What if it did get too real too quick, and that’s why I bowed out?
Am I willing to give her another chance, or will I always worry whether the next betrayal is waiting around the corner?
It’s definitely something to think about.
But for now, he’s right. I need to get back in shape.
CHAPTER 41: Millie Monroe
Cutting Limes and Fingers
I’m cutting limes and not really giving it much effort when I accidentally stab my middle finger.
“Fuck!” I say, yanking it away as the acid from the citrus makes it burn more than necessary.
As if I need this right now.
One more thing stacked on top of a crap cupcake. First I lost Archer. Then I passed on the paid partnership.
I haven’t even updated my socials in the last twenty-four hours. I have plenty of B-roll left, but I can’t seem to muster up any excitement around making a new post.
And honestly…I don’t want to look at the pictures from the resort. It’s a reminder of everything I’ve lost.
I guess this is my life now. Cutting limes and fingers.
It’s barely even bleeding—just a poke, really, no worse than a paper cut, but I toss the knife in the sink and throw away the limes I was cutting as I walk into the breakroom to find the first aid kit.
“You okay?” Chip asks. He’s sitting with Jackie at the table, and they’re eating dinner together.
“I cut my finger,” I say, holding it up.
“Oh, babe,” Jackie says. “Go wash it and dry it real good.” She stands and grabs the first aid kit out of the cabinet, and I do as she says.
She walks over toward the sink, and she studies me. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I mumble. “Just tired. Probably from being away for a month and, you know, getting my heart smashed into tiny pieces while I gave away my dream. No biggie.”
“This is more thanjust tired, babe. You’re not yourself.” She puts a little cream on a cotton ball and holds it against my injury. “Hold that there.”
I do as she asks, and she starts to open a bandage. “How am I not myself?”
“You’re unfocused. You’re always exhausted.” She’s ticking off my offenses as she wraps my finger for me.
I’m sure there are more.
But I can’t sleep thinking about what I did. The guilt eats away at me, and it’s more than that. I lost everything because of it.
“I miss Archer,” I admit. “I just want to go back to the moment before I went live and fucked everything up.”
“What would it have changed if you hadn’t gone live?” she asks.
I lift a shoulder. “Maybe we would’ve found a way forward.”
She reaches over and squeezes my forearm. “Did you ever talk about finding a way forward?”
I shake my head. “Not until he ended things with me. He asked me at one point if I’d work with his foundation because he liked my ideas, and I told him I had a job.”
“The blog?”
