8. Paige
CHAPTER EIGHT
Paige
My teeth gnaw on the inside of my lip as I wait for Martha to join me in her office. I’m confident about the article I’ve sent in, but it’s still nerve-wracking. My gaze trailing the room, I try to focus on something else, but every detail of it is familiar.
There’s not a scrap of paper on her desk, not a speck of dust. Her office is so far off the ground that the only building visible through the wall of windows are too far away for people-gazing.
She could really use some plants in here, but after the monstera debacle, I certainly won’t be the one suggesting it.
I remember the first time I was here. It was round five of my interview process for a part-time position with the magazine.
I was shaking in my boots, waiting for Martha’s face to form an expression before she finally said, “I loved what you sent in.” A boulder dropped from my shoulders, and an hour later, she hired me.
Finally, the door swings open, the soft click of thin heels an unmistakable sign of who just entered. As always, she’s perfectly put together, putting my business casual attire to shame. I’m wearing my best shirt, but this place is one I never truly fit in.
The years I spent working at the office were a battle of imposter syndrome and trying to be something I’m not.
The outfit I’m wearing today is one I bought back then.
I splurged half of my intern paycheck on these pants that hit my stomach at just to right angle for them to be uncomfortable and this shirt that is a bitch to iron.
They allowed me to work from home after I relocated to Fig Bay, which has been a blessing.
Martha scoots into her chair, placing both of her perfectly manicured hands on the desk. A giant exhale escapes me as her Botoxed face transforms into the closest thing to a smile. “This is good, Paige. Really good.”
The tension in my shoulders loosens, like a thread that was keeping them strung up finally snapped. I smile back, wiping the sweat off my hands on my too-expensive pants.
She turns to her sleek computer, clicking through what I assume is my manuscript. “I laughed, I was giddy, and I felt the tension.”
My chest fills with air at her words. Martha isn’t much of a sweet talker. If she’s hyping this up so much, it means she must really love it.
“And I absolutely love the idea of doing a sex toy tour. We could partner up with the brands and do some giveaways or discount codes.” She points a finger at me. “You could become the next brand ambassador for them.”
My jaw tightens, my ears heating up. I knew where this was heading, but I was hoping to do it as the shy, awkward girl I am, not the sexy girl boss she has in mind. “I’m so glad you liked it. There were plenty more humorous incidents to write about, and I was thinking of putting a focus on that.”
The smile falls off her face, her expression sobering.
“The story is great, Paige. But a big part of it is because it hinted at what’s to come.
It’s a story of sexual exploration, not a series of unfortunate, embarrassing events.
You are free to write them into the pieces as comic relief, but I want the focus to be on the toys. The toys and your journey with them.”
She casts me a pointed look, and I hesitate for a second. “Is that a problem for you? You know I would never force you to do something you’re not comfortable with. If that is a problem, I can easily find another writer for it. Everyone would go crazy for an opportunity like this.”
My smile is less sincere this time around as little beads of sweat start forming on the back of my neck. I hear her words loud and clear. I have a choice. But the choice is between keeping my column or losing it to someone willing to try different sex toys and writing about it.
I inhale a breath of courage. “No, I’ll do it.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to reading the next one.”
Her assistant enters the room, signaling it’s my time to leave.
On my way back to Fig Bay, I dial Jordan.
“How’d it go?” she asks as soon as she picks up. The hour and a half ride is always quicker if we spend it talking to each other.
“She loved it.”
I hear a squeak in the background, and I know Emma is listening in on it, too. The corners of my lips turn up.
“Of course she did. You’re an amazing writer,” my sister says.
“Yeah, yeah.” Maybe if I hear it enough times, I’ll start to believe it.
“You know you are,” Emma adds.
My car speaker lets out a few distinct, short beeps. “Someone’s calling. I’ll call you back.”
I switch the call, keeping my eyes on the road, and my dad’s voice fills the car. “Paige?”
“Yeah, Dad? I’m here.”
“You sound different. Where are you?”
I shake my head, suppressing a chuckle. “In my car. Just driving from San Francisco. I had a meeting at the office.”
“Oh, how did it go?”
“It was great. They loved my column.”
“That’s great, sweetie.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
There’s a beat of silence, and I decide to use it. “Look, Dad. I’m sorry about last night. Jordan and I shouldn’t have acted the way we did.”
“I agree. Kim says she understands, but that was something neither of us hoped for.”
“I know. It was probably immature, but we were taken aback.”
“I know I’ve done this plenty of times before. But this is different. Kim is different.”
I roll my eyes, grateful he can’t see me. “This was just news to us.” I take a deep breath before saying the next part. “And maybe we think you should wait a little longer. Think it through.”
He lets out a chuckle. “No need, Paige. When you know, you know. I’ve been wrong enough times to know when I’m right.”
“I don’t think it works that way, Dad,” I say, but he’s already continuing to speak.
“Last night, Kim and I were talking. We really don’t like how things ended yesterday, but we can’t blame you for not knowing what to think about her if you know nothing about her. So, we came to an idea.”
I grip the wheel tighter, knowing him and his extravagant ideas.
After the last divorce, he had an idea to go live with the monks in Southeast Asia for three months.
He came back after a week, and he spent most of that time on layover flights.
Still, another one of his extravagant ideas was to buy both Jordan and me a house in Fig Bay so this could really go either way.
“We’ll go on a vacation for the holidays.”
A relieved breath escapes me, realizing it’s a reasonable idea. One that doesn’t affect me in the least. “That’s great, Dad. I hope you enjoy yourselves.”
“We? I don’t mean Kim and me. I mean all of us. Jordan, Emma, you, Kim, Ryan, and I. As a family.”
Here it is. Roger Simms’ extravagant idea. After all, a vacation with only him and his fiancée is far too normal for him to suggest.
“I booked us suites at a resort in the Bahamas. We’re leaving next Monday,” he continues.
I let out a quiet scoff. “What do you mean, Dad? We have jobs, lives. We can’t just go to the Bahamas simply because you booked the suites.” Explaining grown-up things to fully-grown adults is fucking exhausting.
“Paige, sweetie. You work from home. I made sure the resort has good internet connection. You bring your laptop, and you can work from there. Besides, a change of scenery might do you good.”
“What about my plants? I can’t just leave them.”
“I’m sure your neighbor wouldn’t mind taking care of them for a few days.”
One hand travels to the bridge of my nose, the other planted firmly on the wheel. “Sure, that’s me, but what about the others?”
“Well,” he says as he releases a deep laugh, “Kim just retired. Jordan and Emma work for me, and I say they deserve some vacation days. They can also bring their laptops to do work while we’re there if they’re so inclined. I’m not sure what’s the holdup. You love to travel.”
I did love to travel. Once upon a time, it was my favorite thing to do—my goal in life. All I wanted was to travel and write about the places I visited. But I grew out of it. My arguments steadily depleting, I wrack my brain to find a crack in his plan.
“I don’t think Ryan can just take a week off.” That makes him pause for a second, and I release the bridge of my nose, the corners of my lips hooking.
“I’m sure he’ll do his best. Besides, it’s Labor Day weekend, so it will only be three or four days off.”
I don’t think Ryan will be jumping for joy at the idea, but it’s best he finds that out on his own. “I guess I could use a vacation.”
It’s a chicken move. I’m sure Ryan will say no, meaning I’ll get to be the good guy who wanted to go along with his idea, and Ryan will be the party-pooper. A fool-proof plan, right?