Chapter Thirty-Three
Izzy
“To Izzy,” Josh shouted, holding up his shot glass.
“To Izzy,” his friends repeated, and they all tossed back another shot.
When I’d come home in the middle of the day, crying and carrying my small box of belongings, my cousin had gone into full-on supportive bestie mode. He’d taken me shopping to try to help me forget about my joblessness, and then he’d called all of his nerdy friends to meet us for an epic dinner.
It’d been a good distraction, but not good enough to make me not think about Blake.
Because how could he not have told me?
I kept rethinking everything that’d happened between us, and I just couldn’t find a way to make it okay that he didn’t warn me about the layoffs.
“Drink it, Iz!” Josh yelled over the noise of the bar, and I did. I tossed back the Vegas Bomb, happily allowing my tipsiness to catch a buzz that I hoped would morph into full-scale drunkenness.
Because it’d been a very shitty day that I’d like to forget.
Josh and his friends forced me to play darts with them, then cards, and it wasn’t until I was sleepy and close to drunk, on the way home, that the conversation turned 100 percent in my direction.
The whole group was piled into the back of their DD’s minivan when Josh’s friend Chuck turned around in his seat and told me over the headrest that I was too good for Blake.
“I like ethics as much as the next guy, but you can’t keep a secret like that. Not if you really care about the other person.” He stroked his pencil-thin mustache and said, “You deserve better.”
Josh nodded in agreement from his spot beside me in the back row, his words just short of slurred when he said, “And he should’ve asked you before he told his boss about your relationship. Total dick move, not talkin’ to you first.”
I nodded. “Honestly, I’m dying to know what he said. Like, word for word, I want to know.”
“Ask him,” Chuck said, gesturing to my phone. “Make the asshole tell you.”
That made me giggle. “Should I?”
“Yes!”
I gnawed on my lip before unlocking the phone and texting, What exactly did you tell Brad about us?
His response was almost immediate.
Blake: I told him that I started dating you the second I saw the updated org chart because I finally could.
That sounded really good to me, even though Chuck and Josh were talking about how douchey of a move that was.
Blake: Can I please call you?
I was about to text yes when Josh yelled, “NO.”
“Give me that,” he said, snatching the phone from my fingers. “No matter what your ultimate decision is, you have to be aloof in the meantime. You can’t let that pecker think you’re too easy.”
I pictured Blake’s face and felt melty. Yeah—I am definitely too easy. Still, I said, “I don’t want to lose him, though.”
“You won’t,” Chuck said. “Just let him spend the night thinking he might lose you. Trust us on this.”
I looked from Chuck to Josh and decided that yes, I would trust them. I sucked at love and relationships, so they had to at least know more than me, right?
“Fine. Keep my phone and don’t let me have it back, even if I beg.”
“Donezo.”
···
I regretted that the minute I woke up the next morning. I reached for my phone, only to discover it’d never been returned.
Awesome.
I sat up and looked out the window, and sure enough, his car was gone. Josh had gone to work and left me phoneless.
“Damn it,” I groaned, my head aching as I flopped back onto my pillow.
I lay there for a while, feeling Big Sad about being jobless, but after a half hour, I decided to get up and eat. I was mildly hungover, and the only cure was going to be cold pizza. I climbed out of bed and shuffled toward the kitchen.
Man, did I feel like shit.
I grabbed a slice and a Red Bull from the fridge, then took them over to my desk. After waking the laptop that I always forgot to turn off, I plopped onto the chair and logged in to— ugh —LinkedIn.
Because as much as I’d like to spend the day loafing, the tiny balance in my savings account was pushing me to start job hunting immediately.
I clicked on the search window and typed H-R-Gen before noticing the little inbox flag on the side of the screen: 25 New Messages . I knew they were all spam, but clicked into the messages anyway.
The first one was sent at eight that morning, from someone named Ashley Lea at MOA. I was familiar with the huge insurance company, but no one named Ashley.
Hi, Isabella. We currently have an opening for an HR Generalist, and a little birdie told me that you might be looking. If you’re interested, please call me—I’d love to chat.
I took a bite of pizza and read the message again. It looked like a legit message, but that was just a little too good to be true, wasn’t it?
I moved down to the next message, which was also sent earlier that morning.
My name is Emily Fitzgerald, and I’m with Price-Harper Corporation. We’re looking for a Senior HR Generalist, and your name was mentioned with a glowing recommendation. Would you be interested in discussing?
I dropped the cold slice onto the table and leaned closer to my laptop screen. What the hell?
I started clicking through the rest of the messages, and they were ALL employers reaching out to me about jobs. I couldn’t believe it. Pam must’ve made some calls on my behalf—it was the only explanation. The woman was the sweetest and had felt horrible when she’d let me go, so that had to be it.
I grabbed the heavy old rotary phone that sat on my desk, a throwback relic that my grandparents kept connected to a landline because you never knew. As long as I’d lived there, I’d never used the old phone. Not even once.
Now, however, I was grateful as hell for its existence.
I lifted the phone to my ear and dialed the first number. It was a direct line to Ashley, the VP of HR at MOA, and when the woman answered, she behaved as if she’d been dying for me to call. She said she was thrilled to hear from me and would love to chat in person.
Two hours later, I had six very promising interviews scheduled. I couldn’t believe my good fortune; like, what were the odds? How is this even happening?
But when I was on the phone with the seventh person, a Mary Cartwright at Citibank who was going to rearrange her entire schedule in order to fit me in, it all started making sense. Mary slipped and mentioned Blake’s name—“when Blake called” — and I made the woman slow down and tell me everything.
And that was the moment I knew.