“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 take-out. 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 seems to have disappeared. The more I walk around, the deeper my heart sinks into my chest. By the time I reach the bedroom, my tears are splattered on the floor and I’m leaning against the wall, my body slumping down to the ground.
It’s like he’s been erased. Not a single trace of him left in our apartment and never did I expect how painful it would be. I had been through relationships prior to 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 was in denial thinking I could 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 cell and call him is difficult to overcome. I am much stronger than this. I’ve spent enough of my lifetime watching people go through the same thing. Why can’t I just 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 skipping dinner, my appetite has been non-existent all day. Ice cream is the only thing that sounds good right now.
I stare at my cell 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’ kinda 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.
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.
You’ve got be kidding me? It’s late and how on earth do you think I can do that between now and 9am? #Jerk
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.
How would I know? I’m just a #Jerk.
#HaveFun
Damn 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. Fuck, 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 am panicked, showering in record speed and 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. The owner of our publishing company, Mr. Sadler, strolls in and takes a seat at his usual spot. Fucking hell, the Jerk didn’t tell me Mr. Sadler would be sitting in on this presentation!
“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 non-existent.
I clear my throat and begin presenting the latest manuscript I had been reading that was well received by my co-editors. Somewhere during my introduction of the characters, Mr. Sadler’s cell 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 that 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 that 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 the 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 do not 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 is probably waiting for you now.”
Leaning against the wall, he crosses his arms as his lips turn upwards, forming an annoying smile with a hidden agenda. “Ouch! Jealousy is an ugly trait on you.”