by Kat T. Masen
Whoever invented the saying ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ had obviously never been knee-deep in manuscripts requiring immediate attention. Thursday rolled around quickly, and being the busiest day in the office, one person is always nominated to do the lunch run. With deadlines hovering over my head like a gray cloud, I quickly passed the buck to someone else.
Deep into the second chapter of an erotic thriller, I feel the presence of someone beside me. The charcoal gray pants are a dead giveaway, and inadvertently, I groan, granting myself some patience to deal with him today. Why the hell won’t he leave me alone? I’ve met my share of annoying human beings, but Haden Cooper takes the cake.
“I’m taking orders,” he huffs in annoyance.
I give him my full attention and decide to have a little fun with him. After all, he did ruin a blouse that even the dry cleaners declared to be a write-off. Yes, I will have fun. Serves him right for being such a jerk.
“At my beck and call? Well, I’ll have the roast chicken on rye, lettuce, tomato, and no mayo. I repeat… no mayo.”
He stares back at me without writing down my order.
“You might want to write it down.”
“I have a good memory.”
A loose laugh escapes me. “That’s funny, I bet Trina down on ten would beg to differ.”
His eyes twitch, caught in an awkward moment. I want to see what pathetic excuse he has for this.
“Who?”
“Really, Haden? I don’t know how men can just screw around with strangers and not even take a moment to remember someone’s name,” I rant.
He leans on my desk and rubs the slight stubble on his chin. “You seem awfully interested in my sex life, Presley Malone. Is there something I’m missing here?”
“What?” I shoot back, almost a little too nervous. “Please, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. No, make it a twenty-foot pole with an extension. God, you’re so insensitive. You don’t care about anyone’s feelings and have zero respect in the workplace.”
“Anything else?”
“You’re a jerk.”
He leans into me, invading my personal space. “Her name is Trina Flower. I didn’t call her back because after the one time we had sex, she cried and said she loved me. There’s nothing wrong with sleeping around if it’s mutually agreed. Maybe you need to try it sometime.” He raises the finger that once held my engagement ring. “And since there’s no longer a ring on this finger, maybe that’s just what you need.”
The fucking nerve! To blatantly come out and suggest such a thing. The vein in my forehead is surely going to burst, and my hands are itching to smack that smirk off his face.
“How dare you say that? You don’t know me, and I’m certainly glad you don’t. Don’t you have lunch to collect?”
He stands up straight, and I relish in the thought of him leaving me alone, the whole conversation disappearing along with him. Why does everyone assume that because Jason and I broke up, we would drown ourselves in meaningless sex with strangers? I am not that person. Before Jason came along, I had slept with three men, and each time I had been dating them for at least seven weeks before I jumped into the sack. It is my rule, and I strongly believe it gives me sufficient time to get to know the person I will be intimate with. And anyway, the mere thought of another man touching me right now makes my skin crawl. I still have a tan line on my finger from where my engagement ring once sat.
Surely, there has to be some rule to follow for breakups. For example, one year of a relationship equals one month before dating, two years equals two months, and so if that is the correct equation, five months is officially my back-on-the-market-and-ready-to-date timeline. I know if I run this past Vicky, she will give me a lecture about how my hymen could grow back, and I would be re-virginized or some bullshit like that.
An hour later, the Jerk returns, throwing a brown paper bag onto my desk before walking away. I pull it toward me as he laughs along with Dee at her desk. Not wanting to eavesdrop because I don’t give a shit, I open my sandwich and see mayonnaise spread all over it. I stomp my feet under my desk. I am allergic to mayonnaise. Scooping my sandwich into my hand, I follow his voice until I am standing at Dee’s desk, interrupting their flirtatious encounter once again.
“I said no mayo.” I shove the sandwich in front of his chest.
Haden pushes it back toward me. “Sorry, princess, I’ve got the memory of a goldfish apparently. I’m sure you can handle a little mayo. The extra calories won’t harm your precious diet.”
“It’s not about being on a diet. God, Haden, you’re a jerk, you know that?”
“Apparently so,” he responds, amused.
“I can’t even… just stay away from me.”
I throw the sandwich into the trash and storm off back to my desk.
By three o’clock, I’m starving. My stomach is making a symphony of noises that sound like a bunch of angry lions. The vending machine provides comfort, but a bag of crisps and a chocolate bar are a far cry from lunch.
I immerse myself in my work until the office starts to clear out for the evening. Knowing I’m going home to an empty apartment makes it hard to leave. For the past week, I have purposely stayed late until that nagging voice inside my head reminds me it was my decision. I chose to let go of a perfectly good man for reasons that still haunt me. Being alone is something I have to get used to, but after five years of having a man beside me every night, sleeping alone has become tough, and insomnia has reared its ugly head.
Tonight, I want to curl up with a good book and visit my fictional boyfriends. The kind of men that drive you crazy yet you can’t stop thinking about them when you’re nursing the book hangover from hell. It’s why our romance sector is our strongest performer.
I pack my things, and just as my monitor shuts down, there is muffled chatter coming from Dee’s desk. I make my way toward the lift, happy to put this awful day behind me. Entering the lift, I hit the button to take me to the ground level when a pair of hands push the door open. I look up and see Haden’s arm draped over Dee’s shoulder. As the doors close, I move as much as I can to the corner and count down the seconds until we hit the lobby. Her lighthearted giggles and a possible pinch on the ass as he whispers something in her ear are highly inappropriate in this confined space.
When the lobby greets us, I have already made my way to the front of the elevator, ready to flee this nauseating display of affection which I’m sure is for my benefit—well, on his part, anyway.
“Have a good night, Miss Malone,” he mutters under his breath.
I ignore him, walking as fast as I can and exiting the building into the cool night.
It doesn’t take me long to get home, even after I stop off to grab some Chinese takeout. As I open the door to my apartment, I quickly notice that Jason’s things are gone. Throwing my purse onto the sofa, I walk around and focus in on the empty mantelpiece where his precious baseball trophies once sat. Even the groove in our sofa has disappeared. The more I walk around, the deeper my heart sinks into my chest. By the time I reach the bedroom, my tears are splattering down my face, and I’m leaning against the wall, then my body slumps to the floor.
It’s like he’s been erased. Not a single trace of him is left in our apartment, and never did I expect how painful it would be. I had been through relationships before Jason but none so meaningful, and usually, the guy cheated on me or was such a douche that breaking up was an easy and logical decision.
Lost in a pool of tears, it’s obvious that I am in denial thinking I can walk away from a relationship with a man of five years who had only ever treated me with love and respect.
But what am I supposed to do now? The temptation to grab my phone and call him is difficult to overcome. I am stronger than this. I’ve spent enough of my life watching people go through the same thing. Why can’t I forget and move on? Sometimes, I wish Jason would have hurt me. Perhaps that would make this easier. Taint his perfect image so our love
could never be repaired.
At some point during the night, I peel myself off the floor, ignoring the cold Chinese box that sits on the table. I take a long, hot shower to erase the day from hell and climb into bed with a bowl of ice cream. Having not eaten lunch and skipped dinner, ice cream is the only thing that sounds good right now.
I stare at my phone once again and contemplate texting Jason. It could be an innocent text, a ‘Hey, how are you’ and not an I-think-we-made-a-huge-mistake kind of text. Just as I type my opening line, a notification flashes on the top of my screen, and I exit out of the current message.
The text is from ‘unknown,’ but I read it anyway.
Unknown: I was a little distracted this afternoon with my extracurricular activities so I forgot to tell you that you have a presentation at nine sharp. Have your manuscript review ready.
This has to be a joke, right? And who the fuck is this? Seconds later, it dawns on me which jerk would send me a text this late. I am emotionally drained, and the last thing I want to do is climb out of bed and prepare a presentation. My fingers, however, are typing at record speed, almost spitting back at him.
Me: You’ve got to be kidding me? It’s late and how on earth do you think I can do that between now and 9 am?
I wait for his response, praying I can just shut my eyes and pretend today never happened. In my dreams, Jason is also lying beside me, massaging my shoulders and reassuring me that everything will turn out just fine. My happy bubble bursts as another text appears.
Haden: How would I know? I’m just a Jerk, right?
The nerve of him. Reluctantly, I get out of bed and walk into the kitchen. Sitting at the table, I open my laptop and make myself a cup of coffee. Who the hell drinks coffee just before midnight. Time is lost on me until a constant beep startles me, forcing my eyes to open, only to wake up with my head lying on the table. Shit! I must have fallen asleep. I flick the mouse on my laptop, and thankfully, the final page I wrote appears. Quick to hit save, I glance at the time. I have less than twenty minutes to get out of here.
My OCD is causing a mental breakdown. Being disorganized is foreign to me, and all of a sudden, I’m panicked and showering in record speed. With no time to iron, I grab the only dress that is dry-cleaned from my closet and quickly put it on. No time for makeup or my hair to be styled, I rush out the door armed with my purse, laptop, and a bruised apple from my kitchen.
The bus is heaving as usual, and at each stop, I balance myself and poorly attempt getting some mascara and lipstick on. My hair doesn’t cooperate, so I shove it up into the neatest bun I can manage while I’m wedged between a man who has a serious case of body odor and a woman who stinks like garlic.
I rush into the building with only minutes to spare, dumping everything on my desk and racing to the boardroom with my USB stick. Surprisingly, it is empty when I look around. The owner of our publishing company, Mr. Sadler, strolls in and takes a seat at his usual spot. Great, the Jerk didn’t tell me Mr. Sadler would be sitting in on this presentation. There had been talk of late of an upcoming restructure which could land me a promotion, something I am yet to discuss with him. And there had also been a rumor floating around that Haden is to be promoted to the same role. Why on Earth would he get a promotion given the guy barely clocked in. If he wants to rival me for that position, he has no clue who he is messing with. My career is the only thing I have going for me right now.
“Good morning, Miss Malone,” he greets me with a genuine smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Sadler. Will it just be yourself today?”
The second I ask the question, the Jerk strolls in casually, taking a seat beside Mr. Sadler. Unlike Mr. Sadler, who came with a notebook and pen, Haden is empty-handed, staring directly at me with a pompous grin.
“It’ll just be us, Miss Malone.”
To this day, I have no idea what exactly Haden’s role is in this publishing firm. Mr. Sadler is a kind man and definitely sees the good in people. He is a great boss, but occasionally I have to question his decisions—like hiring Haden. I am fairly certain Haden is sleeping with some head honcho, given his half-assed attempt to get any work done, plus his timekeeping is nonexistent.
I clear my throat and begin presenting the latest manuscript I have been reading which is well received by my co-editors. Somewhere during my introduction of the characters, Mr. Sadler’s phone vibrates, and he excuses himself to take the call. Great. If Haden leaves this room alive, it’ll be a fucking miracle.
“So, let me get this straight,” Haden questions, leaning back into his chair like an arrogant asshole. “The main character, Violet, is a sex addict and somehow meets this twenty-five-year-old virgin who she falls in love with? How is that even possible?”
“It’s fiction,” I seethe. “Anything is possible, Mr. Cooper.”
“Yeah, but give your readers some credit, Malone. A twenty-five-year-old virgin?”
“He was raised by a religious group who believed sex before marriage was a sin. His character moves to the big city, and he runs into this woman at his local grocery store. How is that unbelievable? And I’m fairly certain that the last time you checked, you were missing a vagina and therefore have no clue what women want.”
“Quite snappy this morning, Malone. Something keep you up?”
I am ready to pounce on him when Mr. Sadler pops back in and asks me to resume. I do so without looking at the Jerk, and by the end, Mr. Sadler is pleased and asks to see a final presentation by the end of the month.
He leaves the room, and I pack up my materials in silence.
“Perhaps next time, you prepare in advance. Doesn’t hurt to plan ahead,” he tells me. “You should try it sometime.”
“Perhaps next time, you stop being an ass and tell me in advance that I need to prepare a presentation. I don’t appreciate being told late at night. Some of us use the night hours to sleep, not whore it around the city.”
“You can sleep when you’re dead, Malone. I had you pegged for being a little bit more adventurous.”
I almost drop my items in a blind rage. “You don’t know me,” I grit through my teeth. “So whatever game you’re playing, leave me the hell alone. You’ve got your toys to play with. In fact, she’s probably waiting for you now.”
Leaning against the wall, he crosses his arms as his lips turn upward, forming an annoying smile with a hidden agenda. “Ouch! Jealousy is an ugly trait on you.”
“Jealousy?” I laugh. “I know what it’s like to be with a real man, so don’t for a second think you’re worth my time.”
“So, tell me then, Presley, if you know what it’s like to be with a real man, why did you break it off with him?”
He catches me off guard. “Excuse me? How did you know I broke it off?”
“Office gossip. Helps that I’m sleeping with her.”
I am at a loss for words. The subject of Jason and I no longer being together is still very raw, especially in my current state of mind with lack of sleep and no morning coffee.
It overwhelms me.
He isn’t worth a single second more, so I walk past him.
Ignorance is bliss.
For the rest of the day, he is smart enough to avoid me. It doesn’t stop him from canoodling with Dee, and because I am exhausted, my hearing is impaired, and I accidentally find myself asleep for a few minutes at my desk.
“Pres… Presley.” A hand shakes my shoulder.
Dazed, I focus in on Vicky’s face. “Did I fall asleep?” I mumble.
Vicky laughs, handing me a cup of coffee. “Uh, yeah. Rough night?”
“Yeah.”
“You know what you need? A girls’ night out. Drinks, dancing, and some good, clean fun.”
“Clean fun?”
“Well, I could have said dirty fun but one step at a time, honey.”
“Thanks, Vicky, but I just want to head home and—”
“And what? Wallow in self-pity and cry yourself to sleep?”
“No,” I
lie. “I’m exhausted. Maybe next weekend?”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “Okay, next weekend, but call me if you change your mind.”
With only an hour left, I speed-read through some work, and the second it turns to five, I’m packed up and ready to go home. It has been a long time since I have felt so drained, and boy does it take me back to my early twenties when I would party all night.
I enter the already-cramped elevator and squish myself against the wall. Just when it’s apparent we’ve maxed the people in it, another body mashes against mine. I look up to be met by the Jerk’s reflection. Ignoring him wouldn’t be difficult, but the more people who enter the elevator, the more appropriate he feels it is to practically rub his body against mine.
Act cool, pretend you’re not bothered one bit, and totally ignore how good he smells. So what if every woman in the office think’s he is hot? I didn’t understand why I am the only one who loathes him.
Check, check, and fucking check!
It may seem silly, but holding my breath helps, even though I look like a complete idiot. Thankfully, I find myself distracted by the buzz of my phone. It’s a message from my hairdresser, Chantelle.
Chantelle: Pres, what’s going on? I saw Jason today at a restaurant.
There is an attachment, and I open it to be met with a photograph of Jase locking lips with another woman. I stare in disbelief. This cannot be him, and to try and prove myself wrong, I zoom in on the picture
It’s him, all right.
My hands start to shake, and the confined space in the elevator starts to claw at me. Suddenly, I feel like I’m suffocating, my body overheating as a result of the jealousy boiling up inside me. If I cried, here, now, everyone would see how pathetic I am.
“Nice picture. You stalking other couples?”
“It’s my fiancé,” I say without thinking.
I quickly put the phone back into my bag, praying for the elevator to hit the ground floor. Staring at the numbers, the second the door opens, I am out of there so fast I give myself whiplash, desperately trying to escape the sound of my name being called behind me.
