my current 'fuck everybody' mentality, but I find myself pulling my phone out to run an internet search. A minute later, I hear my call ringing out.
"Hi, my name is Remy. Do you by any chance have any availability for a cut and color today?"
23
Remy
I try to remind myself for the millionth time that I love Jax's parents and already promised them that I would be there to celebrate their anniversary.
Every part of me dreads going to this party. There isn't a chance that Tristan doesn't go, which means I'll definitely run into him at some point tonight. My only hope for that not happening is if Mr. and Mrs. Turner invited enough people to actually fill their massive house. For the first time in my life, I'm hoping for a crowded party.
I turn to the mirror again to study my reflection. Even in my miserable state, I can admit it's a shame that I'm not more excited to wear this dress. A few weeks ago, Hailey helped me pick out a cocktail dress specifically for tonight, since Jax's parents love to throw formal parties. It's a simple design, a solid burgundy piece of satin that reaches all the way to the floor. But with a subtle neckline, backless design, and a thigh high slit on one side, the dress is clearly a showstopper. I run my hands over my hips where the fabric hugs my curves.
I added my silver ankle strap heels and a pair of dangly silver earrings. My newly blonde hair is curled and tucked back on one side with a single silver clip. I find myself wishing, more than anything, that I felt as beautiful as my reflection looks staring back at me.
My phone buzzes with a text message.
Jax: I'm here
I grab the nude lipstick to touch up my color and tuck it into my black clutch next to my phone. With a final glance at my despondent reflection, I take a deep breath and head downstairs.
Jax is parked in front of my apartment building, scrolling through something on his phone as he waits for me. And even though I often see him dressed in suits for work, I still smile at the sight of him. He will always be the center of attention in any room, but especially when he's dressed in a fitted black suit.
He looks up from his phone as I'm walking down the last few steps to the sidewalk. A small part of me takes pleasure in his double take when he sees my outfit. His jaw drops and he doesn't take his eyes off me as I round the car to open the passenger door.
"Jesus Christ, Remy," he exclaims as I take my seat. "You're a fucking bombshell." He's openly gaping, though after a moment he clears his head by shaking it and shooting me a small glare. "But you do realize that showing up looking like that is not going to help us convince Grandma Birdie that I shouldn't be swooning over you and begging you to marry into the family, right?"
I flash Jax a tight smile as I carefully arrange my dress around me. "I don't think anything is capable of convincing Grandma Birdie to give up on her idea of us together. It doesn't matter what I wear. But thank you. You're quite a showstopper yourself, as always." I turn to Jax with another smile, even though I can feel that it doesn't quite reach my eyes.
This whole evening is going to be painful if I don't start faking my smiles better.
Jax studies me closely for a moment. Even if I were the greatest actress in the world, he would still be able to tell that I'm miserable. And once again I think about how thankful I am for his friendship, for him understanding that I need space and not pressuring me for an explanation.
Without a word, he leans over and gently kisses my cheek. "You really do look beautiful," he says softly. He turns to face forward, ready to take us to the suburbs. But he pauses and, without looking at me, says, "Whatever it is, it'll work out in the end. If it hasn't worked out yet, then it's not the end."
I look out the window and try to will my tears not to fall. He doesn't wait for my reaction before he pulls out into traffic.
My wish for a packed party is pretty close to reality. By the time we pull up to the large house, there are two dozen cars parked on the property and multiple couples walking up the long driveway. Jax weaves my hand through his arm as we start the walk toward the party.
I take a deep breath when we step through the front door. I know a lot of the Turners’ family and friends, so my plan is to busy myself with as many people as possible.
So as to avoid the temptation of looking around for a certain person.
Sure enough, it doesn't take long for Jax and I to be stopped by his family members. I let go of Jax's arm in an attempt to keep the older women in his family from yet again assuming that we're dating, but I don't get very far before he grabs a hold of my pinky. He never looks away from the conversation that he's engaged in, yet I get the feeling that he's trying to physically anchor me to his side to convince himself that I'm nearby and in one piece. I smile gratefully at the back of my best friend's head.
We make our way through the rest of the house, stopping to chat with a few more people, before we open the back door and step out into the stunning backyard.
This is the main location of tonight's party. On a September evening it's still on the warmer side, but not hot enough that it's uncomfortable. On one side there is a bar area set up, complete with a bartender decked out in a vest and bowtie, along with several wine and liquor options. Partygoers mingle around the nearby high tops with their drinks. On the other side of the massive yard, the Turners' party planner has arranged a few sofas and loveseats for comfortable seating. Both sides of the yard are filled with happy, laughing guests.
In the middle of the yard is the dance floor, where a few children are already twirling in circles. And if I know anything about a Turner family party, that dance floor will be filled with many drunk and boisterous guests before the night is over.
Along the perimeter of the property and stretching overhead, beautiful string lights twinkle and envelop the party in a soft glow. Between the physical ambiance of the setting and the sounds of children's giggles floating through the air, it's a beautiful and wonderfully welcoming party. My heart aches at the feel of it.
"Oh, there you two are, I've been looking all over for you. It's about time you made it here!"
Jax and I turn to see his parents walking toward us with big smiles. His mother, a beautiful fifty-year-old woman that is more elegant now than ever before, pulls me into a tight hug. She looks stunning in a simple white dress. When she pulls back, she keeps hold of my hands and smiles down at my outfit.
"Darling, you look spectacular! That dress lo
oks like it was made for you." She tugs me closer to whisper conspiratorially, "Don't let Grandma Birdie see you. We only recently started to make progress with convincing her that you two are just friends."
Mr. Turner winks and pulls me in for a hug of his own. "If I'm being honest, I'm on Grandma Birdie's side. I have no idea what could possess my son to think there is someone better than you out there."
"Dad, come on," Jax groans. "You would think after a decade we'd be over this joke already. I am this close to never bringing Remy to the house again."
His mom gasps and grabs my arm. "You'll do no such thing. Remy is as much a part of the family as you are."
I smile my first real smile of the night. I am loved and taken care of by people that aren't even my blood family, and for a moment I remind myself that if this is the kind of love I receive in my life, I should be grateful.
I cover Mrs. Turner’s hand with my own. "You look wonderful, by the way. I can't believe you've been married for twenty-five years. Every time I look at you, I think you should have a toddler running around, not a grown son that acts like one." She blushes and swats away my compliment with a smile at the same time that I hear Jax huff in outrage.
I smile at them—my second parents, whom I love as much as my own. "So, what's the secret? How did you get to twenty-five years and still look at each other like teenagers in love?"
At that, Mrs. Turner finally lets me go. She floats over to her husband to press a kiss to his weathered cheek. He smiles at her with the same tenderness I see him give her every day of their lives.
"I think the secret is finding the right person," she answers without taking her eyes off her husband. "I think if you wait for the person who makes you so happy that you can't stand to be without them for even a minute, who you love so much that it makes any problem thrown your way worth fighting through—then everything else fades in comparison. Everything else will work itself out because you've found the other half of your soul and nothing else matters. You've already achieved the main purpose of life."
