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Pete
“Will Cameron be in today?” I ask Heather, making no bones about why I’m barging into their office at approximately eight-oh-five in the morning. I don’t give a damn what she saw last weekend.
She can look surprised by my presence all she wants. I need answers.
“No. I don’t know. He…resigned,” she lets out as though the news is as shocking to her as it is to me.
Resigned? How is that possible? He never said anything to me. I just talked to him Wednesday night. It’s fucking Friday. He would have told me about a decision that monumental. It would have been something he had planned, not a spontaneous decision. Does the boss’ son not have to give a two-week notice?
“When?”
“I…just got the email now to take him off of payroll.”
Did he lie to me on Wednesday night? Did she say or do something to upset him?
I’m standing here like a powder keg that doesn’t know for sure if it has the right to explode. Heather’s blinking at me with her mouth hanging open like she’s floundered by my reaction and waiting for my next move. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but when I get to the bottom of it, someone will be giving me answers.
Sucking in a breath, I turn on my heel and make my way toward the elevator bank. My skin feels like it wants to crawl off my body, and my stomach is so twisted into knots, it’s a shock I haven’t been sick yet. What is going on? Why would he do this? It makes no sense.
I have zero ambition to do anything work-related but fire my computer up out of habit. It’s then that I notice my hands are shaking.
Was he so terrified of being found out that he quit? Does that mean we can still be together or not?
He kept saying how worried he was that us being discovered would come back on me at work. Does that mean he made himself a martyr to spare me what he thought was inevitable professional ruin? These are things we could have discussed together and which I thought we had. Unless… unless I’m not worth the trouble anymore.
I wish I knew the answer to if his feelings for me are greater than his fear. How many more unanswered phone calls will it take to convince him that I don’t care what the circumstances are?
When my email application loads, I find the answer to ninety-nine percent of my questions. It’s a blaring red sign in a sea of unopened emails. Literally, it has a red flag, marking it as Urgent and a Read Receipt icon to let the sender know I’ve unwrapped their fucking time bomb.
The subject line reads, “Review interoffice relationship policy.”
There’s no signature at the bottom. I’ve not even been afforded the courtesy of knowing who sent it, the spineless jerks. It’s from the HR admin account, which several people have rights to, among them, Heather. Heather and Randy.
Guilt presses me down into my chair, remembering how I told Cam not to worry that day in the park. I’ve been so lost in feeling free and alive for the first time in my life, I completely dismissed rational concerns that old me would have picked up on in a heartbeat.
Does Cam know? Fuck. Of course, he does. Nothing in this building happens without the Fairways knowing first. This means he must have known yesterday. Did his family tell him? Jesus. I can’t even imagine if they got to him first. Maybe Heather had some decency, and, with any luck, warned him.
My fist slams the keyboard before I even realize what I’ve done. No amount of resetting will take away the sensation I have of spinning out-of-control right now.
“Whoa. Didn’t get your coffee yet?”
The snide comment from the doorway only adds another layer of red to the haze clouding my vision. I hate it here, truly hate it. I think I always have. I hate Randy and his cronies. I hate John Fairway for showing his ugly silver dye job once a month in pointless meetings just to instill fear and pomp over his rat race that he doesn’t give a damn about.
“Not now, Mark,” I grit.
“Geez. Too important for me now?”
Getting up, I walk to the door. I can’t deal with him right now either. I’m not a robot anymore that needs to force myself to go to ball games with a colleague that I can barely stand just to feel normal. I just need Cam. I just need to know that he’s okay.
“I said, not now,” I warn, palming the door handle so he’ll get the hint that I’m about to close it.
He must receive the message because he scoffs. “That’s what I thought.”
How I’m supposed to understand what that means, I don’t know. Turning away, however, he stops and glances back. I’ve never seen his expression so ugly.
“Bit of advice, Pete. If you’re going to try to sleep your way to the top, buy some fucking curtains next time.”
Curtains? Why would I…
