I take another sip of my drink.
“Screw work.” Sarah slips off the stool. “Let’s dance.”
We follow her to the dance floor.
It’s crowded and noisy and just what I need. We smile and shimmy, and soon the pulsing music takes my mind off things. Bailey shakes her head when a guy gets into her dance space, gently pushing him away so she can continue dancing by herself.
She’s always been so strong, but her speech in my office makes me think she’s ready to find love. Sarah and Jack are meant for each other. I thought Blake and I were too. The fact that they’ve found the person they should be with is huge. Most people won’t find that. Most people usually bounce around from unsuitable person to unsuitable person until they find someone with whom to settle. I don’t know if soul mates are real, but seeing Jack and Sarah together almost makes me believe.
But what if we don’t end up with the person we’re supposed to be with? What if Blake and I spend the rest of our lives apart because I gave up? Will we both settle for someone completely wrong for us? God, we could miss out on the best thing that ever happened to us just because we were scared—or because I gave up.
I’m scared about Blake, but I sure as hell don’t want to let unspoken things get in the way. I don’t have a future stretched out in front of me, radiating with potential. I’ve already blown it with Blake.
Some people search their whole lives and never find the one. I found him. I found my person, and I lost him—and it hurts like hell.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t get him back. I just have to try harder.
I grin and throw myself into dancing. It’s time to shake my life up for the better.
I want Blake, but there are a few things I need to take care of first.
It’s really time for me to Switch things up.
* * *
For too long, I’ve been governed by rigid control—policing myself to color inside the lines. Never to stray outside, for fear of being seen and judged and not taken seriously.
Fuck. That.
Starting now.
Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do I worry so much about judgmental people who probably wouldn’t even notice me wearing something slightly brighter because the colors make me feel good? Why did I wait until I was in another state to get my tits out in public? OK, that one has real reasons, but metaphorically, I’ve been covered up by expectations, and they’ve done nothing but paint me into a corner until I broke up with someone I’ve wanted because I thought I should.
Because I thought I wasn’t the type of person he needed. Because I was arrogant enough to think it was for his own good—but that was fueled by insecurity too because how could we last when he’s so amazing and I’m just me?
We all need someone who will go out of their way to be the best person for us. Someone who cares enough to be good to us. To love us as we are. Blake knows me. I mean, how delusional is it to think he has no idea I can be rigid and stubborn? Even on vacation, he was coaxing me out of my shell, gently pushing my boundaries while letting me be exactly who I wanted to be.
He didn’t fall for someone who doesn’t exist. He was letting me be myself and accepting every shade of that.
You’re goddamn right I’m not letting him go.
I stride into the office in a black pencil skirt and a flowy silvery-green top I bought with Shelby on my last day in Florida. The top doesn’t hide every bump and imperfection—something I normally look for in a shirt—but it made me feel good. I bought it knowing I’d probably never wear it.
Now I care more about my authentic feelings than how I look to others. Maybe a black top would have made me more aesthetically pleasing to strangers on the train, but screw them. The one person I need to impress is myself. Being a bitch to myself is so last season.
Empowerment is a tough battle—knowing what to fight for and then mustering the courage to actually fight. Part of taking control of my life means knowing when to let things go. I did all I could about being robbed. I reported him to the police, and last night I signed up for Brazilian jujitsu lessons.
Will they turn me into a ninja? No. But if anyone tries to screw me over again, I’ll know that I’m not helpless. I’ll be able to fight back.
I hadn’t realized how much that weighed on me until I hung up the phone after booking my private appointment and then burst into tears. They were cathartic—a release, a relief. That was a healthy focus on control.
But what I need now is nearly the opposite.
My stride slows on the way to Valerie’s office.
This fight is a little less clear. My goal isn’t to get Thaddeus fired. If he’s doing it to me, he may be intimidating someone else.
I blot my palms on my skirt and knock on the door.
“Come in.”
I enter, smiling at Valerie, seated behind her huge walnut desk. She’s wearing a cream linen pantsuit that somehow doesn’t have a single wrinkle. Her auburn hair is brushed back from her face, highlighting her strong bone structure, and her face unadorned with makeup. She’s a handsome fiftysomething woman with kind, intelligent eyes like Sophia Loren’s.
“Melanie, have a seat. How goes the battle?”
Appropriate words. I ease myself into the leather chair, searching for the right words. Two things have brought me to her office, and the order in which I broach the subjects matters. If Thaddeus is here to stay, my complaining will definitely cause friction. On the other hand, I refuse to take what he’s dishing out any longer. Friction or not, I have to speak my mind, and I need to do that first.
“I need to talk to you about Thaddeus.”
She frowns. “Oh?”
“While he hasn’t technically crossed the line into formal complaint territory, he’s been harassing me. Well, more haranguing, but—”
“What exactly has he been doing?”
I fill Valerie in about his actions, showing her some of the emails he’s sent that he didn’t cc her on. It’s like lancing a boil. More and more comes out until I’ve vented it all. Just saying what he’s done makes me lighter. “I didn’t come in here to demand he be fired or even reprimanded. I’m just over being treated like his personal assistant, and I’ve had enough of his snide condescension. These emails he sends take up time and energy better used in dealing with company issues that actually need to be addressed.”
Valerie sits back in her chair. “And you want what, mediation?”
“I’d definitely be open to that. I don’t want conflict. I loved working here until he arrived. Maybe it’s not all him—maybe it was timing—but something has to give. If we can all sit down and resolve these issues together, I’m completely willing to participate.”
Valerie shakes her head. “That won’t be necessary. Seems like on a fundamental level, one of you needs to go.”
My heart drops. “I understand.”
“I don’t think you do. Thaddeus is the one who will be escorted from the building, not you.”
“What?”
She smiles. “There’s no way in hell I’d get rid of one of my best employees for a pain in the ass like Thad. You’re not the first person he’s annoyed—and worse. Honestly, he was on his last chance, and now he’s fired.”
“Seriously?” I’m one of her best employees? Pride warms my skin.
“Yes.”
“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but why?”
Valerie sighs. “This never leaves my office, but I hired him as a favor to his dad. We were friends in college and he needed a favor. I owed him one for… Well, never mind what for. Suffice it to say, I owed him one. But I love this company, and no matter how good of friends I was with his family once upon a time, I won’t sit by and watch someone shit where I eat.” She winks at my shocked grin. “Between you and me, I’m over Thaddeus’s emails as well. I need employees who don’t
need so much hand-holding.”
My stomach goes hollow, but I’m determined to forge ahead with the second part of why I came here. “Valerie, I’ve also been meaning to ask you about moving to another area.”
“You’re great in Human Resources. Did you have somewhere specific in mind?”
I swallow. “Editorial. Features, maybe. I know it will be different from what I’m used to, but I think I’ve got the chops to do it. My attention to detail is impeccable, and I know the employees better than anyone, so you wouldn’t need to worry about a new team member fitting in.” My toes are balled into knots inside my shoes. I want this.
Her eyes twinkle. “I loved the ideas you came up with while on vacation. Jayla’s going on maternity leave, as you know from her file. And if things work out with the newest planned expansion, Editorial’s going to need someone like you.” She taps a pen on her desktop, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. “I pride myself on having started a company that keeps up with the fast-paced world we live in now.”
If I were to take the position, I’d be in there, front lines, mingling with everyone for a change, but more than that, I’d be creating content. In a world of consumers, I want to be a creator. I shrug and go for a casual expression. “I’m already used to putting out fires. I want this, Valerie.”
She smiles. “Let’s call Jayla’s maternity leave your test run to see if you like it—and if you can impress me.”
If? She has no idea what I’m capable of when I put my mind to something. “I won’t let you down.”
Chapter 36
Blake
Seventeen minutes.
Ziggy’s bony knees stick out beneath his khaki shorts. It’s weird, because he’s active and has a decent build up top, but his legs are pale and scrawny.
He touches the tips of his fingers together. “I mean, it’s not that we don’t think you deserve a break. Everyone deserves a break. But what is a break?”
Fern nods. “If your life is something you feel you need to take a break from, something is fundamentally wrong on a cellular level, and you must change things up. Shake up the energy.”
My gaze slides back to the clock.
Eighteen minutes.
Eighteen minutes of this weird hippie confrontation about my vacation.
“Right, and that’s what I was doing,” I say. “I went on a vacation to shake up the energy and recharge my batteries. I got some sun, did some sports”—fell in love—“and here I am, back when I said I’d be back.”
“Right.” Fern’s voice and gaze are flat.
What is their problem? “Have none of your other therapists ever booked a couple weeks off for a vacation? I mean, I didn’t just skip out with no warning and let clients down. This was arranged a month before I left so there was advance notice.”
Ziggy swivels back and forth in his chair. “The thing is, you needed a break. But what about your clients? You had a responsibility to be there for them. They need you. They need you for a break from their pain, and maybe you need to weigh that need with your own. What’s the greater good? I like to ask myself, ‘What am I doing to make the world a better place? What can I do to make things better for more people? Am I letting my selfishness get in the way of my responsibilities?’”
This coming from a guy who once gave me shit when I wanted to work an extra day during the week—Fridays. Only that time, the speech had been, “Am I letting my ego get in the way of other therapists’ opportunities? Do I need to be the one helping people, or are the clients better served seeing another massage therapist?”
Ziggy sighs. “We want people here who want to be here. That’s what this is about at the end of the day.”
The hypocrisy is astounding. Maybe I can bullshit this in a way they’ll understand. “But how do you fully appreciate what you’ve got until you get away from it for some space and clarity?” My heart squeezes painfully as I think about Mel and me.
She left voice mails I’ve been unable to listen to. Hearing her voice again would undo me.
I don’t need to be bludgeoned with the reasons why she doesn’t want me.
Ziggy sits back in his chair, eyes widening. “You know, you’re right. That’s a very good point.”
Fern glances at Ziggy. “We hadn’t thought of it that way. But I’m still feeling a tension from you, Blake. You should book in for an attunement with myself or Ziggy.”
Ziggy’s eyes light up. “You know, we have one of our weekend workshops coming up next weekend, if you’re interested.”
There are maybe three things in the world I’m less interested in than their weekend cult course. I looked online, Googling their names and course name because of professional interest in my colleagues. I found way too many message boards calling it a scam and a cult, with people asking how to get money back—or get their loved ones out of it.
“Wow, I’m flattered.” And horrified.
Even if I believed in this energy business they’re always talking about, there’s no way I’d let these hypocrites anywhere near my chakras. Who knows what harm they’d do? I don’t necessarily think they’re bad people, but I know they’re very much out for themselves.
If energy work is about helping others, their intentions aren’t as pure as they pretend they are, and that’s what grosses me out the most about them.
“I’d love to, but like you said, I’ve got a responsibility to the clients I overlooked while on vacation.” Their words, not mine. “Their needs have to come before mine.” I can’t wait until I can quit this place.
“Fair enough.” Fern glances at the clock. “Well, you’re already twenty minutes late for your next client. Better hurry. I do hope you’re taking your self-care seriously. You don’t want to burn out by forty because you worked too hard.”
For fuck’s sake. First I’m an asshole for taking a break and abandoning my clients, and now I’m an asshole for working too hard.
If they hadn’t decided to haul me into their office for this idiotic little meeting, I wouldn’t have been late. You can’t win with people like this. They snag you with their good intentions and then sink you with their bullshit.
I’m out of here the first chance I get.
I close the door behind me and stride to the staff kitchen, taking a big slug of water and wishing it were something distilled. Fern and Ziggy would annoy the Dalai Lama. I’ve got enough stress in my life, and I don’t need them breathing down my neck. They aren’t even supposed to be here on Saturdays. If they’re opening up their schedules so they’re here when I am… Nope, I’m out.
The new receptionist, Laina, is an ally. She’s not happy here either. They treat her marginally better than they treated Sarah. I’ll sneakily encourage her to not book any clients into my schedule for the foreseeable future. Make Fern and Ziggy think no one wants to see me, and then maybe they’ll be glad to see the back of me.
I don’t necessarily believe they’re able to tweak energy, but I don’t want them gunning for me after I leave here. It’s not worth the aggravation of keeping the door open on this chapter of my past.
The door to Fern and Ziggy’s office is still closed when I leave the kitchen. They’re probably chanting or doing couple’s yoga. I hurry to the front desk, where Laina is sorting through a pile of files.
“Hey, Laina.”
She startles. “Blake! I had your new patient do the intake forms and stalled as long as I could, but she seemed pretty agitated to be kept waiting so long. I stuck her in room three and told her to undress and lie under the sheet and that you’d be in right away.” Her gaze is wild. “But that was fifteen minutes ago!”
“Whoa.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Fern and Ziggy put me behind schedule with one of their chats. Relax. I’ll tell”—I look at the intake form—“Mae I was getting more oil or something.”
“Thank you so much for understan
ding.” Laina’s relief is almost comical—or it would be, if I didn’t know how hard she works.
I glance around to make sure we’re alone.
“Listen, Laina, I’m not going to work here much longer, and I’d like you to not book anyone in with me for, well, ever. I’m done after today. I know this makes more work for you, and I’m sorry, but I need to get out of here.”
She nods. “I’m not happy you’re going, but I don’t blame you.”
“Why don’t you leave too? Don’t you have a degree in psychology?”
She nods. “But not a doctorate. Just enough to make me worry about everyone who works here.”
I snort. “I’d better get in with my client. But take my contact information. If you need to get the hell out of here too, call me. I know a lot of people, and no promises, but I may be able to help you find a place that doesn’t make you want to stab yourself in the face.”
She sighs. “That sounds too good to be true.”
“Anything’s possible. You’ve just got to want it.”
She hands me a pen. “Get out of here, vile tempter.”
I set the form on the counter outside the room, stretching my fingers while I look it over. Mae Bell’s history is pretty straightforward: no accidents, no major traumas, just regular tension from her desk job.
Most people expect physical workers to have more problems than office workers. But the people who sit at a desk and twist their upper bodies all day are usually in worse shape than any construction worker I’ve seen.
Athletes are another story.
Rotating my wrists one more time, I knock on the door, waiting a moment for a response.
Silence.
I roll my eyes. It’s been fifteen minutes lying on a bed midday. She probably fell asleep on the table. It wouldn’t be the first time. People are so stressed out that they’re looking for release before they come to see me. It’s good—those are the clients who want to put in the work and need the relief.
Summer Indiscretions Page 23
