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“Showing me how it’s done,” he says as he kisses my skin again.
I tilt my head, trying to look at him. “I might be.”
“Just like everything else, then,” he says, finally releasing me and turning towards his coffee pot. “Coffee?”
“Yeah, please. Two sugars and loads of cream, please.”
“It’s all yours.”
A trick I learned from my grandmother was that pancake batter makes even better pancakes when you leave it to stand for five minutes. As I set it aside, I realize I didn’t check my emails at all yesterday. And though it’s not strictly necessary to do it now, I like to stay on top of it all. Even if I’m not going to action anything right now, I still want to know.
I flip open my email app. A tirade of unread emails flood the screen. I can ignore most of them. At least sixty percent of them are annoying emails that don’t need to be replied to.
But one email does catch my eye. It’s the hiring manager from the museum. My heart leaps into my mouth at the sight of it. Now probably isn’t the best time to be looking at it, but if I don't, I'll be in suspense all day and that’ll ruin my good mood.
My thumb shaking, I open the message. I let my eyes skim over all the words, picking out the important parts.Dear Sophie… impressed by your interview… delighted to offer you the position.
I gasp, unable to help myself.
Lucas turns from his coffee and hums curiously at me. I can’t look up. My eyes are glued to the words. I can’t believe I got the job. This is everything I've ever wanted. But the email keeps going, so I keep scrolling down. And my heart starts sinking back into my chest as the rest of the words hit me.Bidding war. Lucas emailed him. My mind reels in fear about what all this means.
“Lucas,” I say. He looks up again from where he’s hunching over his coffee grounds. “Did you know I was applying to this job?”
"Oh, did you get it?” he asks.
“Yes, but did you know?”
“So what if I knew? I know a lot of things,” he says, his tone as impenetrable as his expression as he rises to his full height.
“Andrew says there was a bidding war. What does that mean, a bidding war? You werefightingover me?”
“Well,” he stammers, running a hand through his hair. At least he has the grace to look slightly embarrassed by all of this. “Well, of course I want to keep you. You’re the best personal assistant I’ve ever had.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest. None of this was ever about me. Well, it was — but not in the way I wanted it to be. I should have known better than to think Lucas could ever think about me as a human being. I should have known better than to think I was any more than an object to him. All of this has been some elaborate ploy to get me to stay. Some cruel trick of the mind because he can’t bear the idea of having to do work by himself.
A rush of nausea pulses up my throat, and I think for a second that I really am going to have to run to the bathroom and throw up. Maybe I should just vomit on his shoes. It’s what he deserves.
“I can’t believe this,” I say, my throat tight and closing tighter by the second. “All of this”—I gesture in a wide circle—“this doesn't mean anything to you, does it? This is just nice words because you think that’s how to win people over. Because you think that every person in the world can be bought. Well, you know what, Lucas?I can't. Not anymore. Not by you. God, I really thought I meant something to you.”
Tears start choking me and I can’t finish my sentence. I swallow hard, trying to blink back my tears and keep my righteous anger inside. I will not cry in front of him. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“No, Sophie, listen,” he says, holding out his hand like he’s trying to soothe a horse. Like he thinks he’s being reasonable. “It got you a higher salary, didn’t it? Me vouching for you?”
“That’s not the point!” I snap. “Don’t you understand? Don’t you have any feelings at all?”
“Yes,” he says like I’m missing the obvious. Like he’s ever shown a human emotion in his life. “Look, Sophie, of course I don’t want to let you go. You’re great. I mean, what would I do without you? You’ve been so great with the kids.”
“That’s it!” I say throwing the fork I’m still holding back into the bowl. The pancake mix splashes onto the counter. Good. “I quit, Lucas. I'm not coming back. Do you understand that?”
“Sophie, listen—”
“No! I’m done listening to your shit! I don’t care, okay? I don’t care what package you want to offer me or what money you think this is worth. I'm a human being, Lucas. I really thought you cared.”
“I do,” he says. “I’ll even pay you a severance fee if that’s what you want—”
“No.” I say. “It’s not.”
I turn on my heel and stalk away. I've kept all my stuff quite neatly in my suitcase so I march up to it, throw in my pajamas and zip it up. If I've left anything, I can buy something new. I have the money, after all. I march back through the house, heading for the front door. Lucas is in the hall, looking rumpled and flustered and as cute as he ever does. I hate that I still think that.
