Page 138 of A Perfect Fit

Andrew shakes his head. “Let’s talk about it,” he pleads. “Don’t do this. Please, I need you here.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” I snap.

For fuck’s sake, I don’t owe this man—who I refuse to ever call my dad—anything or any more of my time.

Brushing past him, I storm out the door, realizing several people have gathered outside. Aaron’s also there. He gives me an encouraging nod, and I take a deep breath, calming my racing heart.

“Hey, team. I know this is very sudden, but for personal reasons, I’ve decided to step down, effective immediately,” I say. “Aaron will be acting CEO in the interim, so rest assured, you’re all in good hands. Thank you for your hard work. I’ve enjoyed working with you all, and thank you for everything you’ve done for me and the company.”

Aaron’s mouth falls open, but everyone else gives me warm smiles as they walk up to me, shaking my hand and wishing me well.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Andrew walk off, but I don’t spare him a second glance.

Aaron’s the last person to come up to me. “Effective immediately?”

I grimace. “I’m sorry. I … I don’t think I can stay any longer.”

Aaron shakes his head. “Don’t be. I’ll survive. I’m proud of you, man. Now go be an architect.”

I give him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

My phone dings with a new text.

Bella

Hey, I’m at The Daily Brew

Shit. I completely lost track of time.

“You okay?” Aaron asks.

“I have to go,” I quickly say. “I’ll work on putting together a handover document for you, and we can chat about it.”

Aaron gives me a reassuring nod. “Okay.”

I send Isabelle a reply to apologize and let her know I’m on my way before racing down to the lobby, dashing out the revolving doors.

Dodging office workers and tourists, I sprint to The Daily Brew, ignoring the humid heat that sticks to my skin, my pride from earlier corroding into something ugly.

I was meant to only give notice today and stay for another three months to assist with the handover and transition planning. Be someone who’s professional, responsible. Instead, I stormed out like some emotional intern.

Unemployed.

The reality—my reality—hits me harder than Andrew’s fucked-up confession from earlier.

I mean, sure, I still have my portion of shares in Carter Marketing Solutions, but I can’t rely on just that. I’m supposed to⁠—

Architecture school.

I haven’t even applied for it yet, let alone received any offers. What if my applications are rejected? Even if I’m accepted, I’ll be back to being a student, searching for internships, then graduate positions, slowly climbing up the corporate ladder, starting over …

It’s not that I didn’t contemplate these things before quitting, but what if … what if I’m not cut for it? What if I just blew up my entire life for something I’m mediocre at? Yes, I’ve watched countless architecture documentaries, read many books, but that’s vastly different from actually pursuing architecture as a career. I’ve never even tried sketching a building or floor plan or anything of that nature before.

Maybe Andrew’s right; I acted irrationally.

My breaths turn uneven, and I have to consciously suck air in. I didn’t even talk to Isabelle before quitting.

That last thought hurts more than everything else. I stop at a crosswalk, the red hand blinking at me, and my heart starts pounding harder.