15. Lacey
CHAPTER 15
LACEY
I am so not ready for Monday morning. I wake up at the crack of dawn, and every muscle in my body reminds me of what I did this weekend. I’m exhausted and feel so, so good lying here, I keep my eyes closed and just savor how sore every muscle in my legs and ass are.
I don’t think I’ve ever worked so hard having sex before, but I love it. Holding my legs open, thrusting back against Eagle while lying on my back.
Phew.
No wonder some of the hottest celebrities say their only form of exercise is having sex. I’ve clearly been doing it wrong my entire adult life.
Besides, I would ordinarily have the Monday after a weekend-long event off. A chance to sleep in and rest, then I’d debrief with the team on Tuesday. But not today. Don told me when he sent me home Saturday to come in this morning so we could meet as a team and discuss what happened this weekend.
I groan as I drag myself from the bed and let Ruby out into the yard. Mom is sleeping in today, and I shush Ruby as I let her out the sun-room door and then back inside for her breakfast. I’ll walk her before I leave, but first, I need coffee.
After I feed Ruby and suck down a nice cup of coffee, I take a shower and dry my hair in my bedroom, so it’s quiet for Mom. Then, the nerves start to creep in.
I try to remember everything Mom said, everything I believe. I did nothing wrong. I had a relationship with a man who I did not know was married. I didn’t know he was a client of the Lantana until shortly before the wedding.
I did nothing wrong.
He’s the one who was married.
Is married.
After walking Ruby around the block so she can sniff the local smells and do her business, I put on a power outfit, my standard pencil skirt and blouse. I pull out a reliable pair of pointy-toe flats today. I don’t know why. The athletic sex I had with Eagle has my legs feeling wobbly. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s my nerves for what I’m about to face.
I kiss Ruby goodbye and leave a note for Mom, telling her to have a nice day. It’s a small thing we do for each other every now and then. Yeah, I could text her, but she’s asleep. And when she wakes up, seeing a real smiley face that I drew and not an emotion dumped into a message really will give my mother a huge smile.
I blast the AC vents and head toward work, willing the butterflies in my stomach to settle down. About half a mile from work, I have to pull over. It’s like I’m overcome with this sense of dread, as if something bad’s about to happen.
It was the same kind of feeling I got with Dylan at least a half dozen times. Like when he’d answer a phone call a little too fast or when he locked his phone screen as I got close. It was never one big thing that snagged my attention, but tiny moments that cut me like a thousand little paper cuts until, finally, I felt the pain. And then, of course, I bled.
Each time, I ignored all the little signs, and did I ever learn to regret it.
I put on my turn signal and pull into a gas station, off to the side where no one is pumping gas. I blast the AC toward my chest, trying to calm myself and cool down the sweat that’s broken out on my lip. “What is wrong with me?”
I look in the rearview mirror as I literally have to pull tissues out of my purse to blot the sweat. I feel weak and nervous, scared and anxious.
Stop this , I tell myself. You’re okay. You did nothing wrong. You might be a little embarrassed, but that’s it. You’ll get through this. You’ve gotten through so much worse.
I check my watch and cringe. I’m in danger of being late if I sit here for any longer, but I turn off the car, run inside the gas station, and buy a bottle of water. It’s not really cold, but I pay and rush back to my car, thankful for anything to cut through the dryness of my mouth.
I grab my phone, open my messages, and send off two words to Eagle.
Me: Kinda panicking
I add the worried-face emoji and hit send.
He replies in under thirty seconds. It’s like he had his phone in his hands.
Eagle: Where do I need to be? Are you safe?
I smile, relieved that all I’d have to do is ask and he’d drop everything and show up.
Me: I’m okay. On my way to work. It’s all just hitting me. Thanks for being there.
Eagle: You want me to come to the Lantana? No charge for security services as long as I’m protecting YOU.
I read his message like three times, not believing what I’m seeing. I know I have to stop comparing every man I date to all the shitty ones who came before him, but…Eagle is special.
But Eagle isn’t my boyfriend. I mean, we’re adults, and until we have more time or have a talk or something, we’re in this vague, undefined space. We’ve had sex, but we haven’t ever seen each other outside of work, except, of course, for the places we’ve had sex. And yet I texted him early on a Monday morning, and he was there. Ready to jump in and help.
Me: Just hearing from you helps. Thx.
I add the kissy-lips emoji and hit send. Then I put on my big-girl panties and head into work. I got this. No matter what lies ahead. I got this.
What I got when I arrived at work was fired.
“Excuse me?” I look from Don to Sergio Lantana to Carla, my head a boiling stew of their words that come together and yet still make no sense. “They said what?”
Sergio Lantana looks down at his extremely tanned hands. “Lacey, you’ve been a part of this organization so long, I don’t know what we’d do without you. But the Acostas have made some serious allegations.”
“Allegations,” I cry, “what allegations?”
After Sergio sat me down with Carla and Don and said they had no choice but to let me go, all the rest got lost. But before I get up and clear out my office, I need the details. I need to know exactly why I’m being let go.
Sergio, a lovely man who has played Santa at the Lantana employee holiday party every year since I was hired, looks like he’s feeling sick. Can’t be worse than I feel, though, so I force myself to meet his eyes as he avoids mine.
“Look, Lacey, I don’t want to know about any personal relationship you may or may not have had with Dylan Acosta. He’s said there was something, and that’s not even what matters here. The bride is claiming that you used your influence over her father to steer them into choices that were different from what she stated they wanted for their event.”
“What?” I can’t even believe my ears. I slam my palms against the conference room table. I can’t believe that Carla and Don are here for this. I’m embarrassed, yes, but I’m not even being given a chance to defend myself. “Can you please just?—”
Don pulls a file folder out from a stack of papers he’s brought with him. He opens the folder—one that I notice has my last name and the date printed on a label, and I feel the bile rise in my throat—and then he hands me a copy of a contract.
“Lacey, the Acosta bride says that she didn’t want the buffet-style brunch at Lantana. She originally said that she wanted a plated brunch at a separate venue. But you—her words, not mine—oversold them on the idea that they should book all three days here. They claim you knew they wanted plated brunch service and that the bride specifically said she didn’t want any family-style or buffet-style service.” Don sighs and uses air quotes as he says, “The Acostas think anything other than plated service is tacky.’”
Sergio points to the contract. “Dylan Acosta claims that you entered into a relationship with him and used your influence on him to convince him that our venue would be the best value and the best experience for his daughter.”
“That’s bullshit!” I cry out, shocked. “Look,” I tell him, holding out my hand for Don’s copy of the contract. “Look at the dates.”
Don hands me the contract so I can see for myself, and I’m shocked. Horrified, in fact. The date that Dylan Acosta signed the contract for the wedding itself was a year before we started seeing each other. But he did sign the contract for the full three-day weekend event—rehearsal dinner and brunch the day after the wedding—exactly two weeks after we first hooked up.
“I-I guess I misremembered,” I stammer, pointing to the date. “By the time they decided to have the three-day event here, I…” I can’t say it. I know damn well that I didn’t coerce the Acostas into anything. They wanted the three-day package. They asked for it. I even remember Dylan joking after he signed the contract for the full event that he hoped I worked on commission. I joked back that I did not.
I didn’t think at the time that it was odd that he came in alone to sign the contract. By then, we’d already slept together, and I had no memory of the fact that he was a father of a bride whom I’d met once for about two hours a year earlier when they toured the facility and then put down a deposit.
It was only later, after we started seeing each other, that he found out I worked at the Lantana and came in to purchase a full package for his daughter. But he said at the time there was no one else he’d trust his daughter’s big day to.
Trust. His word, not mine.
And now, all that trust is shattered. And he’s accusing me of inappropriate behavior. All the black-and-white print of the employee handbook swims before my eyes. Isn’t this exactly the kind of thing the handbook was written to prevent?
I have to admit, it looks bad any way you slice it.
I look up at Sergio. “I made a bad choice in my personal life,” I say, holding my chin high. “But I did nothing to compromise the integrity of my position or the Lantana itself. I can assure you, Sergio, I handled the Acostas like every other client. With integrity and with their best interests at heart.”
My words fall heavy on the room. I look at Carla, but she’s always been my assistant. Never a full wedding planner. Three years ago, when we signed the Acostas, she was still learning the customer relations software we use to manage our contacts. I can’t expect her to remember the facts if even I didn’t. I can’t expect her to defend me, to step in and speak up, when she didn’t know the ins and outs of the situation.
What I do know with all my heart and soul is that I did nothing wrong.
“Please understand,” I say quietly. “Dylan Acosta wanted the three-day event. The bride herself signed and initialed the final menu, as well as the final head count just before the ceremony. What could they possibly hope to accomplish by saying I coerced them?”
Sergio sighs and shrugs. “Lacey, they are wealthy people. You gave them a black eye with the people at the club by embarrassing Olivia at her daughter’s wedding.” I try to interrupt that no one even knew anything happened, and there was no way I embarrassed her, but he waves a hand in the air. “Buffets are tacky, and the bride says you boxed her into a corner and said there was no time to make any changes. You apparently said that they were getting a buffet because that’s what the contract said they could have.”
“They are twisting my words.” The truth comes out of me, but it feels like barbed wire getting pulled through my stomach. “I did say that, but later. After the final contracts were signed. Not to coerce them. What good would it do me to undersell them? Plated breakfasts cost twice what the buffet option costs. It just doesn’t make any sense why I would sell them something cheaper than the most expensive services.”
“Lacey,” Sergio says softly. “They’re suggesting that because you tried to strike up a relationship with Dylan and he shot you down, that you were in a position to manipulate the event and make them look bad, give them an experience far inferior to what they’d expect from the Lantana.”
I’m speechless at that. The argument has Dylan written all over it, and I just can’t fight that kind of warped logic. Everyone in this room knows that if the bride had given us even three days’ notice, we would have moved heaven and earth to give them a plated brunch.
Look at what we did with the tuxedos. I hired a tailor, dragged two bikers in on their days off, and convinced them, with just a couple days’ notice, to do something we normally never do. That’s customer service. That’s what I do. I deliver prestige experiences to my customers. I deliver on the fantasy.
Angry tears burn my eyes, but I won’t cry. “So, you have to take their side because they will complain to their friends,” I say quietly. “And business for the Lantana plummets all because Dylan Acosta twists the truth into something it’s not.”
Sergio looks down at his hands, while Don quietly slides the contract back into its folder.
Only Carla speaks up. “It’s not too late to quit, maybe,” she says softly. “That way, you wouldn’t have to have a termination on your employment record. That would help with unemployment, job references.”
Sergio shoots her a sharp look, but I’m immediately ready to drop to her feet and hug her. Instead, I nod to my boss of eight years.
“Sergio, I’d prefer not to have to hire an attorney to look over the contract I have. There is nothing in the contract that says I can’t sell a customer one product over another.”
“Lacey, you slept with one of our clients.” Sergio slaps his forehead loudly. “What do you expect me to do here?”
“Fine,” I say, standing up. I halfway wish I were wearing heels. I tower over Sergio even in flats, but I wish I could be stronger, bigger, taller than these small people who want to bring me down. It has to be enough that they can’t. That I won’t let them.
“Will you allow me to go to my office and write out a formal letter of resignation?” I ask, my eyes never leaving Sergio’s face. “Will you accept that as a compromise instead of firing me?”
Sergio takes a long, deep breath, the gold ring on his pinkie finger glittering in the reflection of the gilt-frame mirrors that line the conference room. “Fine,” he says. “But Lacey, there’s one more thing.”
I grab my purse and stand. “What?”
“Olivia Acosta says you threw the tablet on the ground at them, at her, and that’s why it broke. I’m going to have to dock your final paycheck for reckless treatment of company property.”
I stand up and cross my arms. “You’re seriously kidding me?” I ask. “She said that? You know there was a witness? The security…” I let the words die on my lips. I do not want to drag Eagle into this—not in any way, shape, or form. “Did you check the security footage? Did you try to verify that what she said was how it happened? Did it ever occur to you that she could have grabbed the tablet and thrown it at me?”
“Did she?” Sergio challenges, sounding angry now. “Because I don’t see a workplace safety incident report. And as you’re the director of events, if that did happen, it would have been on you to complete that form, to put a hold on the security footage, and to immediately obtain witness names and contact information so we could investigate that event. Is that what you’re trying to say happened, Lacey?”
The owner of the place I have loved for so, so long is now looking at me with contempt. He was annoyed, maybe frustrated earlier. My behavior put him in a bad spot, and I get that. But this? Now, he’s basically accusing me of lying.
“I’m not saying that’s what happened,” I tell him. “But the Acostas had ample opportunity to report any inappropriate behavior or violence.”
“And they did,” Don says, looking grim. “As soon as their daughter’s brunch was over. They said they were afraid of retaliation.”
“But I wasn’t even at the damn brunch. How could I retaliate?” I want to scream, throw something. How could one bad decision—okay, I dated Dylan for fourteen months, so hundreds, probably thousands of bad decisions—spiral to this point? I hardly know what’s happening, which end is up. All I know is in the space of a single weekend, everything I love has been taken from me.
My job.
My dignity.
My professionalism.
My reputation.
Instead of fighting with Sergio and Don, I gather my things quietly. I take a soft breath and look over the beautiful room, the pink marble and rich wallpaper now cloying in its ostentatious colors.
“Given that we aren’t seeing the situation from the same perspective, I feel as though I’ll need to get a lawyer to protect me, my reputation, and my future employment prospects. I’d appreciate if you’d wait to take any final action until you hear from that person.”
Don nods. “You have five days left of accrued vacation,” he says.
It weighs heavy on my heart that he came prepared with that information. Even I don’t know how much vacation time I have accrued. I hardly ever use it.
Don continues, “You can use that time to sort out your next step. If we don’t hear from your lawyer by Monday, we’ll issue a formal letter explaining what we’ve decided.”
I look over the faces of these people I’ve loved, worked with, laughed with for years. “May I clear out my office of my personal effects?” I ask, tears threatening to spill from my burning lids.
“They had me take care of that yesterday.” Carla sounds so apologetic. She slides a plain brown banker’s box from under the conference room table. “This was everything I could find, Lacey. But if you think of anything I missed…”
I swipe a single tear from my cheek then silently take the box. “Thank you, Carla,” I say. It’s not her fault. None of this is anyone’s fault except my own. No matter how pure my intentions may have been, every road I took over the last two years has led me to this moment.
I made this bed. And now it’s time to lie down in it.
I turn and walk slowly through the building, acceptance and guilt flaming my cheeks beet red. I can feel the heat radiating off them as I pass Bob at the front desk. I want to say goodbye, to wish the sweet man all my best, but feeling the heavy eyes of Sergio Lantana, Don, and Carla following us, Bob firms his lips and turns his back to me. He’s an old man who needs his job just as much as I needed mine.
I swallow hard, then exit for what will probably be the last time through the glass doors. I don’t let myself look back. I walk to the employee lot just like I did Saturday—dejected and confused. Only this time, I have no hope of going back to my dream job.
Leave it to one shitty man and a truckload of stupidity to ruin a girl’s dreams.