Noah has reported out sick. Per policy, support staff may telework when their direct manager is unavailable. Please work from home today and route anything urgent through me or Ezra.
Best,
Esther
HR, King Developers
I stareat the screen until the words blur.
I guess I don’t have to cover for him. He ‘reported out sick’ to HR instead. Does he not trust me to keep his secret? As if I haven’t proven myself loyal after weeks of putting up with his mood swings? After last night?
Heat rushes up my neck when I realize how childish my complaint is since I’m the one who suggested that last night was a one-time thing that we shouldn’t read much into.
I toss my bag back onto the counter, where it knocks into a cup of pens I keep like a little shrine to my type-A tendencies. Pens scatter. The chaos feels appropriate.
While I’m collecting the pens back, muttering curses under my breath, my phone pings with an incoming message.
“Had to reroute.Problems at the construction site. Didn’t want to alarm HR so the board doesn’t hear about it by accident until I know what’s going on. Don’t be surprised if you hear from Esther.”
Oh.So that wasn’t about me. Feeling even more childish, I accidentally knock the gathered pens over again. The groan I let out must be heard on the first floor because the knock from my downstairs neighbor is instant.
“Keep it down, yo!”
“Sorry!” I yell back. Quite honestly, I’ve been lucky with my neighbors who don’t make much noise after midnight.
“Already have. Want me to keep the sick story for everyone?”
“Yes.”
Yes.That’s it. That’s all I get after I gave him the best sex of his life, which apparently wasn’t worth ten grand.
With a sigh, I set my laptop on the two-square-foot counter I call my office when the kitchen is not being used, and I swap out my most professional skirt for my least professional underwear, keeping on my nice blouse in case of any surprise video calls. I ignore the bed because it still smells like him and reminds me of my bad decisions. I probably will sleep on the floor tonightbecause there’s no way I’m stepping foot back into that nest of sin.
I log into my email. It’s a wall of “Where’s Noah on the Newside proposal,” “Permits are stuck, can you escalate,” and “Board moved the investor check-in.”
Perfect. I do what I do best: tame chaos with efficiency.
My phone sits face up beside the laptop like a sulking cat. Every time it buzzes, my heart basically swan dives off a cliff, and every time it’s not him, I want to chuck the thing out the window. Delivery promo. Spam caller. Maeve sending a meme of a dumpster fire wearing a tiara.
I cave in an hour later and send a single text, professional as a stapler to the jugular.
“Did you figure out what’s the issue?”
“Someone broke the windows.Dante is looking into it.”
“Can I help with something?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you are wearing?”
“Noah!”
“You asked, I answered.”
I keep quiet,and another message pops up a minute later.
“I apologize, Bea. That was inappropriate.”
