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Chapter 1
Part II cont’d
April | Present Day
“Let’s go over the boomerang methods of reinforcing your stance.”
I took a deep breath, trying to recall. “If he says he’s not ready to make a decision about the merger, I can remind him I plan on looking into locations for my club this summer, maybe?” She nodded. “That’ll apply a timeline for his decision.”
“Good one. More,” she prompted while typing into heriPad.
“If he says he’s not going to sell, I can ask him for an expected date of him returning to the office so I can transition my executive responsibilities however he wishes.”
“Mmmhmm…” she tapped away. “One more.”
Sensing my time was up, I checked my wrist to confirm it.
Yup…
I exhaled again, eyes circling aimlessly through her office as I thought. “If he straight up says no to the merger, I can tell him to go fuck himself.” When her head shot up, I grabbed my purse, scarf, and jacket. “I know my time’s up. I think I have this one in the pocket.” I stood. Therapy sessions were only for an hour, unless stated otherwise in advance. “Thanks.”
Just as I was on my way to the door, she called out to me. “Ashira…”
I turned, pretty sure the irritation burning the lining of my belly wore all over my face.
She tucked her chin before softly sharing, “I know you said you don’t want to talk about what happened last weekend with the gentleman, but I’d really like for you to unload the weight it’s apparent to me you’re carrying behind what happened.”
“I’m sure I will. I’ll unload it from my shoulders and stow it with the other shit I’ve got going on.” My eyes blindly scanned the wall behind her. “Or maybe I’ll just call it what it is.”
“Which is?”
“I got fucked.” I shrugged, lips pouting. “Literally and figuratively.”
“Explain the figurative angle.”
I felt my jaw tightening, eyes rolling, and head softly shaking. Every time I thought about him—each time my mind traveled to the biggest, most stupid blunder I’ve likely committed in my adult life, a bitter tang coated my tongue.
Involuntarily, I swallowed hard. “I was stupid.”
“How?”
I shrugged. “He didn’t have to do much work to make me believe his lies. I didn’t ask enough questions and gave too many explanations for him. I spoke his excuses before he got to serve them to me in lies. Like when we parted ways at night, I’d assume his friend always drove him—even when I didn’t see the friend in my apartment parking lot. I assumed he lived with his mother when…” I thought for a second, eyes tightening. “I’m not even sure if the guy ever mentioned living with his mother in the first place.” My head shook as the memories began trickling in. “I paid for things, like food every chance I got—even when he was on a date with another woman. And I offered to pay for other things he was insistent I shouldn’t.” I closed my eyes, scoffing at my stupidity all those times, especially at the fair last Saturday. “I’m pretty sure he’s been laughing at my arrogance since I left his place on Sunday morning.”
“Did you view him through a lens of arrogance?”
I didn’t want to talk about it. “I don’t know.”
“Can I offer, perhaps if you did, it couldn’t have been that bad because youdidopen up to him enough to allow Saturday to happen? Your feelings for him couldn’t have been all that malice if you consented to that level of intimacy with him.”
“Yeah, but I thought I knew who I was consenting to. Joke’s on me, the privileged girl from Millburn.” I rolled my eyes again and mumbled, “This is exactly why I don’t date guys from the ‘streets.’” I used air quotations. “They view my pedigree as naivety. They’re in a head game with me I never ‘consented’ to. It’s like I’m a target for a nasty, selfish agenda. This time, though, I thought I had a handle on it. I mean, you know him: he’s articulate when he wants to be, and charismatic, and cultured in his own way. At my age, I thought I was familiar with all the cards on the table and could trust the players there, too.”
“Or perhaps the culture of the player across from you is so vastly different from yours, you didn’t understand the set of rules he abides by.”
“What does that even mean?”
She scooted up in her seat, yanked and tucked her skirt beneath her. “It means your lens for life is a culmination of all of your life experiences. Everything you saw, heard, and felt. I’m sure this gentleman is no different. You went into an agreement with him based on what you saw, heard, and felt for him—with prejudice. And maybe he did the same with you. But just because you and this person entered into this space with reservations doesn’t mean any malice took place.”
Peering at her with incredulity, I squinted. “You haven’t forgotten ‘this person’ is your client as well. Right?”
