Page 31 of Scoring Eden

That’s okay, I’ve prepared for this—or, at least, Aspen has. I owe her one. Not just for getting her pre-law friend to highlight all the breaches of conduct he has committed, but also for pumping me full of alcohol before I walked in here to give me the courage to go through with it.

I slip the papers out of my purse and bang them onto the desk beside my resignation. “Page two.” I tap the highlighted sentence. “The Employee’s wages, compensation, or benefits will not be reduced by the Employer without written notice and the Employee’s express consent.”

Anderson’s lips thin, shock giving way to simmering rage.

God, what a power trip. I should have done this weeks ago. “I don’t remember receiving written notice of a pay decrease, nor do I remember consenting to it.” I shrug my shoulder casually then swipe up the papers and stuff them back into my purse. “Funny that.”

He sweeps a hand over his sweaty forehead. “Edith, if pay is the issue, I’m sure we can reinstate your previous salary. It might mean we have to give up that Chesterfield in the waiting area you love so much, but—”

“I hate that stupid couch.” I slap a hand over my mouth from the surprise of having said it. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. No, actually. I’m not sorry. The couch sucks. It’s ugly and uncomfortable, and no one gives a fuck about it. You know what you should have done? Updated the computer system so it doesn’t feel like I’m an office clerk in the eighties every time I log on.”

Anderson stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. Maybe I have. I don’t know what was in that vodka Aspen gave me, but it seems to have given me an entirely new personality. I like this version of Eden. She’s kind of a badass.

“We can certainly discuss that. Just withdraw your resign—”

“Nope.” I wag my finger in his face. It’s condescending as hell and the most fun I’ve had all week. “I think I’ve said all I need to on the matter, so please excuse me. I hope I didn’t ruin the moment too much and you can get back to what was clearly some very hard work.” I look pointedly at Anderson’s zipper that is still halfway undone, then to the fuchsia underwear still strewn across the dental chair.

Anderson splutters. “Edith—”

“It’s Eden.”

“What?”

“My name. How ironic that the day you’re finally learning it is the day I’m leaving.”

I can hear the boiling of his blood as he snatches up my resignation letter and tears it in half. “You won’t get a letter of recommendation from me.”

As if I’d ever want anything from him again.

“Wasn’t expecting one. Good riddance, Anderson. Good luck, Angela.”

There’s scrambling behind me. Some curses. The gentle whispers of Angela trying to calm him down, like she’s gentle-parenting a small child. It puts an extra flounce into my step that was admittedly already flouncier than usual given my level of intoxication and the power trip I’m riding.

But as soon as I slide into the passenger seat of my car, the adrenaline abandons me, and the vodka threatens to make a second appearance.

“So, how did it go?” My sister grins, pulling the car onto the road as soon as I’m buckled in.

I fold over myself with a groan. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“That’s just the adrenaline.” She laughs. “Or the vodka, so if you do throw up, can you aim it away from me? I’d rather not get vomit all over my new Valentino.”

She hasn’t stopped wearing that damn leopard-print purse since she bought it on Saturday. I’ve had to drag her away from every reflective surface we’ve passed in the last two days. Her vanity has become a serious problem.

She eyes herself in the rearview mirror, stroking the black handle. Case in point.

“I’m happy,” she says when she catches my arched brow. “Sue me.”

In no mood to deal with her newfound love affair with her purse, my head sags against my seat. “I can’t believe I did that.”

Shit.

I just left my job. My only source of income. I’m officially unemployed.

The reality of my situation sinks in like a shipwreck.

Oh, God. What the fuck have I just done?

“Eden,” my sister’s voice is gentle as she reaches across the center console to grab my knee. “You’re panicking.”