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CHAPTER 1
"Are you sure you want to permanently delete 73 files?"
I click on yes and fling my phone on the bed. It’s been a week since Peter Rudolph turned his back on me and held another woman in his arms, while my face dripped with the drink the obnoxious woman had dumped on me.
That son of a gun. It was a break that I’d requested when life got too busy. Just a simple break to reassess what our relationship means. Finding Sheila dead at the office was such a huge shock. Seeing Peter so demanding while being distanced at the same time almost drove me crazy.
And your feelings for your boss too.
"Oh fuck off!" I yell, flinging my hands as if fighting with the air.
All the memories come flooding back with the cathartic shout — the first-rate meal at the French place, cute texts all night long, the wine tasting event with his impeccable chivalry on display, the cute smiles and bold introduction that felt like he was proud to show me off to friends, the night at his apartment…
The relationship didn’t have a chance to blossom before it ended so disastrously. When he wasn’t glued to his phone, I felt like a queen. How could he pull the rug just like that?
I slump on the bed and punch my comforter several times with both fists. As I take some deep breaths to calm myself down, I feel a vibration in my midriff.
Lifting myself with a groan, I pick up my phone. It was a text from Chris.
Hey, Sam,
Hope you're having a nice week. This is just to remind you of the conference I told you about weeks ago. Please try getting prepared. I've attached to this message your itinerary of events.
I click on the file attached to the message. The Annual PR Elitist Award is an annual event that brings together the best Public Relations firms and agents for an event. I remember my dad always being obsessed with it when I was younger. He always said it was the best way to network.
This year marks two decades since the event started and it's meant to be superb. Three days of seminars, speeches, and a cherry on the top is a dinner and awards night. I notice a charity marathon/walk slated for day two.
I huff. I can't run to save my life. Not with this heavy-duty ass behind me.
As I picture the clothes I'd need to be wearing, a sudden thoughtflashes through my mind and causes me a moment of panic.
What if Peter is also attending with his new girl with her perfect slim body and swishy legs.
I slump back on the bed, puffing out breaths of exhaustion at the mere thought of trying to act all chill and cool while my ex charms his way around the room with his new, drink-tossing girlfriend.
The huffing and puffing aren’t helping. I have to get my ass up and put together the best looks I can muster from my wardrobe. Something to rival Princess Diana's iconic revenge dress after Prince Charles' cheating scandal.
I swing open my closet door and glare at my clothes, willing Anna Wintour to part the hangers and make an appearance. My phone beeps on the bed and my mood brightens when I see my mom's name on the screen.
"Hey, pumpkin."
"Hey, Mom," I reply, a genuine smile creeping across my face.
"Hey, are you okay? Who died?" Trust Mom to sense my mood from a mere screen.
"Just a dull day. How about you? How's California?" I quickly deflect.
"Not much is happening here. Classes for spring have been running for weeks.”
"That's right? How are your new students?"
"Boisterous and wide-eyed as ever. Pretty wild and challengingtoo. Nothing new. I had a kid trying to bring in a pet chicken the other day for emotional support," she says with air quotes.
"Then you showed him the Annalise Keating side of you, right?"
"Every crumb of it. Tried to argue his way about support-animal and stuff. I asked him to opt for virtual classes then."
"You go, Momma."
