Chapter 6 #2
“...founded over thirty years ago by Judy Hawthorne,” Jake continues.
My skin prickles. My stomach twists. This is too uncomfortable. I should quit, right now, grab my new messenger bag and run before I’m in too deep.
“...known for its creative campaigns and commitment to client satisfaction...”
Why is he here, anyway? Back then, he used to groan and roll his eyes whenever I gushed about marketing theory or brand positioning, about any of the industry stuff that lit me up from the inside. Even a Super Bowl commercial couldn’t hold his attention without him complaining about consumerism.
But now?
Suddenly, the puzzle in my head completes itself.
Was the breakup connected to the theft? To him taking my ideas and wearing them like they’d always been his?
RainSafe in the hallway, framed with his name on it instead of mine.
Was I played from the start, used for my creativity, then discarded the second he’d taken what he wanted?
The thought sickens me.
“…we expect the same level of dedication from all of you. Any questions?” Jake finishes.
The room remains silent as I stare down at the glossy tabletop, watching my warped reflection on its surface. Don’t look at him. Don’t.
Amanda advances a half step, the pen in her hand tapping the clipboard in a measured rhythm. “One last thing,” she says, voice flat but firm. “Office romances are strictly forbidden.” The pause that follows feels deliberate. “This rule comes directly from Judy herself.”
Her gaze lingers on Jake a second too long, and her lips curve into something that wants to be a smile but doesn’t quite commit. The look that passes between them crackles with familiarity.
Hmm. Is there something between them?
I give myself a mental shake, yanking my thoughts back into line. None of my business. He’s nobody to me now. Just a boss. Just a coworker. Just the person who holds my dream career in his hands.
With that casual grace I remember far too well, Jake slides into the chair beside me at the head of the table. I keep my posture steady, resisting the urge to lean away.
Really? Out of every seat at this absurdly long table, he had to choose the one right beside me, where his presence presses in like a weight, where it’s most unwelcome and hardest to ignore.
“All right,” he says, “let’s go around the table and introduce ourselves.” How can he just sit there and pretend like we have no history when I’m over here freaking out?
The introductions begin at the far end of the table with a balding man named Greg, who announces he’s been in digital media for fifteen years, and then the ritual rolls onward, voice after voice, inching closer to me. Then my phone buzzes in my bag.
I sneak a glance under the table—a text from an unknown number reads: Don’t tell anyone about our past. We don’t want people getting the wrong idea.
Jake? Because why wouldn’t it be. I deleted his number a long time ago, along with those late-night pictures of us at the pier.
I scoff under my breath. Does he actually think I still have feelings for him?
Ha. Maybe I’d consider taking him back if he were the last man on planet Earth and the fate of the human race hinged on our procreation.
And even then, I’d need time to think it over, to weigh the options, to suggest we explore cloning first. Or, I don’t know, let humanity go out with a little dignity.
“Sarah?” Jake’s voice snaps me back to reality.
I jolt in my seat, my body reacting before my brain catches up. My arm knocks against my Styrofoam cup, which sends coffee cascading out and splashing directly onto Jake’s lap.
Horror floods me so fast I can barely breathe.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” The words tumble out as I shove my hand into my bag for napkins, not thinking, not pausing, just reacting, and then I’m on my knees beside his chair like I’ve been summoned there by sheer panic.
“I’ll get it out,” I mutter, and start dabbing at his pants with frantic little swipes, as if I can erase this moment the way I’m trying to erase the coffee stain.
“Sarah, stop,” Jake says, his voice strained, but I’m too busy trying to fix this catastrophe to heed his words.
“Sarah!” He grips my arms and pulls me to my feet, his touch firm through my blouse.
And then I look up.
That’s when I understand. That’s when the humiliation fully arrives, sharp and complete, because the room is silent now, and everyone is staring, their expressions ranging from shock to amusement to judgement.
Amanda’s glare pins me in place, cold and furious.
I stop moving, napkins crumpled in my fist, my hand hovering like I’ve forgotten what to do with it.
I don’t know what possessed me. I don’t know why I didn’t think.
Somewhere deep in my brain, muscle memory kicked in, my body defaulting to the same automatic response I would’ve had four years ago, when we were still together and helping him was instinct, not a mistake.
Heat erupts across my face, volcanic and unforgiving, as my gaze drops to the coffee seeping into Jake’s expensive slacks. “S-sorry,” I stammer, the word thin and useless. Then I bolt out of the room, sprinting down the hallway toward the only sanctuary I can think of—the women’s bathroom.
In the stall, I sink down and bury my face in my hands, the silence here somehow louder than the conference room ever was.
Did I just…pat dry his crotch in front of everyone?
Nausea rolls through me, my stomach turning like I’ve swallowed something toxic.
This is a disaster. The worst possible thing that could’ve happened on my first day.
A gentle knock on the door breaks through my spiraling thoughts. “Sarah? You okay?”
It’s Wendy, her voice laced with genuine concern.
I take a deep breath and open the door to step out.
“That was…unexpected,” she says, her expression sympathetic. “I think you’re famous now.”
I groan. “This is not how I pictured my first day.”
Her expression turns ponderous. “Why’d you do that to him, though?”
“I don’t know…muscle memory?” The words tumble out before I can catch them, slipping free and betraying a history I’d meant to keep buried, sealed, forgotten.
Wendy tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
I sigh. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course.”
“Jake…he’s my ex.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth parts before she says, “No way!”
“Way,” I say, cringing at the memory of my hands on his thighs.
“What happened?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” I say quickly, because the memories are still tender in the worst way, still carrying their ache despite the years. “This is supposed to be my dream job,” I add, “but it’s turning into a nightmare.”
Wendy reaches out and fixes a strand of my hair that’s fallen out of place, pushing it behind my ear with a gentle touch. “Don’t let your past dictate your future. Start fresh. We’ll figure this out together.”
Her words, surprisingly, act like a balm on my frazzled nerves.
Back in the conference room, the meeting wraps up with unsettling efficiency, like everyone is pretending nothing happened. But they won’t look at me. Most people avoid eye contact, their gazes darting away as if my humiliation could spread to them with a single glance.
Amanda smirks as she walks past. “Quite the first impression.”
I just want to go home and hide under my bedsheets for approximately one hundred years.
As we leave the office, Wendy hooks her arm through mine. “Enough excitement for one day?”
“I think I need a vacation already.”
Waiting for the elevator, I can’t stop one thought from circling in my head: no matter what I accomplish here, no matter how hard I work or how brilliant I am, I’ll always be remembered as the new girl who baptized her boss’s pants.
I’m halfway to my apartment building, my dignity still soaking in Jake’s coffee-stained pants, when I hear him call out behind me.
“Sarah, wait!”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see him jogging toward me, tie loosened and collar unbuttoned.
“Go away,” I snap, quickening my pace.
He catches up anyway. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he says, voice maddeningly even. “Spilling coffee on your boss on your first day isn’t a great look.”
“Oh, you don’t say?” I glare at him, heat rising in my cheeks. “Thanks for that brilliant insight.”
Jake grins, dimples appearing like they’ve been summoned by my distress. “Still fiery, huh? I’ve missed that.”
“Well, I haven’t missed you. Goodbye.” I wave dismissively and march forward.
To my complete frustration, he follows behind me, and when I tell him to leave me alone, he says, “I live this way, too.”
He follows me all the way, and at my apartment door, I fumble with my keys, fingers clumsy with leftover adrenaline. I turn, ready to deliver one final dismissal, and my mouth goes slack. Jake is standing in the doorway directly across from mine.
“You’re the jerk with the ugly sofa?” I say.
His lips curve into that infuriating smirk I used to dream about. “Well, well. If it isn’t my passive-aggressive Post-it neighbor.”