A week had passed since the conclusion of my job and they, shockingly, had not called to beg for me to come back. No emails about the grave error they made, no flowers with a note about how the company is burning to the ground without me.
It hits me, this solid, cool reality, that it was just a job. I was just an employee. And that door is closed behind me now, most likely forever.
I can't pretend that this has been an easy pill to swallow. My identity was wrapped so firmly in this occupation, this career I'd been building so rapidly, that the loss of it leaves me stumbling blindly through the motions of life for a few days. I rediscover cooking and learn that my oven doesn't even preheat properly. Then I have to place a humbling work order to my apartment complex in which I state that I don't even know when this broke in the first place. I try painting and photography, the two extracurriculars I exceled in in high school, and realize I wasn't that good, I was just the only student applying myself.
Where I find comfort, naturally, is shopping.
I've spent hundreds of dollars reversing the sterility of the apartment with soft terracotta throws and plants from the local nursery. I hang up pictures I dig up from the bottom of my closet and clutter the space with kitschy handmade items from local businesses.
And after a week of this, I search for jobs. Casually. Or as casually as I'm capable of.
It's the middle of the week when there's a knock at my door. I'm in sweatpants, which I have always tried to avoid during the day but can't deny their comfortability, and my hair is on its fifth day without a wash. There's soup on the stove, because the weather is five degrees cooler than it was last week and I can't resist an opportunity to make soup.
It's a whole new me.
When I swing the door open, I'm met with a whole new Brett.
His face cracks into a smile immediately, resembling something like relief. Then he drinks in the sight of me, this laidback version of myself he's not seen too often before, likely bombarded by the scent of lemon chicken soup simmering behind me.
"Mia," he breathes, and it comes out like a prayer.
I blink at him in surprise, then embarrassment, then confusion. "Brett, what are you doing here?"
"Can I come in?" he asks, as if he hadn't heard me. I expect him to invite himself in the way my father is wont to do, but he waits for permission like a fucking vampire. I wave him through, still baffled.
He stands in my living room, evaluating everything as if for the first time. "Wow," he says, glancing around in awe. "You've done a lot with the place."
I try to shrug nonchalantly. "I've found myself with a lot of time. And I'm here so much, ya know?"
He turns back to me suddenly and closes the distance between us in two short strides. Before I can react, he envelopes me in a warm hug, his coconut shampoo overwhelming my senses, the firmness to which he's holding me bringing tears to my eyes. I feel him rest his head atop mine.
"How have you been doing?" he asks. "That should've been the first thing I said."
I let out a muffled laugh, the sound dying against his broad chest. "I'm doing just fine. Revisiting some old hobbies, redecorating. I've even heard back from a few jobs."
Brett stiffens around me. "Is that it then?" He pulls back, his hands resting on the tops of my shoulders. "You're done with the old place?"
I smile sadly. "It was overdue, Brett. I should've cut ties with my father years ago. This miserable job was the last thing holding me to him. It's good that it's over."
He scans my face intently like I'm hiding my secrets somewhere in the subtle wrinkles beneath my eyes. I'm not sure what he finds, but eventually he pulls me back into a hug and takes a deep inhale.
"I've been worried about you," he whispers.
"I'm fine."
"I know."
I allow him this moment, this closeness between us, then wiggle my way from his grasp. "Soup?" I ask distractedly, already heading towards my stove.
"Is that what I'm smelling?"
I grin as I round the corner of my island and lift the lid. The aroma of herbs and broth floats up to my nose, and my stomach rumbles in response. I grab the wooden spoon to the left of the pot - a new addition to my home - and give it a delicate stir. "Depends, does it smell good?"
Brett follows me to the kitchen, and when I turn around he's leaning against the countertop, his arms folded across his chest, looking at me like I hold the universe in my hands. He's a bit more disheveled than usual, his shirt a bit wrinkled and his hair messier than ever. But he flashes me the very grin that made him famous and says, "Like heaven."
I snort and place the lid back over the pot. "Too bad. It needs another hour at least." I turn back to face him. "What can I do for you?"
"Is this transactional?" he asks, an eyebrow cocked curiously.
"Typically conversations are, yes."
He frowns. "I'd disagree with that. I'm just here as a friend to check in on a friend."
I gesture to the room around me. "This is pretty much all I've been up to. You?"
At this, he takes a deep breath, which I misinterpret as concern for my own wellbeing. I open my mouth to protest, to insist I'm doing better than I have, better than when I was employed, but he starts speaking before I get a chance to embarrass myself.
"I met with Senator Bells."
The words land like lead on the tile of the kitchen floor, reverberating across the room with a resounding immensity. I feel my mouth fall open, my face slacken. Despite the hundreds of questions that immediately flood my thoughts, no words come out.
Brett continues on. "We met and talked about the video I made, which I'm sure you've seen." I nod, eyes still wide with shock. "He asked me to take it down. Essentially offered to pay me out in exchange for my silence. He'd wipe everything else clean too - Jason's shit, Avalon's shit, presumably Camila, too."
"Did you-"
"I didn't even consider it."
This time, a response spews from my mouth before I have a chance to think. "Are you actually stupid?"
Brett laughs at this, a welcome sound, jolly and light. It bathes the room in something like a sunrise, and my stomach unclenches for just a moment. "It's not right, Mi. You've probably been able to see it in me for a while - I just don't care about my career anymore like I used to. I've made more money than I know what to do with. My popularity is starting to impede on my life, my freedom. I'm happy to begin my departure from social media."
I shake my head like I'm trying to loosen something from my mind. "That's not the problem, though. The problem is-"
"That he'll try to ruin my life?" he cuts in, and I consider resorting to violence the next time he interrupts me. "That's my point. He can have my money, my platform, my time. But the guy sucks, his son sucks, and someone needs to stand up to it."
The air between us is charged with something potent, electric, like fury or lust or pride. It's indistinguishable, but it's there, real as an organ.
I let out a slow breath and hold both hands up. "Who is handling your publicity?"
He shrugs casually, like this isn't the worst possible thing that could happen to him. I think, briefly, that maybe it's not. "I think this is more of an issue for my lawyers." When our eyes meet, he smiles. "They're not pleased with me."
"I wouldn't be either."
Brett pushes off from the counter behind him and takes a small step towards me. "PR Mia wouldn't be, no." He gets closer, his voice growing softer. "What about this Mia?"
It unnerves me, the way he differentiates the two, the way I couldn't see the division in myself without that comment. My initial reaction is based upon how I'd respond as his agent, as any PR agent. I don't have a fully formed opinion on his actions as a person, as an uninvolved individual.
I think it over, turn the thought around in my mind a few times.
"Actually," I start. "I guess that's kind of great."
Brett suppresses a smile, his lips rolling into a thin, amused line as he continues to approach me. "Is that so?"
"Did your mom love it?"
He throws his head back with a sharp, single laugh. "Oh, my god. That woman was so excited."
I chuckle. "I can imagine."
And then this man is standing in front of me, close enough for our breath to mix together like smoke. His eyes, which are naturally a fairly dark brown, are clouded and severe. He dips his head down like he's going to kiss me, but instead we linger there, our foreheads just an inch apart.
"I couldn't have done it without you," he whispers to me.
My brows furrow. "I'm pretty sure you did all of it without me, actually."
"I'm talking about giving it up. Doing what's right."
"I wouldn't have advised doing what's right," I correct him. "I didn't, to be exact."
I can't see it, but I'm sure he's rolled his eyes.
"Mia?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm going to kiss you now."
I look up and he catches my chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting my face into his. It feels like the first time, something fiery and fierce, like the room might implode from the energy. His lips are soft and commanding, aggressive with me in a way he's always refrained from being, but still being very deliberate about his actions. His hands snake around my waist while mine tangle in his hair, our bodies flush against one another.
When he nips my bottom lip, I let out a soft moan, which causes him to growl in return.
"Fuck," he groans. "You've been daring me to do this for weeks."
I hum a distant, "Mhm," and pull him closer.
Suddenly his fingers are beneath my tank top, pulling the fabric up as he sweeps his palms across the skin of my back. Everything feels hot to the touch, like my skin is ablaze, and I start to drag us backwards to the hallway.
He follows my lead as we inch toward my open bedroom without breaking the kiss, which feels both juvenile and sensual at once - like we can't get enough of each other.
The backs of my knees hit the bed, but he holds me there for a moment before laying me down.
"Let me be clear, Mia," he says, and his voice is raspy and deep in a way that sends shivers through my body. "I'm not hooking up with you right now."
I blink dumbly. "Okay."
"If this is a one time thing, I don't want it."
At this, I raise my eyebrows in surprise, almost challenging this notion. "You'd reject me if I wanted a casual fling?"
He nods decisively. "I want you in your entirety. In every job, every hobby, every state. I want to do this with you."
"So you showed up to my house to ask me out?" I ask slowly, my expression teasing and jovial.
"How many ways do I need to say it?"
"How many ways are available?"
His grip around my waist tightens and I gasp. "Mia," he says impatiently. "Give me an answer."
I let my head loll back just slightly, trying to feign dismissiveness. "I'll see what I can arrange," I reply, and then his lips are back on mine, his tongue swiping at my bottom lip. He breaks us momentarily to pull the tank top over my head, then pauses at the discovery that I'm not wearing a bra.
"My god," he breathes. "You are so perfect."
I cannot think of the last time where I had sex with so much feeling - that's typically something I avoid like a flesh-eating bacteria. Brett takes his time, trailing kisses down my skin, between my breasts, on the inside of my thighs. He whispers compliments to me, not only with his words, but with the way he regards me, holds me, asks for my consent, ensures that I finish first (like a man) then twice (like a boyfriend).
When he pushes into me, the moment is so intimate, as delicate as thin glass, and I realize that this is love making. This is a declaration from us both, a conjoining we've agreed upon, a floodgate we've opened that we cannot close. He peppers my forehead with more kisses and I wrap my legs around his back to deepen the angle.
"Oh Mia," he says, and I know what he means.
I know he's saying I want this forever. I know he's thinking I love you, and frankly, maybe I am too.
We stay there long after he finishes, him brushing the bangs from my face and holding me close like I might slip away, and we both pretend not to hear the timer that the soup is finished.
* * *
hi friends, i was running a high fever last night and threw up so violently so i appreciate your patience with this chapter
you may have seen my announcement that i'll be updating on sundays exclusively now, as i'm working on my next WIP and want to pour my energy into that one because i think i might pursue actual publication.
if you've made it this far, thank you, love you, be well!!!!