Page 99 of Spring Break Fling

“You’re seriously ditching us?” Jessie’s voice cracked, and I could see her eyes getting misty.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “It’s not forever. If you guys need anything, I’m just a phone call away. But right now, I need to get out of here.”

Jessie wiped at her eyes angrily. “Fine. Go. But don’t expect us to throw a welcome-back party when you decide to show up again.”

Diego stepped forward, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Take care of yourself, man. And don’t do anything stupid.”

Marcus nodded solemnly. “Good luck out there. Take care of yourself.”

Jessie sniffled, glaring at me. “If you come back covered in face tattoos, I’m personally kicking your ass.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Noted.”

As I walked out of the shop, I felt relief and sadness. I wasn’t running away—I was just hitting the reset button. And maybe, just maybe, I’d figure out how to piece myself back together again.

34

HANNAH

The alarm on my phone jolted me out of fitful sleep. I looked around, a little disoriented. I was home in my tiny apartment in my queen bed that pretty much filled the entire space. I shut off the alarm, putting it on snooze just in case I fell asleep. Although I didn’t think that was possible.

I had spent the last week preparing for this meeting. I’d been up late into the night finalizing the slides to present to the group today. Clarke had been babysitting me through the project. I knew he didn’t trust me since the debacle in Miami. I felt like I had proven myself, but Clarke insisted I send everything to him to review.

I grabbed my phone and checked my messages to see if he had replied with any words of advice or demands for changes. I didn’t see anything and took that as a good sign.

I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom to get a cold shower. I needed to wake up. As the icy water washed over me, I recited my speech. This time, I was not going to fuck it up. I was going to kill it. My coworkers were going to respect me. I was younger than most of them and they didn’t see me as true competition. But they would.

I got out of the shower and put on my expensive lotion. It smelled pretty and it always made me feel more confident. I spent some extra time on my hair and makeup. Usually, I was more of a wash and go, but not today.

I took a deep breath and straightened my blazer. Everything hung in the balance. Assuming my presentation went well, I would be coming home and packing my things for a move to New York. Yes, I would miss Idaho and my friends, but I had stars in my eyes.

My hands trembled slightly as I gathered my materials. The past week had been a blur of preparation and emotional recovery. Tara and the girls had been amazing, helping me piece myself back together after the Nikko situation. But underneath the carefully curated professional exterior, I was still raw. It was easier not to think about it. Focusing on work had been an amazing distraction.

The conference room felt sterile and cold as I set up my presentation. Clarke sat at the head of the table, his piercing gaze already making me nervous. I could feel the weight of my recent personal drama threatening to undermine my professional composure.

“Ready, Hannah?” Clarke asked, his tone more neutral than encouraging.

“Absolutely,” I said with a bright smile.

As I began to present, I realized this moment could change the rest of my life. Living in New York was a big deal and it would be a big step on the ladder to the top. I just had to nail this.

Five minutes into my presentation, Clarke very casually slid into the pitch. Before I knew it, I was sitting, and he was presenting.

The meeting felt like a marathon in hell. My patience was shot. I didn’t come into the meeting with a lot of it, but now I was just done. My work was being stolen right before my very eyes.

Clarke droned on about “big picture” strategies while everyone nodded like obedient bobbleheads. I sat quietly because if I opened my mouth, I was going to be standing in the unemployment line.

My notes were filled with passive-aggressive doodles of stick figures toppling over graphs. Every few minutes, Clarke reminded the room that he sealed the deal with the New York City client. He was painting himself as the architect of the pitch I spent hours on. Days and weeks to be more precise. He conveniently skipped over the weeks of groundwork I’d laid to make that meeting possible. I clenched my pen so hard I thought it might snap.

He was even using my graphics. If he wasn’t the boss, I would have thrown my coffee on him.

I caught the eye of one of my coworkers that had helped me do some of the research. She gave me a subtle eye roll, understanding exactly what was happening. We’d been colleagues long enough that she knew my work inside and out.

No one was saying a damn thing about it. Why would they? I wasn’t. I couldn’t ask anyone to stand up for me since I wasn’t standing up for myself. I continued my doodling. It wasn’t like I needed to pay attention. It was my work.

“Of course, we wouldn’t be here without my final touch,” Clarke said, flashing a smarmy grin.

Oh, fuck you, Clarke.