by T. Torrest
When, not if.
Cocky bastard.
Chapter 25
UNBREAKABLE
Hours later, I was tossing and turning in my bed. I couldn’t sleep, my mind envisioning Trip just waiting for me in that big, lonely room at the TRU. My thoughts went back and forth, trying to rationalize just one last night with him. There was no chance of getting caught. My fiancé was on a plane right then, and Trip would be leaving on one the next day. Who would know?
Me. I would know.
I was already feeling extraordinarily guilty for letting things get as far as they did earlier. At the time, I kept telling myself that at least we weren’t having sex. It was only a kiss.
Just a kiss that broke my heart and melted me down to my core. That’s all. No biggie.
What the hell was I doing? How could I let things get to this?
I agonized over the questions swirling around in my head: What would Trip think when I didn’t show up? How long would he wait?
Was he waiting?
Was he sitting up in his bed right then, flipping channels on the TV, watching the clock, listening for a knock on the door? Or had he given up hours before and simply gone to sleep? Or worse… had he just gone down to the lobby bar and found a replacement body to warm his bed?
It was torture. I was torturing myself.
Should I call him? Just to let him know I wasn’t coming?
No. He’d find a way to talk me into coming over. Just the sound of his voice would make me cave.
I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t do that to Devin. I made a few mistakes over the past weeks, slipped up a couple times. And that’s all I was willing to accept blame for doing. For making mistakes. I never set out to intentionally cheat on my fiancé. And I was never, ever, ever going to do it again. That was a fact.
Which, I guess, meant that I could never see Trip again for the rest of my life.
He was the only temptation I couldn’t trust myself to overcome. And with good reason.
Just you, Trip. It’s always been you.
I knew it always would be. He would always be my Achilles heel, would always own a piece of my heart. Best to just avoid him entirely. Forever. That thought caused a pain in my soul which I tried, unsuccessfully, to dismiss. I’d already gone nine years without seeing him. It’s not that I couldn’t have done so indefinitely. But seeing him again had only served to fuel the old obsession, and it was killing me.
It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to bolt out my front door, run the forty blocks to his hotel, and leap into his waiting arms.
But I didn’t do it.
I didn’t make that choice.
* * *
The next morning, with pretty much zero sleep in me, I hauled myself out of bed and absentmindedly went through my morning ritual in a full-on daze. I just couldn’t get it together.
Somehow, though, I managed to get dressed, put on a pair of matching shoes, and get myself up to Howell House, miraculously without being hit by a bus.
I fired up my workstation and checked the messages on my voicemail. I wasn’t really paying attention until an interesting one popped up. I listened as Diana Cavanaugh, agent at Beachlight Publishing, asked if I was looking for representation. She had seen the article and wanted to discuss expanding Trip’s and my story, as she thought it would make a great book. I took down her number out of curiosity, but I’d never written anything of length before and never had any designs on doing so. But it couldn’t hurt to hear her out.
I waited for Devin to get back from his Morning Powwow, the few hours he spent every Monday holed up in the conference room with all the other department heads of Howell House.
I spent my wait trying to banish my guilt, trying to wash the memory of Trip from my thoughts, which was no easy feat, let me tell you.
When I saw that Devin was finally back in his office, I went in and closed the door behind me. Seeing his face in person sent a stab of remorse through me, but it’s not as though I could change things. What was done was done. And it really and truly was done. I’d made sure of that when I resisted the urge to go to the hotel.
I didn’t throw my arm out patting myself on the back or anything. The fact was, I had crossed over a few lines with my ex-boyfriend the past few days.
But at least I hadn’t crossed that one.
It was as good a time as any to make a fresh start.
“Welcome back,” I offered pleasantly.
“Well, hello there, Miss Warren,” he answered, before turning his attention back toward the flotsam of paperwork on his desk.
I wish I could say that Devin’s eyes lit up when he saw me, but they didn’t. He was smiling and enthusiastic with his greeting, however, and I supposed it would have been more surprising had he freaked out and jumped me the second I was in his office.
It’s not like I could kiss him hello at work anyway, so I just mirrored his smile and took a seat in the club chair. I was just dying to hear his thoughts on my article from the day before—God, had it only been one day?—but I didn’t want to just dive right in. “So, how was your conference?”
I was intentionally dancing around the bigger issue of my brilliance, giving him the opportunity to bring up my article first. But he started telling stories about the many important elbows he’d been rubbing all week, while I sat in my time-out chair, trying to appear a rapt audience.
Finally, I asked, “So, you saw it, right? My article?”
“I did.”
God, it was like pulling teeth. “And?”
He finally stopped rustling through the pile of papers on his blotter long enough to walk over and perch a hip on his favorite corner of the desk, facing me. “And it was terrific. Really, Layla. It was really, really good.”
High praise indeed. “Wow! Thank you!”
“Not only that, but the guys upstairs felt it was ‘a fresh new approach to reporting’. Those were the exact words. Takes quite a bit to impress them. Looks like you succeeded.”
“Oh my gosh, Devin! That’s amazing!”
My head was spinning. I felt like Sally Field sitting there, thinking that they liked me. They really and truly liked me.
Devin broke my train of thought. “Yes, it is. Which is why it makes it that much harder to let you go.”
“Let me go where?”
I figured that I’d be relocating into the reporter’s pen, but that required nothing more than a move of about thirty feet.
But then I saw the look on Devin’s face, and his words finally clicked in my brain. “Wait a minute. Are you… Are you firing me?”
He snuck a look out to the floor before answering quietly, “I’m sorry, Layla. Part of the discussion at the conference was how we all need to start cutting back. Our copywriting department is much too large for such a minor periodical.”
“But you’re moving me out of copywriting,” I said pathetically, still in denial, still thinking that I was minutes away from the inevitable promotion, the much-anticipated boon to my career. What a naïve little fool I could be sometimes.
“No, Layla, I’m not. I told you I was giving you one chance, remember? I meant it. I don’t know why you’d think differently.”
“I thought you meant one chance to prove myself, not one chance at a story!” My voice had begun to rise as the full realization started to sink in. Devin glanced out at the floor again to make sure I hadn’t been heard.
Oh, screw that, buddy.
“Will you stop worrying about them and concentrate on what’s happening here, please?”
Devin let out with an exasperated sigh. “Layla, what’s happening here is just business. You shouldn’t be taking this so hard. I’ve already written you a glowing letter of recommendation and put in a few calls. Don’t forget that I know a lot of people in this business.”
“Well, goody for you, Mr. Billionaire Boys Club!”
“C’mon, Layla. I was hoping that you wouldn’t take this so personally.”
“
Not take it personally?! How else am I supposed to take it?! It’s bad enough that you’re not going to promote me after three freaking years, but now you’re firing me? Me? Why not Sleestak? Or Fingernails? Or Slurpy McSandwich?”
“Who?”
“Paul! Janice! Bobby! I work harder than any of them! Why me? Why am I getting the boot?”
“Layla, calm down,” he returned, almost smiling. I could have wrung his neck for that, for thinking my tantrum was cute.
I’ll show him cute.
“It’s because I’m screwing you, isn’t it,” I said loudly, more as a statement than a question.
His eyes practically shot out of his head as he scanned the showroom floor, clearly afraid I was going to cause a scene. “Don’t be so crass. But yes, that’s part of it. But not in the way you think.”
“So, if I wasn’t fucking you, I’d still have a job right now?”
“Layla. I asked you not to be so crass.”
Crass? He was worried about my flipping manners at a time like this? I was seeing red. Like literally, actually seeing the color red.
“You know what, Fields?” I said as scathingly as possible, “You can’t fire me. Because I QUIT!” I stood up and slammed my hand down on his stupid, fucking, twelve-thousand-dollar desk.
Devin was trying to remain composed, keeping his voice down, trying to project his calmness onto me. Thus far, it wasn’t working. “Layla, think. If you quit, I can’t get you your severance. Let’s not do anything rash.”
Oh, that was just the perfect freaking thing he could have said to me at that exact moment. Just absolutely, positively, The Most Perfect Thing he could have said.
Don’t be rash, Layla. Don’t be crass, Layla. Don’t order the fucking sea bass, Layla.
I’d had it. In that one moment, everything suddenly became crystal clear.
This man did not love me. This man did not believe in me. This man didn’t even know me.
This man was not the man for me.
The revelation was not as shocking as it should have been. I was not hit with some bolt of lightning, some burning bush answering the questions of my universe. It was just a final, capitulating acknowledgement of a truth I’d been aware of for months. A plinking of a guitar string. A point of light disappearing, as if I’d turned off the TV.
I had pulled myself together by then, enough to say calmly, “Fine, Devin. I’m not quitting my job. I guess I can’t do that when you’ve already fired me anyway.”
“Well, that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day.”
I took a deep breath and said, “Glad you think so, because here’s another one. I may not be quitting my job, but I am, however, quitting you.” At that, I slipped the diamond ring off my finger and placed it on his desk.
Devin looked as though he were stunned… but not devastated. Strangest thing was, I wasn’t feeling so torn up, either. I was calmer than I would’ve anticipated, not even angry anymore about being fired, much less the demise of our engagement. Of course I was upset, and I figured he must have been, too. But in that moment, we both realized we’d been kidding ourselves.
After a long pause, Devin met my eyes and said, “You know I always thought you’d leave this place. Just not like this.”
“What do you mean? I didn’t even know I was leaving until a minute ago, and it wasn’t really my choice.”
“If I held you back, Layla… I just want you to know it wasn’t because I didn’t think you were good enough. If you want to know the truth, I always knew this day would come. I just figured you’d be the one to make that decision. Would it change anything if I told you that’s the real reason I’m letting you go? That I was tired of waiting around for you to choose something better?”
“You’re letting me go so you don’t have to wait around for me to leave?”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
He gave me a strained smile, and I found myself sad about having to leave Howell, the breakup… lots of things.
“You were always cut out for a better job than this. I guess I just hoped that you’d think part of that ‘better job’ would be as my wife. Taking on the world, taking care of our home, taking care of me. I thought you’d want it all.” He rolled the ring around in his fingertips, and my heart genuinely went out to him. I still have no idea why, but this man had wanted to marry me. Maybe not the real me, but me nonetheless, and I’m no picnic to deal with. He at least deserved credit for that.
“I want to thank you, Devin, for the past two years, for being a good boyfriend to me. Really, I mean that.” I grasped his hand warmly and was actually able to offer a small smile. “I also want to thank you for being a decent boss the past three.”
Believe it or not, I truly harbored no ill will toward him. I’d been in the wrong job and the wrong relationship, and that wasn’t his fault. I made those choices. It’s not that he was a bad guy. He’d loved me in the only way he knew how, the only way he was capable of. Fact of the matter was, we just weren’t the right fit. And his lack of argument showed that he was smart enough to know it, too.
I released his hand to conclude, “But we both know this isn’t the way things are supposed to be.”
Devin’s mouth was set in a firm line, and I could only guess what he was thinking. He considered the ring in his hand, and then he looked at me. “We were good together, you and I,” he offered through an awkward smile.
It was a stand-up move, a gracious thing to say. I’d just dropped a bomb on him with the breakup, and he had every excuse to tear me a new one. Yet there he was, in full control of his faculties, playing the gentleman. He deserved a woman who could appreciate that about him.
It’s just that I wasn’t her anymore.
“Yeah, Devin, we were good,” I agreed. “But we both deserve better than that, you know.”
Chapter 26
BOUNCE
Devin and I finished our farewell speeches, but I figured such an abrupt end to our affiliation wouldn’t stand forever. These things take time. The longer you’re in a relationship, the more time it takes to wean off of it. We still had some talking to do, and we still needed to extricate our few belongings from each other’s apartments.
The severing of ties to my job, however, was instantaneous. It took all of ten minutes to pack up my desk, say goodbye to Rajani, and leave. I looked like a bad caricature of a canned employee with my box of personal items, half-dead plant sticking out the top and all. At least Devin hadn’t called security to monitor my exodus, which was pretty standard protocol for something like that. God forbid a disgruntled ex-employee made off with an unauthorized roll of company toilet paper. But Devin must have decided to take mercy on me and let me handle my departure on my own.
And the breakup. He let me handle that on my own, too.
No theatrical chase after me, no public declaration of his enduring love and devotion, no drama was played out in front of our co-workers. It wouldn’t have been very Devin-like to ever cause a scene, but it was a slight blow to my pride that he hadn’t put up more of a fight.
Instead, he just let me go.
I sidled up to the bar at Roebling, the closest watering hole near Howell, plunking my box of failure on the neighboring seat. The place was practically empty, save for the few suits at a nearby table indulging in a liquid lunch. I took my dead plant out of the box and set it on the bar next to me.
When the bartender came to take my order, I said, “I’ll have a Yuengling, please. And a shot of Absolut for my friend, here.”
Just one short hour before, I was a woman on the brink of literary success, engaged to a real up-and-comer in the media world, looking toward a fresh new chapter in my life.
A few minutes later, and I was unemployed, single, and sitting in a bar in the middle of the afternoon.
What a difference a day makes.
When I was a kid, I looked so forward to being a "grown-up"- which, in my mind, was defined as anyone older than me, whether by two year
s or by fifty. I idolized them and thought that being grown-up meant doing whatever I wanted; staying up a half hour past bedtime or stealing kisses in my room with the cutest guy in school. Driving a car. Getting a job. Everything these “grown-ups” did seemed steeped in a maturity and rationality that my childlike brain couldn't fathom. Oh, to be so cool....
What no one ever tells you is how misleading it all is. Being a grown-up is really about making choices that rarely have a clear winner, then hoping upon all hopes that some of those choices will even remotely pan out.
A lot of them don’t.
Staying up late and getting up early only leads to exhaustion. Agreeing to marry a man simply because he asked is a recipe for disaster. Working at a job you loathe eventually turns to resentment.
The thing of it is, being a grown-up is downright petrifying.
And when your plans don’t work out, when your choices turn out to be all wrong… You find yourself alone and defeated, not knowing where to turn.
I probably should have called Lisa. I knew I could have talked to my dad.
But the only voice I really wanted to hear at that moment was Trip’s.
Jeez, I probably needed a team of therapists to straighten out my brain. How is it that I’d just broken it off with my fiancé, yet the relationship I was more devastated over was the one I didn’t even know how to classify?
It wasn’t too late. I knew he’d probably be angry that I kept him waiting the night before, but I also knew that he’d forgive me. I was only hesitant because I didn’t know quite what I’d be signing up for, but the truth was, I didn’t even care. However he wanted me, it would be enough.
Who cared if it would just be a fling? This is what Trip and I do. We finally pull our shit together and have sex in our final hours before one of us takes off forever. I could do this. Even if one afternoon was all it turned out to be.
