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"Abby, if you'll let me explain—" His voice tries to weave regret into the words, but I'm not buying any of it.
"Save it, Merrick." The air rushes from my lungs in a hiss. "You can't undo this."
I stand there, blood boiling in my veins as Merrick's confession spills from the phone's speaker. His voice is a tangled mess of regret and desperation, but it's like trying to stitch up a wound with barbed wire.
"Abby, I only wanted to keep you safe," he pleads, his words dripping with a desperation that tugs at my heart, but I quickly harden it again. "I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to you when I'm not around."
"Safe?" I spit the word out like it tastes foul. "You think violating my privacy makes me feel safe? I’ll have you know I was doing just fine on my own, Merrick. I didn’t need you to pay off all my debts. I didn’t ask you for any of that. And just what was that, anyway? Some sort of payment for the office fuck?" My hand clenches around the phone, knuckles white.
There’s a pause before Merrick explodes. "How could you think that? Abby, I would never, ever treat you that way! You are everything to me. Everything! I only ever wanted to protect you?—"
"Protect me?" I cut him off, voice slicing through the air sharp as a knife.
"Abby, just?—"
"Goodbye, Merrick." The words are a stone sinking in the pit of my stomach as I end the call. I throw the phone onto the couch, watching it bounce off the cushions. My heart is a wild thing in my chest, thrashing against its cage. A tiny victory courses through me, but it's short-lived against the tide of betrayal.
The room feels suddenly too small, walls closing in on me. I take a deep breath, finding a sliver of composure amid the chaos raging inside. My laptop sits on the desk, innocently unaware of the bombshell I'm about to drop on it. I march over, fingers poised above the keyboard like a pianist ready to play a symphony...or maybe a requiem.
"Dear HR," I type, each word punctuated with purpose, "I hereby resign my position effective immediately." The keys click-clack under my touch, echoing in the empty space.
I scan the email once, twice, then hit send before I lose my nerve. It's out there now, floating through the digital ether to seal my fate.
I slam the laptop shut with more force than necessary. It's done. I'm free from his clutches, from his suffocating 'protection.'
But freedom doesn't taste as sweet as I imagined. It's bitter, laced with the sting of what-ifs and might-have-beens.
Tears prick my eyes, but I steel my resolve. Let him realize he's screwed up royally. Because guess what? This girl isn't anyone's damsel in distress.
I swipe at the tears that betray my true feelings. Merrick—damn him—had somehow crept under my skin, into spaces reserved for whimsical daydreams and unguarded moments. But no more. I refuse to let my heart get tangled in his barbed wire again.
CHAPTER NINE
Abby
The nightclub isn't where I imagined I'd be again, but there's a certain power in returning to the familiar.
Pushing through the doors of the club is like stepping into another world—one of pulsating lights, thumping bass, and the tangy scent of spilled cocktails and possibility. It's like I never left, and yet everything feels different now.
I'm different now.
"Abby, you're back!" Lisa, one of the dancers, exclaims as she throws her arms around me. Her perfume, a mix of jasmine and something sinfully sweet, wraps around me like a welcome.
"Couldn't stay away," I quip, though my smile doesn't quite reach my eyes. The truth is a clawing thing inside me, desperate to break free, but I cage it with every ounce of will I have. They can't know that I'm back because my boss—no, ex-boss—couldn't respect boundaries if they were drawn in neon paint.
"Girl, we missed you! What happened? Did the corporate world chew you up and spit you out?" Jake, the bartender with a smirk that could incite sin, leans across the counter, his curiosity blatant.
I don’t answers. Instead, I tie on my apron, feeling the weight of the fabric against my hips like a familiar friend—or chains. The bottles lined up behind the bar call to me, each one promising a temporary escape from reality. I grab a shaker, ice clinking musically against the metal, and I'm back in the game. Pour, mix, flirt—the motions come back to me as naturally as breathing.
Drink after drink, I pour my soul into my craft, garnishing each glass with a twist of lime and a shot of sass. The patrons eat it up, their laughter and cheers fueling me, reminding me that I am strong, capable, and damn good at my job.
But even as I bask in the nightlife's electric glow, I can't shake the shadow of Merrick. His presence is like a ghost at the edges of my consciousness, haunting me with what-ifs and memories best left forgotten.
"Hit me with your best shot," a regular winks, sliding onto a stool with the ease of familiarity.
"Careful what you wish for," I tease back, my fingers wrapping around a bottle of tequila like an old friend. "I pack a punch."
"Damn, Abby, where've you been hiding that fire?" a coworker shouts over the din, and I toss him a saucy wink.
