by Erin Zak
I certainly couldn’t control my heart, which is why it was shattered by someone I refuse to talk about.
In order to deal with heartbreak, the following depression, and the amount of food I’ve consumed to help me be happy again, I run my life the same way I run a bar. Organized and efficient. I wake up every morning at the same time. I work out every morning. I run on my treadmill for an hour, running from a demon I never thought would devour me.
Letting a broken heart rule my emotions is not the life I ever wanted to live. In fact, before all of this, I lived a life of never getting too mixed up with anyone. I didn’t want to get my heart broken.
Stay guarded, stay sane.
Those words were how I lived. And up until Willow Carmichael walked into my life, that motto was the reason I was successful.
The amount of power I handed over to her was ridiculous. The worst part is, she is still in my life every day. She’s chaperoning the entire marketing team at the casino. As the head of marketing, she likes to say she needs to be present at all times. Yeah, right. She just needs to make sure she struts around the casino floor, taking in all the guests, eyeing all the staff, rubbing elbows with the wealthy, and essentially acting as if her shit doesn’t stink.
What have her marketing efforts managed to bring in so far? The Heights is going to make money regardless of what she does. First of all, it’s fucking Vegas. Second, it’s a brand-new casino on the Strip in a fantastic area. And third? The casino owner, Terrence Heafey, knows his stuff. He’s the best boss I’ve ever had. And he’s the only casino owner I’ve met while working.
I know Willow Carmichael doesn’t need to be around constantly. She hangs around all the time to make me feel bad about myself. She always has someone’s arm draped around her, normally Terrence’s, and she makes sure they stop by the bar for a drink. And I have to be cordial. And kind. And act as if nothing is wrong, even though I am dying inside. Even though she broke my heart and doesn’t care one bit. For her, it’s business as usual, and I’m a casualty of a war she didn’t tell me I was fighting until it was too late, and I was standing on a land mine. And I hate her for it. I hate myself for it, too. I fell for it. I fell for her…and I still love her. Which makes me hate myself even more.
The worst part is that my mother—and, of course, my abuela—taught me that hatred will only make me miserable. The first time I came home from school crying because of a mean girl, I wanted so badly to hate her. But the two most important women in my life sat me down and reminded me that everyone has struggles. And maybe this girl’s struggles were far bigger than I could understand. I didn’t need to hate her. I just needed to understand it wasn’t my fault.
But this?
Willow Carmichael?
Fuck her struggles.
It’s the only mindset I can have these days, especially when I need to be “on” for work. I cannot falter, and I cannot let memories get in my way.
“Stay guarded, stay sane,” I mumble as I breeze into the employee entrance at the Heights. I say my hellos to all of my coworkers, nodding, waving, fist-bumping some of the janitors as they wheel by me in the back hallway with their giant trash bins. When I push through the doors into the employee lounge, I see Max standing in front of the mirror, checking his tie.
He sees me in the reflection, and a grin pops onto his beautiful face. “Frankie, baby, how you doing?” He spins and holds his arms out, indicating he wants a hug. I oblige because I really do love his hugs.
“I’m good, baby, how are you?”
“Oh, you know, just living the dream.” He turns back to the mirror and pushes his hands through his blond hair. He is so handsome it sometimes hurts to look at him. I’m thankful we’ve become bartending partners because the ladies love him. The men love me. And together, we make a great fucking team.
I make my way over to the lockers and place my wallet and change of clothes inside. The picture hanging on the inside of the door is of my father and mother. “Thank you, Mami and Papi,” I say to it every day before a shift. My dad has passed, and I remain close to my mom, but I still thank them. They’re why I’m so driven. And they’re why I haven’t given up.
The low lighting and immaculate decorations in the employee lounge are a perfect distraction and really help to calm me down. Every shift is like a performance, so my stomach is filled with nerves most of the time. I may not have lines to memorize or blocking to hit, but I definitely have to put on a show. Coming in here during our breaks and before and after shifts helps break up the monotony. The refrigerator is always stocked, and the buffet has so much food. Being fed continuously is also why I work out like a fiend. There are couches and chairs, along with a ping-pong table, a pool table, and a few arcade machines. Work hard, play harder. Everything stays in marvelous condition due to the fact that Terrence wants us to be happy, and since we put so many hours of our lives into this place, he makes sure we stay happy. Happy employees make him more money.
The level of responsibility each employee has at this casino is different from any other casino I’ve worked at before, too, which is really refreshing. We take things seriously. We’re here to make money. And when it’s a good night, we make so much money, it’s nuts.
Being the newest casino on the Strip means attracting all sorts of people. Young entrepreneurs who have tons of money to blow, older men and women who want to spend their life savings on slot machines, people who just got paid and want to try to turn that check into a life’s savings. It’s amazing. I always marvel at the amount of money these people have. They toss thousands at the roulette table, at the blackjack table, at the craps table, as if it doesn’t faze them. Their level of cockiness is immeasurable. Even the women are cocky, which is, sadly, pretty hot.
“You look different this morning.” Max struts up behind me, puts his hands on my shoulders, and turns me so I’m facing him. He pushes my hair behind my ears and looks directly into my eyes. The love I have for him is so deep. He’s the best guy friend I have ever had. It’s a blessing he’s gay. I probably would have ruined our friendship years ago by trying to sleep with him. The best part about him, though? He puts as much time into his body as I do mine, and we push each other. The other day at the gym, he bet me I couldn’t outrun him. Well, I did. I ran a twenty-two-minute 5K, and he clocked in at twenty-three minutes. I shrugged, and he bought lunch. Perfect friendship.
“I let my girl do a balayage on my hair. You like it?” I turn so he can see the back. I keep the length long, and usually I keep it auburn, which works really well with my darker skin tone. But the last time I went in for a root touch-up, I let my stylist talk me into something different. She lightened the top a shade and worked her magic so the dark fades into a honey blond. I was surprised by how much I like it. I needed something different to help pull me from the depths of depression.
“It’s beautiful. I love the curls. And your makeup is flawless.”
“Stop.” I push him away playfully.
He stops me and runs his fingers along my jawline to my chin. He raises my face so he can look me in the eyes. “Are you still doubting how gorgeous you are?”
A part of me wishes I could tell him, no, of course not. But it’s not the truth. As beautiful as I may be, I do not feel that way. I feel awful about myself. And at the end of the night, when I end up with someone who tells me how beautiful I am, all I hear is the sound of Willow telling me how beautiful the other woman in her life is and how I’ll never match up and how she should have never started this thing with me. I force myself to smile at his caring eyes and his genuine smile. “Always, Maxwell. Always.”
“Sigh,” he says with a breath. “One day, maybe you’ll believe me.”
“Maybe.” I grab his hand and turn to head to our posts. “Let’s go make some money. Lots of people here already. I think we can pull in at least seven or eight hundred tonight.” We push through the doors and weave through the crowd.
“All together? Or apiece?”
“Apiece,” I say over the bass of the music in the bar.
“I love the way you think.”
The way I think? If he only knew that most of the time, I’m thinking about how badly I wish I could go back to bed and curl into a ball. I guess if making money is the only way to keep my mind off how much I can’t stand myself these days, then so be it.
Cecily
I have a wonderful view from my downtown Chicago office. Every morning, I look out the floor to ceiling windows at the Chicago River and remind myself how awesome it is that I did this, I got to this place, all on my own. I worked my butt off for this corner office and the view that comes with it. When winter finally breaks and the trees start to bud and blossom, it becomes even more beautiful. There are many days I thank God for what I’ve been able to achieve in my life. This office, working for this company, is one of them. Our CEO, Jeff Hammerstein, is a wonderful boss. He’s caring and compassionate, and he was so understanding when I was going through everything with my husband. Now I have a whole new set of things to go through. But then? Then it was miscarriage after miscarriage and months and months and months of in vitro treatments.
Will that time in my life ever be easier to mention?
Mr. Hammerstein checks in with me every Monday morning precisely at half past eight. He always comes bearing a caramel macchiato from Starbucks and makes sure he knocks before he enters. This morning’s visit is no different, except he also has a bag, presumably with a half-eaten scone hidden inside. He’s a man of many patterns.
“Good morning, Mr. Hammerstein.”
He pauses before he saunters past me to the couch near the window. He peers at me over the top of his wire framed glasses. “Cecily. My name is Jeff. And you know that.”
I smile. This entire conversation has happened a thousand times. I was raised to respect my elders, he’s pushing sixty, and I will always respect him. But he wants me to call him by his first name so badly. I don’t get it, and I always fall back into the respectful daughter role. “I know, I know. But you know how I feel.”
“Please,” he says softly. He sets the bag on the table and smooths his free hand over his very expensive light gray suit before he sits. He crosses his right leg over his left and straightens his tie before he motions to the chair for me to join him. “Would it help if I said I’ll consider firing you if you don’t start calling me Jeff?”
I laugh as I move to the chair. I chose dark brown leather furniture when I moved into this corner office for two reasons. One, I’ve always wanted leather furniture, but Luke hated it. And two, it makes me feel very fancy. I’m not fancy by nature. Small town living made this girl want more, and this leather furniture is part of the “more” I desired. After I accept the caramel macchiato, I take a sip. “Was Patti the barista? This tastes like her handiwork.”
“You betcha.” He bobs his foot a couple times. “So how are you?”
“I’m okay.” My answer is always the same. I have no idea how I am these days. I miss my girlfriend. While I’m married to my husband. So, okay is so much better than completely racked with guilt. “How are you?” I ask, knowing his answer will be…
“Sunny with a mix of clouds.”
“What’s going on?” My tone is soft, but I want to know. And these first five minutes are never work related.
“Tammy found a lump in her breast.”
“My God.” The words come out without my even meaning to say them. “Is everything okay? What is going to happen? Is she okay? Should I call her?” I’m leaning forward, concern coursing through my veins. Tammy is as much a part of my life as Jeff is. I have lunch with her. I go to Williams-Sonoma with her. I go to the theatre with her. She is another mom to me.
He taps the crumbs from the scone into his hand and takes a bite. He chews, chews, chews, swallows, then says with hardly any emotion, “She’s going to get a mastectomy, but she’s not going to seek treatment.”
“What?”
“It was a joint decision. And another thing.” He takes a breath and smacks his lips after he drinks his coffee. “I’m retiring at the end of this month.”
“Mr. Hamm—” He looks at me. “Jeff, I mean.” He smiles, and so do I. “I just mean, what do you mean?”
“She’s ten years older than me. And the prognosis is good. So we’re going to live and spend some of our children’s inheritance.” He chuckles. “None of them need the money anyway. And we want to travel more. Maybe buy that luxury RV we’ve been discussing. Or hell, I don’t know. Whatever we want, I guess.” He is smiling, and even though he’s clearly okay with his decision, I am floored. “What? Talk to me.”
“I am beside myself.”
“I can tell.” He finishes the scone. His chewing seems loud, even though it probably isn’t, but somewhere amidst the noise, I realize I am next in line to become the CEO. He must see the realization on my face. He clears his throat and says, “Yes, you’re up.”
“Up?”
“You’re up for the promotion to CEO. I do hope you’re planning on staying here.”
I roll my eyes. “Why would I ever leave?”
“Who knows? Maybe some other company has headhunted you, wooed you with a higher salary.”
“It’s not about the money. I love working for you.”
“Oh, so you don’t want a raise as the new CEO?”
I laugh. Is he crazy? “No, no, no. I’ll take the raise.”
“That’s what I thought.” He leans forward, swipes his glasses from his face, and sets them next to his cup on the table in front of the couch. I cannot get over the way everything sounds this morning. As if someone has turned the volume up, and it’s unnerving. He rubs his temples, pushes his fingers through his shaggy gray hair. “I am so tired.”
A small voice inside me says, you’re tired? But I settle on, “I can only imagine.”
He glances up, squints, and I can tell then he is fighting back tears. “I have one more thing to ask.”
“Of course.”
“It’s not so much an ask as something you’ll have to do. And I’m sorry to spring this on you.”
“Hmm.” I cross my right leg over my left and lean forward, my hands clasped. “I’m not sure I know where you’re going with this.”
“There is a meeting in Vegas about a project we’re starting. I think the new CEO of the company should be there to oversee things. We won’t start until after I’m gone, so it only makes sense you are there.”
“Do you think that’s wise—”
“Tammy’s surgery is Friday.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Of course. You can count on me.”
“Julie will get you loaded up with the necessary files. MGM Grand is doing an entire revamp of their marketing and communication plan. They’ve been scouting for a consultant company. This is our chance to shine in Vegas. With the big dogs. Your work with Rivers is why they even considered us.”
I gasp. “Seriously?” The project with Rivers Casino has been the highlight of my career for more reasons than I should mention, but it’s almost impossible to not do so.
“The meeting shouldn’t last more than a couple hours,” Jeff continues, interrupting my thoughts and my memories as they unravel like a cheap sweater. “And then you get the rest of the weekend to yourself. Tickets have already been transferred to your name. First class, of course. And you’ll be staying at the Heights.”
I gasp again.
His blue eyes sparkle. “Were you aware Willow Carmichael left her gig in Chicago?”
Oh, I know.
He continues to eye me as if he knows, but there’s no way. “And is now handling the Heights’ marketing?”
I am more than aware.
“You enjoyed working with her?”
The answer is a resounding yes, but I contain my excitement and simply nod.
“I’d like for you to…” He stops, continues to eye me, and finishes with, “Maybe poke around a bit.”
“I’m sorry?”
“M
aybe do some recon?”
“You want me to spy?” I laugh. I am the least smooth person to ever live. The idea of me spying on anyone is hysterical.
He doesn’t chuckle with me. He just continues to stare.
“I’m so confused,” I say, straight faced, and he finally lets a laugh loose.
“You and Willow worked well together. No?”
I swallow. “Yes. We did.”
“I’m sure you can…find things out. How they do business…y’know, the good stuff.”
“The good stuff? I’m not sure I follow.”
“Don’t you?”
I tilt my head, narrow my eyes, and purse my lips.
He half chuckles, half puffs out air as he stands and slides his glasses back on in a fluid motion. “You’ll do just fine.”
I’m still confused, and dare I say, insulted? Does he know? And if he does, is this his way of saying so? And also implying I need to…use my body? I have no idea. I push all of my feelings aside so I remain professional, stand, and extend my hand. “Thank you so much for this opportunity, Jeff. I won’t let you down.”
He shakes my hand. “I know. You’re the best person for the job.” And he about-faces and leaves my office. I plop back into the leather chair and push my long blond hair away from my forehead. Holy cow, holy cow, holy cow.
CEO.
CE friggin’ O.
What the hell?
And a trip to Vegas?
I place my hand over my mouth. My coworkers are going to be so jealous, but I don’t even care. I deserve this promotion. They know it as well as I do. And I deserve a trip to Vegas.
Where I’ll get to see Willow. And use my feminine wiles?
My heart is thumping so hard. Willow Carmichael was the first woman I had ever been with. And, sadly, she is also the only person I have cheated on my husband with. And continue to cheat on him with. Even while she’s halfway across the country. All I know is, the entire relationship has been breathtaking yet also heartbreaking.
