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I swear, my inner child is giving me a serious side eye right now.
And can I blame her?
Here I am, living in my place of work for two whole weeks.
No one's the wiser. Not my boss, my coworkers, and definitely not the janitors who can't help but spread all the juicy gossip.
Why this elaborate ruse?
Imagine, if you will: Me, two weeks ago, entering my home to find my boyfriend of four years – initiating a "neighborhood meet-and-greet" in MY bed.
But what stabbed my soul was seeing the two of them sprawled on my beloved bamboo cotton sheets.
Dammit, I miss my beloved bamboo sheets!
Four years tolerating Kieran and his tragic fashion choices. Wasted.
Sure, I could be staying on a friend’s coach, but my pride is as tall as a stiletto, and sometimes as painful. That’s what happens when you’ve managed to get by solo your entire life.
Now my glamorous life involves cozying up in a sleeping bag tucked behind the staff break room.
I work at one of the most luxurious fashion hubs, yet I've mastered the art of glamping between haute couture.
Thank heavens for my top-tier ninja skills in managing the CCTV system. A little camera angle magic here, some footage editing there, and voila! My secret remains intact.
My entire life now fits in one suitcase. It's like a sad rom-com, minus the romantic lead.
There simply isn’t any room left for more failure.
My phone rings.
It’s Kieran. Again.
The man has the persistence of a dog with a bone, but I'm in zero mood to play his games.
Ignoring the call, I remind myself of tomorrow’s agenda: hit the downstairs gym first thing in the morning, pretend I’m working out for fifteen minutes, then make use of the showers.
Talk about a hot mess.
Keeping up this ruse has been exhausting.
"Was that Mr. History?" Phil inquires, arching an eyebrow as he wraps up the day's figures. As the shift manager, Phil has traded tales of heartbreak with me during many late-night shifts.
“Yeah, he still won’t leave me alone.”
“I can’t believe he did what he did, though,” Phil replies. “Especially after everything you put into that relationship to try and keep it going.”
“Honestly, he did me a favor, I should’ve ended things a long time ago. We’d been running on fumes for a while.”
“You deserve better. I never liked the dude. He was always so into himself. It’s time to find someone who deserves your time,” Phil says as he tries to comfort me, but then his expression lights up and his posture goes rod-stiff-straight as Etienne walks into the store.
My heart jumps.
Shit what’s he doing here?I silently ask myself.
I hadn't factored in surprise visits from the higher-ups into my master plan.
The Sartorialist thrives on its pristine reputation, prioritizing its polished image and elite clientele above employees' personal challenges.
