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Chapter 33
Saffi
Devastated.
I was fucking devastated.
But really—should I have been so surprised? What did I think was going to happen, meeting a guy at a sex club? It wasn’t like he was gonna be a Boy Scout, for Christ’s sake.
But Dad’s freaking client?
I was pissed, sure. But the disappointment was what had its fingers around my heart, and it was squeezing. Hard.
Yeah, I’d taken a liking to G, or whatever the hell his name was. And I felt stupid. Goddamn stupid. And humiliated. The whole time he was probably getting off knowing he was pulling one over on his attorney’s daughter.
Right?
But I had to wonder, if he didn’t give a shit about me, would he have revealed his identity to project me from M?
Those were questions I’d deal with later.
For now, what was I going to do with my story? I wasn’t so sure Ed would accept it with what I had.
Fuck. Just fuck, fuck, fuck.
I ran for the cab waiting in front of the hotel. On the ride home, I pressed my temple against the cool car window. How did I get in such a predicament? A shitty job, where the most exciting thing I did most days was go to the mailroom and pick up lunch. A boss who wouldn’t give me a chance, and when I’d come up with an idea of my own, he wanted to give it to someone else. An insatiable ambition that got me in way over my head.
My mom wouldn’t have wanted to see me like this. She’d gotten respectable assignments as a journalist. She’d covered City Hall and elections, transit strikes, and homelessness. Big stuff. Real stuff.
And to top it all off, I’d had a tryst with my father’s top client, whom I’d met before.
The tears finally came, as I knew they would. I put my hand over my mouth in so the cab driver wouldn’t hear my sobs.
I cried over my many sorrows. Maybe I had no more than anyone else—but, like everyone else, mine were exquisitely and uniquely agonizing.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to G. I clicked Edit and hesitated for a moment. I scrolled to the Block this Caller option and clicked the check box next to it.
There would be no more calls or messages from G, or Varden, or whatever he wanted to be called.
* * *
Next day at work, I took a swig of the bitter remains of my second cup of coffee. I’d pulled an all-nighter on the Club Silk story, and coffee was the only thing to get me through the day, even though I hated it. I dumped more sugar into it in the hope it might magically become more palatable. It didn’t.
I’d sent a draft to Ed. Knowing as eager as he was for it, I figured he was reviewing it at that very moment. So I took the opportunity to draft my letter of resignation. The story on the club was not complete, but there wasn’t much more I could do with it. Now it was in Ed’s hands, and I’d be sent back to the Garden Club and Little League. And I’d never make enough money to move out of my father’s house.
I grabbed my letter off the printer and folded it in thirds, placing it in a long, blank envelope. It was ready for delivery to Ed at the appropriate moment.
Tom appeared at my desk. How the hell had I ever had a crush on such a douchebag? Another one of my lousy decisions.
“Yo, Saff. You running out for Chinese today?” he asked, running his fingers through his hair. The hair I’d once longed to touch, but which I’d now like to set on fire.
I swallowed to keep from exploding. “Don’t I go out for the Chinese food every day?”
He recoiled. “Geez, you don’t have to get so touchy. It’s just that I’m really hungry.”
Asshole.
Ed poked his head around the corner and into my cube. “Oh, Tom, didn’t know you guys were in a meeting.”
Tom jumped to attention. “Oh, hey, boss. We’re not meeting. I was just, um, saying hi.”
Ed glanced at his watch. “Well, sorry to interrupt you guys, but I gotta be across town for a meeting in thirty minutes. Saffi, do you have a moment to come to my office?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Tom. “And Tom, can you run out and get the Chinese food today?”
Tom stood with his mouth open. I did, too, to be honest. But with Ed quickly retreating into the distance, I grabbed my resignation letter and squeezed out of my cube.
Once inside, I closed his office door behind us.
“Thanks for coming by, Saffi,” he said, gesturing toward a chair.
I swallowed hard. Was I going to be fired before I could even resign?
I held my envelope in both hands, picking at one of the corners. Ed had certainly read my draft by now, and I braced myself for the blow that was sure to come.
“So. I read your story.”
Would it be bad to just throw the letter at him and leave his office?
Instead, I nodded with my best small but professional smile. “I hope you liked it.”
Dream on, girl.
He walked around his desk to perch on its corner. With crossed arms, he looked down and shook his head.
A lump built in my throat and my thoughts jumped ahead to what my next career move might be.
Do not cry in front of the boss. Do. Not. Cry.
“I have to say, your draft blew me away.”
Oh god. He hated it.
