"Blue. Fucking blue." I look at his stranger eyes, wanting to be anywhere but here.
I'm done.
I can't.
Please.
"No." He clenches his jaw, eyes hard. "No."
I step past him and push the button to the ground level, making the elevator go down. Lucas doesn't take his eyes off of me. I don't have the energy to look at him. I stand in front of the doors, waiting for them to open.
"Listen to me. When we first kissed..." He comes beside me. "You asked me to forget about it. After everything — taking you to the restaurant, meeting your dad — you told me to forget it, all because of this God damn promotion."
Ah, so it's my fault.
How did I not see.
"So when Grant told me, the day he told you to go rest." Lucas tries to get my attention. "I knew that we'd never have a shot! I'd go back to being your enemy without a blink—"
The doors open and I step out, walk straight to the lobby doors to the parking lot.
"I told him that I'd train you. I told him I don't want it. He threw what he's done for me at my face! Said I'm letting my feelings decide the right from wrong." He follows after me, voice lower so strangers don't hear. Aw, so caring.
"That's why I didn't want anything to happen." He gets more impatient. "But you had to go and put on a tiny dress and tell me you'll use a fucking safe word with a guy you talked to for only two minutes! How was I suppose to let you go?"
"That's so romantic."
He scoffs. "Fuck. You don't get it. You seriously don't. I was going to wait. But things just happened! I didn't plan it! I didn't plan to walk into that flower field and get stung."
"So it's the bee's fault? That bastard."
I search for my car, keys in my hands.
"I had you meet my best friends, so you'd know I wasn't trying to just get in your pants. You met Shushan too. You think that was just a game?"
"I don't know, you tell me. You said everything is a game." I look at him nonchalantly. "Remember, in the conference room?"
"Not this! Not us! I was talking about work!"
"Yeah, and you played the game of not telling me really well." I unlock my car and open the door. "I guess that's why I didn't get promoted, I've never cared about those bullshit tactics. I'd just tell you, Lucas." I sit inside and put my seatbelt on. "I'd tell you because that's the respectful thing to do."
"Yeah?" He bends down to my eye level. "Just like you drew a contract to keep your distance a day after I took you to my dad's restaurant?"
"Oh..." I smile half-heartedly. "Which one? The one I threw myself against after you ignored me for a whole week, even though I hadn't done anything?"
Pain crosses his face and my chest constricts. I take the flower accessory off and look at it.
"I'm sorry..." Lucas says quietly. "I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't." I reach my hand towards his hair, clipping the accessory there while he stares at me dumbfounded. "Congratulations, Vice President."
"Don't do this. Don't."
"I quit, Lucas. I'd rather die than work for you."
I press on the gas pedal and drive off.
~
It's weird.
How I'm not breaking down. I'd expect a full blown meltdown with sobs.
But I have to force my eyes to water for some relief. It's all just built up. I can't breathe.
I'm almost home thirty minutes later when Grant calls. I consider letting it go to voicemail.
But the sick part of people-pleasing takes over. He's still my boss and I left in the middle of work.
I fucking pick up.
"Layla, where are you?" He asks urgently.
"I left for the day. I wasn't feeling well."
"Can you come back for just thirty minutes? I need to talk to you. It's very important."
"I... I don't think so, Grant. Sorry, I'm not feeling well."
He sighs on the other end. "Layla, there's been a very... ugly misunderstanding. I... I don't feel comfortable letting it simmer over the weekend when I know I can fix it now. I'd really... really appreciate it if you could make the time today."
And I'd really appreciate it if you didn't take me for a fool.
If you didn't string me along for all these months.
Tears blur my vision and my lip trembles.
I hit the back of my head against the seat to distract myself. Dig my nails into my palms. Curse myself for being pathetic.
"I worked for you for four years." I struggle to get the words out. "Four years I've been nothing but loyal to you, Grant. First one in, last one out. Never said no to anything. Stood by your side through... everything."
"Layla—"
"Please, let me finish." I say louder. "I could understand why you'd think I don't qualify. I'm not stupid. But you... you took me for a fool, Grant. Couldn't respect me enough to be honest—"
"Layla, I had a plan for you." Grant says in a calm and fatherly voice. "I promise you. The decision wasn't final. We were speculating who it'd go to, but things always change last minute."
"That's not what you made it sound like."
"Then I was poor at communicating." He replies professionally. "I apologize for any distress my moment of error has caused. But you're too valuable to me to let you leave like that. Not before you give me a chance to prove to you what you mean to this company."
I stay quiet, conflicted. A small part of me that's been desperate for words like that is hopeful. The other part is screaming to get a sense of reality.
They're playing you!
But what if they care?
Grant sighs. "Would you be able to come back to the office so we can talk face to face?"
And see Lucas there? Not a chance.
"Not today." I say monotonously, staring into nothing. I can't even think about him. No.
"Then it seems like I have no other choice but to do this over the phone." He says with regret, though his voice is calm like nothing is wrong. "Look, I'll keep it brief as I know it's been a heavy day and I want you to take care of yourself."
I put him on speaker mode and mute myself so he doesn't hear me cry.
"We want to offer you the role of Director of Analytics." Grant continues officially.
Director of Analytics? Sounds like a customized version of exactly what I like. I wonder how much money he'll offer with it.
"I had to talk to the Board of Directors to get approved on a very competitive salary. And... " I hear the smile in his voice. "And I have a feeling you'll be very happy with it."
I unmute him, feeling like I need to say something.
"Thank you." I offer. He didn't have to do that,
"You'll have a new office, increased vacation time, the best health insurance. And... you will not work with Lucas." He hesitates and my pulse quickens. "I'll make sure you don't cross paths."
"Why are you doing all this?" I fidget with my necklace.
"Because I don't want to lose you." He says with the most passion I've heard him direct towards me. "You're very important to me."
"Who would I report to?"
"You'd report to me. And I'll evaluate you within six months for a VP role after."
My eyebrows rise at that. "How?" Are they planning to have two VPs?
"We'll talk about about that on Monday. I wanted to end your work day with good news and I hope... I achieved that. Now, I wish you a relaxing weekend, Layla. I look forward to continuing this conversation."
"Thanks, Grant." I hang up, blinking a couple of times to process every word he just said.
~
I walk inside my apartment and... clean. This place is so dirty and unorganized. When's the last time I deep cleaned it?
I take out all the cleaning supplies I have, change into shorts and a big t-shirt, put my hair up, blast my eardrums with music, and clean for... I don't know, until my stomach clings to my spine, begging for food and I can't take the stench of my sweat anymore.
I open the fridge and... order food. Hop in the shower, scrub, lather, rinse. Change into new clothes.
This place seems so big and empty.
I'm all alone.
I feel small. Abandoned.
There's a text message from dad asking how it went. My heart reaches for him. Hanging by a thread.
He's always been in my life.
Insufficiently. Painfully.
But maybe this is how it's meant to be.
I briefly tell him I got offered a hefty bonus with a Director role and a six month roadmap towards VP. I skip the drama in between. He schedules a dinner on Monday to celebrate.
The food arrives. I take a bite or two. Put on a cartoon. Change the cartoon to some TV show. It's supposed to be comedy. I don't get it.
I remember the collage of pink flowers in the kitchen and go there, take it down, look at it.
They're so pretty, I almost feel bad.
Then I remember him and tear it apart.
The petals crush and fall beneath my feet. I choke on my breaths and scratch my hands. Kneel on the ground and smash it into nothing. My chest and throat hurt with dry sobs.
I pull out the trashcan from under the sink and shove it all inside. Wipe it with a disinfectant until no traces are left on the ground.
I remember the yellow flower from the San Diego field on my bedside dresser.
Rush there and pick it up. Glare at it.
It doesn't deserve my hate. It brought me happiness.
I remember his face. I crush the small thing in my fist and open my palm. Now it's nothing.
Federico Pupush is on my bed.
I look at him. I pick him up.
"You've done nothing wrong." I say to his innocent face that's staring back at me with glass eyes. "But I need you on a time-out for a little while. I hope you understand."
I kiss his head and put him on the top shelf of my closet, facing the wall.
Casey texts during the evening, just checking in. I talk to her like nothing has happened. Tell her about the bad TV show I'm watching and she tells me about hers. I switch to what she's watching and text here and there about what's happening in the show.
I go to bed around 11 PM and scroll on TikTok until 12:30 AM. That's when my heart flips.
"We're not done." He texts.
All the numbed anxiety crashes back so hard and raw, it physically hurts. My pulse rings in my ears. My breaths gets heavy.
"Please, talk to me." He texts again.
I scrunch my eyebrows together and press my lips. Tense head to toe. Please, ignore it.
He calls. I can't stop looking at his name.
How many rings until he hangs up? How much will he try? What will he say?
He calls again and hangs up then calls again right after.
"Pick up."
Calls again.
"I need to talk to you."
Calls again and this time leaves a voicemail. 39 seconds. I press play.
"Why won't you answer your phone..." He drags his words sleepily. "I need to talk to you." His voice breaks with defeat and exasperation.
Why the hell does he sound like that? What's wrong with him?
"Give me the fucking phone, bro." I hear... Ashton? There's some background noise.
"Layla, I'm sorry, please—" Lucas slurs then his voice is replaced with Ashtons. "Damn it, Lev hold his arms! Fucking shit, hello? Hello?" His voice grows distant as he lowers the phone. "He's leaving her a fucking voicemail—" He hangs up.
I stare at my phone...
Wow.
~ A/N ~
Not very pretty, huh? But I think you guys will really like the next chapters <3