“Quincy. Answer the phone.”
She accepts the call, bringing the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
I can’t hear the other end of the conversation, and her body language doesn’t give anything away. Her expression is stoic. There’s not even a hint of a smile, and I put my hand on her knee.
“Right.” She nods. I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for her to tell me what’s going on. “Thank you so much.”
She finally hangs up. Puts her phone face down and turns to look at me.
“Quin?”
“I got the job,” she whispers. “I got the job,” she repeats, louder this time.
“Sweetheart.” I stand and sweep her off her feet, spinning her around. She’s loose-limbed in my arms, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m so proud of me too.” Quincy wipes her eyes then gasps. She wiggles out of my arms, a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no.”
“What’s wrong?”
“If I got the job, that means you didn’t. I’m so sorry. That was selfish of me to—”
“Don’t you dare apologize for your success, Quincy. You earned this. You deserve this. Don’t worry about my feelings. Not when yours are just as valid.”
“But I know you’re not happy and I am. I could talk about weather on my show for the rest of my life and be content, but you …” She snaps her mouth shut, but I know what she’s not saying.
But I’m miserable.
Dreading every day that I have to go into work, and, yeah, I’m so fucking excited for her, but there’s a part that stings with the news too. The recognition that this is it for me, a job that now belongs to someone else while I still don’t know what I want to do.
Jealousy—the tiniest flicker of jealousy—flares to life in my chest, but that’s not fair.
She earned that spot fair and square. She’s made a name for herself, deserving of every accolade. What she does is important,necessary, and I can’t be mad at her for getting exactly what she’s wanted.
“I’m going to be fine.” I kiss her forehead. Maybe if I say it a few more times, I’ll believe it. “I have a pretty face, remember? The possibilities are endless.”
“We don’t have to talk about this.” Quincy turns her phone over and puts a hand on the back of my neck. “I can celebrate with Mia and Harlow at lunch, and we can pretend like—”
“I want to hear all about it.” I smile down at her. “Start talking, Monroe. And don’t leave anything out.”
“They want me to start in two weeks, pending any other tropical activity. They apologized for taking so long to reach out. Dealing with the aftermath of Georgianna took them longer than they would’ve liked. They told me I could still do my show, and the possibility of a hybrid position is something they’d consider in the future.”
“Look at you go.Fuck.I’m so proud of you.”
“You’re just as deserving, Sebastian. They said it was close between me and another candidate, and I don’t doubt that was you.”
“Another tally in your win column, Pres,” I murmur.
“I don’t want it to be a win or a loss.”
“Fine, but we need to celebrate.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“I have an idea, and the morning is still—” It’s my turn for my phone to buzz in my pocket. “I bet this is Melbourne calling to tell methanks, but no thanks.”
“Answer it. What if they’re offering you a different position? They said they’re understaffed. Something else might’ve opened up.”
I never considered that. The possibility makes me scramble, but when I see the caller ID, it’s Johnathan’s name on the screen, and I groan.
