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“You’re one of those, huh?” He wants to know.
“One of what?” I slip my coat on and take his arm. He leans to unfold my collar and lifts my hair out of the way. I decide there and then I like Perry.
“Admit it, if your brain was hanging out, you’d still ask me to take you back to work.” He sniggers, leading us outside.
I wrinkle my nose and remind myself I no longer feel sick.
Laughing lightly, he steers me down a ramp towards the car park. “I can’t take you back to work,” Perry informs me. His tone, the low bite to his words, and the soft but noticeable way he tightens his hold are heard loud and clear. I no longer have a job.
“He said no then?” Stopping, I turn to look at him, silently pleading for him to help me somehow. I can already picture my future employment asking why I left my previous job. I drop my head because he has no intention of answering. His eyes say it all. “Dammit.”
“Cain’s right. You have a filthy mouth.” He chuckles and nudges me with his shoulder. “You don't look the type,” he muses and purses his lips. “Your friend, on the other hand.” He widens his eyes playfully.
I don’t feel so playful. In fact, I want to cry until my throat feels bruised and my eyes are swollen. The need to flee is overwhelming. “Perry, I really appreciate you bringing me to the hospital, but I think I’m just going to make my own way home.” My voice wobbles, and Perry winces. I start to walk away, desperate to put some space between us before I blub like a baby.
“Lauren!” he calls.
I spin around. “Good luck with the hotel. It's really gorgeous.” I throw him my brightest smile and half jog to the taxi bank. I can’t believe I’ve lost my job.
* * *
I push my way into the apartment and throw my bag down, thoroughly pissed off with today. I’m noting it down on my calendar as the day of double fucks. I screw my face up and write underneath: Cain is a prick. Yes, he is! I even go as far as doodling a little cactus for good measure. I twist and stare at the small apartment I’m renting and purse my lips. I doubt someone like Cain-bloody-Carson-Ivory would ever be seen dead in a place like this. The small room comprises a small kitchenette and my sofa bed. It’s a far cry from the luxury we deliver at the hotel.
Head throbbing, I go to my bathroom and find some painkillers, clutching them in my fist tightly as the pain ebbs and pulses. The distinct sound of ‘I’m a hustler, baby’rings through the apartment. Rolling my eyes at the ringtone Amberley set for herself, I take myself to my phone.
“Hi!” I chirp. I don’t want to crack on the phone. So far, I’ve managed to keep it together.
“Are you okay?” Amberley’s worried voice has me closing my eyes and biting my lip as tears, hot and angry, swell behind my eyelids and push their way past the weak defence to bead on my cheeks.
“Mmm hmm.” Salty paths glide down my face, and I drop my head in shame as despair clings like a nasty form of bacteria to my tongue.
“I’m coming over,” she declares, and the line goes dead before I can protest. I could do with the moral support. I decide to jump in the shower, dose myself on meds, and ice my bump before she arrives. When she does, she is carrying a bunch of flowers and has a sympathetic pout. “Oh shit.” She grimaces at my head. Seeing her now has me tearing up so much so that I cover my face and sniff behind my hands. “Oh, hun. It's going to be okay.” Flowers press into my hair as she pulls me in for a tight hug.
“I threw up on his shoes.” I wince and strangely find myself laughing. Amberley’s dark chuckle accompanies mine. “Everything is such a mess,” I mutter.
“He didn’t come back to the office after you left,” she says flippantly and turns, looking for a vase.
“He turned up at the hospital,” I blurt, still stunned at finding him sitting in the accident and emergency room in his designer suit, sporting one hell of a cold stare.
“What?”
“I know. He made another odd remark about my complexion, and when I came out, he was gone.” I walk to the kettle, but Amberley shoos me away.
“Let me do this. You go and chill.” I smile in thanks and pull a vase out from under the sink. “Perfect.” She takes it from me. “Now go and sit down.” I plop myself on my sofa and rest my chin on the back as I watch my friend moving about. “So, what did he say?” she asks, tip-toeing to reach the mugs.
“That I’m pale.” I roll my eyes. I am pale, but that is beside the point. “Said I had unfortunate genetics,” I grumble, still smarting.
“Fuck off!” Amberley’s horrified face meets mine, and I nod slowly. I’m still mad about that.
“Yep, and then he said my knees were nicely bruised. What even is with that?” I scoff, getting comfy as she walks over with two mugs.
“He can’t say that. He’s your boss,” Amberley snaps, glaring into her cup.
“Technically, the bruised bit was said after I was fired.” I shrug and puff out my cheeks, sighing loudly.
“And before?” she argues.
“Well, I did call him a prick for saying I was pale.” I eye her with a wince.
