Page 117 of Spring Break Fling

He stood up and came over, adjusting my collar slightly. “You’ve got this. Whatever happens, I’m here.”

I took a deep breath. “I know. That’s why I feel brave enough to do this.”

My heels clicked confidently against the floor as I grabbed my bag. This wasn’t just about confronting Clarke. This was about reclaiming my power, my narrative. And no matter what happened, I was going to walk out of that office with my head held high.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“No.”

He laughed. “Yes, you are.”

I groaned. “I feel sick. I can’t believe I’m going to do this. I’m so scared.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

I took a deep breath. “I know. It’s just, I can’t believe I’m going to quit the job I’ve been busting my ass for.”

“You’re not quitting, you’re moving on. You’re moving forward. That’s what you do. You move forward. You stay in a job that isn’t going to give you the satisfaction you need and you’re going to get stale. You’re going to get bored. And you’ll end up hating it.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “I know you’re right. I’m ready.”

“I’ll drive you to work,” he said. “If you want, I’ll hang out in the lobby. You can call me if you need moral support.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I can handle it. I have to. I’m trying to be a boss bitch. I have to be able to quit on my own.”

We headed downstairs and he got behind the wheel.

“Give me some tips. How do I start the conversation?”

“Suck an egg, dipshit,” he said.

I couldn’t hold back my laugh. “I’m thinking I might want to be a little more professional than that.”

“How about kiss my ass, sir,” he said.

“Very funny. I’ll thank him for the opportunity and then quit.”

“I suppose you could do it like that,” he said.

“I know it’s not quite as cool as telling him to fuck off, but I don’t want to completely blow up my professional reputation. I would like to get a job again one day.”

He pulled up outside the building. He reached over and grabbed my hand. “You’ve got this. You’re going to kill it. You tell him thanks for everything, but it’s time to move on. And I’ll be right here.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you,” he said. “Good luck.”

I felt giddy as I stepped into the elevator. The ride felt like an eternity. My heart raced, palms sweaty, but my spine was straight and my resolve firm. I knew exactly what I was going to say. No wavering. No apologizing.

I walked directly to Clarke’s office, nodding at the receptionist who looked surprised to see me so early. I heard shouting. The receptionist shook her head. “You don’t want to go in there,” she said.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

The receptionist picked up the phone and demanded building security rush to Clarke’s office. That was when I got a glimpse of the chaos. Stephen was shouting. He had a chair in his hand and looked like he was going to attack Clarke with it like they were in a wrestling ring.

I froze, watching the scene unfold. Stephen, the guy who had been handed my project, was completely unhinged. His face was red, veins bulging in his neck as he screamed at Clarke.

“You set me up!” Stephen yelled, brandishing the chair like a weapon. “You knew I couldn’t handle the New York client!”