Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
“ N o, Mom, I didn’t get it,” I said, dropping my bag by the door, the weight of disappointment making my voice tremble.
“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Maybe next time,” she replied softly.
“I’m not sure there’ll be a next time.” I kicked off my black heels and shrugged out of my damp coat, draping it over one of the wooden swivel chairs at the breakfast bar. “I’m thinking about leaving.”
“You can’t do that. You’ve worked too hard for this.” Her voice, usually so calm, had a sharp edge of concern.
I pulled open the fridge, looking for something—anything—to distract me. “But I can find another job. I’ve got a good work record and plenty of experience.”
“Men are bastard pigs.”
I blinked, laughing despite myself. “Mother! Since when do you talk like that?”
“They are,” she huffed.
“Was Daddy?” I asked.
She paused. “No. Daddy’s one of the good ones. He was always different. Still is.”
My father was always a decent man with only eyes for my mother. I never saw his eyes stray to beautiful women when we were out. He adored my mother and still did after all these years. I could only hope for a marriage like they had.
“Yes, he is,” I agreed, leaning against the counter, comforted by the thought of my father.
“Are you working this weekend?” she asked.
The thought made me bristle. “Absolutely not.” I slammed the fridge shut, uninterested in food. “Let Thomas Marsden work. He’s the new supervisor now.”
“Is that the nice boy I met at the barbecue? The one with the scar on his chin?”
Thomas made a show at the barbecue, acting like ever the gentleman by pulling the chair out for his wife and getting drinks for the table. If they knew he was one of the men who talked about me like I was a piece of meat to be served to him on a platter.
“That’s him. Insolent prick,” I muttered under my breath.
“Pardon?” my mother asked, her sharp tone making me wince.
“Nothing, Mom.” I rubbed my temple, changing the subject. “Can I come visit you this weekend?”
She sighed loudly into the receiver. “It’s better if you don’t. Your father’s not doing well with his arthritis.”
My stomach tightened. I gripped the counter, my appetite gone. “Is it serious?”
“He’s in pain, dear. He’s been rationing his medication.”
My stomach twisted. I helped my parents as much financially as I could but giving them money was like pulling teeth. They wanted me to plan for my future and be comfortable, not struggle like they were.
“He can’t do that!” I cried, pacing the small kitchen as frustration mounted.
“It’s expensive, Morgan.”
“If you need help, you should’ve told me,” I said, voice rising. “I can help.”
“No,” she replied firmly. “You save your money so you don’t end up living like us.”
“That’s what I’m here for—to help you,” I cried.
“To spend money on us? Forget it, Morgan Jane.” Her use of my full name sent a chill through me, and I cringed.
“I’ll just put money in your account then,” I shot back, knowing full well how this argument would end.
I plopped down on the couch, exhausted from everything this week. To know my father was rationing his meds to save money was the icing on the cake.
“And I’ll write you a check to return it,” she snapped.
“Why are you so stubborn?” I groaned, rubbing my eyes.
“Because I don’t want my daughter paying for my necessities.”
“But you need them. That’s the whole point—necessities.” I softened my tone, desperate. “Please, Mom.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Maybe just to help with your father’s medication,” she finally said.
A wave of relief washed over me. “Good. I’ll transfer the money tonight.”
“What are your plans for tonight, sweetheart?”
I sighed, rising from the couch and walking toward the hallway. “Taking a long bath, drinking a glass of wine, and going to bed early.”
“Morgan! You’re young. You should be out on a Friday night.”
“Not this Friday.” I smirked. “Maybe next.”
“I’m rolling my eyes,” she teased, making me chuckle.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, feeling lighter somehow.
“I have to check on your father. I’ll speak to you soon, love.”
“Give him my love. I love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, sweetie.”
As I hung up, a wave of melancholy hit me. I stood in the quiet apartment, staring out at the city lights, my heart heavy with worry for my parents. They deserved more than this—more than scraping by in their retirement, more than rationing medication. They’d sacrificed so much for me, and I wished I could do more.
I glanced around my modest apartment, its familiar warmth wrapping around me. It wasn’t much—just a small one-bedroom with a kitchen-living room combo, a large window seat where the afternoon sun poured in. I loved sitting there with a book, letting the light wash over me. But tonight, the thought of a warm bath and solitude was all I wanted.
I padded down the short hallway, my bare feet slapping against the light hardwood floors. My bedroom greeted me in soft shades of lavender and cream, the linen-white walls reflecting the last of the evening light. I sat on the edge of my queen-sized bed, unbuttoning my blouse, the fabric slipping off my shoulders and pooling on the floor.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, the soft lace of my nude La Perla bra hugging my skin—a small indulgence in a life that rarely left room for such luxuries. It was a reminder that, even in the midst of the chaos and disappointment, I could still hold onto something that made me feel beautiful, that made me feel like me.
I walked into the bathroom and turned on the tub, sitting on its edge while the water began to warm. As the steam rose, I tossed in a handful of vanilla bath beads, watching them dissolve, releasing their soothing fragrance into the air. My eyes drifted to the mirror again, and I found myself staring—really staring—at my reflection. My body was lean and strong, my skin flawless, and my breasts still firm. So why had it been so long since I’d been on a date? Was Slade right? Were men really intimidated by me?
The rich, comforting scent of vanilla enveloped the small space, but even as I inhaled its calming sweetness, doubt gnawed at me. I leaned in closer, pressing my palms against the cool brown-speckled granite of the counter until I was nearly nose-to-nose with my reflection.
What was wrong with me?
The sound of the filling tub pulled me from my thoughts. I padded back to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of white Zinfandel, feeling the cool liquid coat the inside of my throat as I took a long sip. When I returned, the water had risen high enough to slip into, the warmth immediately soothing the tension in my muscles. I sighed, sinking deeper into the tub, letting the heat melt away the stress of the day.
For the first time since I’d walked into my apartment, I felt myself truly relax. The bath, the wine, the soft glow of the bathroom light—they all worked together to create a moment of calm. As I sipped my wine, I let my thoughts wander to the future. Did I really want to leave Abbott and start over somewhere else? The more I thought about it, the more I realized the answer was no.
Maybe I could tough it out, deal with Thomas Marsden’s smugness for a little while longer. Abbott was expanding, after all. And if I got passed over again the next time a supervisory role opened up? Well, that would be my sign to go. But not yet. Not now.
For now, I’d wait, bide my time, and make sure that when my moment came, I’d be ready.
My plan for the weekend had been simple: pizza, chocolate, and far too much wine, all while indulging in a marathon of crappy movies. It was spring, which meant warmer days were coming, but with the promise of sunshine came the relentless, miserable rain. And rain it did—all weekend long. By Sunday afternoon, I was stir-crazy. I needed the sun.
I lay sprawled on my bed in a pair of ratty pink flannel pajamas that couldn’t be further from my usual work attire. The fabric was soft and worn in all the right places, even if they were embarrassing to admit owning. My phone buzzed, snapping me from my mindless scroll through a newsfeed full of ads. Reluctantly, I picked it up, expecting another scam call. But the name on the screen made me smile.
"Erika, how are you?" I answered, trying to sound normal, even though I was far from it.
"Bitch, how are you? Been avoiding me?" Erika Bramwell, my best friend’s voice rang through the speaker, sharp as ever.
I laughed, rolling onto my side. "I haven’t been avoiding you. Just… busy."
"With a dick in your mouth?"
She was always crude when she wanted to be but after so many years, I was used to it.
I nearly choked on air. "Oh my god, you did not just say that!"
"You bet your sweet ass I did. So, are you?" Her tone was all challenge, and I could picture her mischievous smirk.
I snorted. "Sucking dick? No, I’m not. Can’t remember the last time I have, to be honest."
"Jesus Christ, Morgan. You’re twenty-seven! What are you waiting for?"
"The right guy," I said, kicking at the duvet. "I’ve met too many jerks."
"Okay, but what about Slade?"
"The boss's son?" I asked, already knowing where this conversation was headed.
"Yes. Prime real estate. That ass alone?—"
I groaned, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. “Oh God, not this again.”
Erika laughed wickedly. "I’m serious! That man is built like a Greek God. Remember the company picnic? Him shirtless, spiking the volleyball? You were practically drooling."
"I wasn't drooling. You were," I shot back, sitting up in bed. "And as I recall, it wasn’t just his ass you were ogling."
"Whatever he's packing under those shorts?—"
"Erika!" I interrupted with a laugh. "Professional admiration only."
"Sure," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "But if he showed up at your door right now with wine and a box of condoms, you wouldn’t let him in?"
"Absolutely not," I said firmly, though I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "We tried to go there once, and it didn’t work."
"Try again. He’s into you, Morgan. And come on, you’d be set for life."
I snorted. "It’s not like that between us. I’m not marrying for money."
"Girl, you are a fool," Erika declared. "What did I teach you about temptation?"
"To flash cleavage for free drinks?"
"Exactly!" she said with a grin in her voice. "What’s wrong with a little temptation?"
Erika adopted a way to get free drinks from hungry men in college after her debacle with Foster Black. He broke her heart, and she grew hard, angry even. She used her looks and body to get what she wanted but I couldn’t be that way. I didn’t have the experiences she did – parents with a horrible divorce and a man she gave her everything to who shit on her. I doubted she would marry… ever.
"You’re insane."
"So, when are you coming out with me again?" she pressed.
"When I have time," I muttered, sinking back into the pillows.
"You had time this weekend, didn’t you?" she asked accusingly. "Bet you’re in those gross flannel pajamas right now."
"I am not," I lied, tugging at the worn waistband.
"Liar!" Erika laughed. "Tell me what you’re wearing, then."
She fucking knew me so damn well.
I fumbled for words. "I… uh…"
"That’s what I thought! Morgan Kincaid, you need to burn those pajamas. They’re bacteria farms."
"They’re cozy," I defended weakly, stroking my fingers over the almost threadbare material.
"They’re disgusting. How long have you had those things? Since college?"
I glanced down at the small hole near the crotch and sighed. "Maybe. But I love them."
"You’re hopeless. So, what stopped you from going out this weekend, other than being glued to your disgusting jammies?"
"The rain," I groaned. "You know I hate rain."
Erika sighed dramatically. "We’d be in and out of cabs. What’s your next excuse?"
I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in my shoulders. "Slade said something to me. He told me men find me intimidating."
"Intimidating how?" Erika’s voice sharpened.
"He said I’m too pretty."
There was a beat of silence before she burst into laughter. "Are you serious? That’s his excuse? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Girl, you are stunning."
I rolled over and pressed my face into the pillow, mumbling into the phone. "Apparently, it’s what’s holding me back. Should I have suggested I scar myself?"
"God, men are idiots. It’s not you, Morgan. It’s them. If they can’t handle you, they’re not worth your time."
I laughed despite myself. "Maybe. But Slade isn’t wrong about one thing. Some of the guys at work are the worst."
"Oh, here we go." Erika sighed. "Spill."
I shivered at the thought of what I caught some of the men doing at work. It was gross and rude. It made me wonder how their wives put up with their antics.
"Thomas Marsden picks his nose when he thinks no one’s looking. I have to use hand sanitizer after touching any paperwork he’s handled."
"Disgusting!" she groaned. "What a pig."
"That’s just the start. Some of them burp out loud, scratch themselves, and don’t even bother to apologize. It’s like working with frat boys."
"Sounds like a toxic boy’s club. Why are you still there?"
"I don’t know." I sighed. "I’ve thought about leaving."
Oh, how I’d thought about it. With each promotion I was passed over for, I thought about leaving and what it would be like to take one of those jobs the headhunters were pestering me about. It was possible I could get a bigger office and maybe a couple of women in my department. I wasn’t sure if I would ever get my due at Abbott, even with Slade behind me.
"Then do it!" she urged. "What’s keeping you?"
I paused, staring out the window at the relentless rain. "I don’t know where I’d go."
"Anywhere, girl. You deserve better."
"I know," I murmured. "Maybe a vacation first?"
"Now you’re talking! Somewhere sunny, with cocktails and no gross men."
I smiled, imagining the escape. "Maybe I’ll go hiking. I've always wanted to do a two-week hiking trip."
"Hiking?" Erika scoffed. "Who are you, Kincaid?"
“Hey, I’m full of surprises,” I teased, propping myself up against the pillows.
“When was the last time you took a vacation?” she asked, her voice carrying that familiar blend of curiosity and disbelief.
I sighed, already knowing where this conversation was headed. “Three years ago. And I was bothered for half of it by phone calls from Abbott.” I shook my head at the memory. “Some vacation, right?”
Erika snorted. “Don’t you think it’s time for another? Summer’s coming up. Take some of that hard-earned cash and spend it on a nice oceanside vacation.”
I bit my lip, letting the idea hang in the air for a second. “I think I’d prefer hiking. I’ve always wanted to go on a two-week hiking trip.”
She sounded genuinely surprised. “Where?”
“Maybe the Catskill Scenic Trail or the Appalachian Trail. I’ve done both before, but it’s been a few years.” I could almost feel the fresh mountain air as I spoke, the way it cleared my head.
Erika laughed softly. “Remember that camping trip we took to Fahnestock State Park?”
I grinned at the memory. “The one where you charmed those guys into cooking for us?”
She laughed again, the sound warm and familiar. “It was fun. That blond guy? He was a great kisser.”
I rolled my eyes, feeling the smile tug at my lips. “Figures you wouldn’t remember his name.”
“It was seven years ago!” She defended, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. “All I remember is how soft his lips were.”
I paused for a moment. “Are you dating anyone?”
She let out a small sigh, staring at the rain trickling down my window. “You know me, I’m a serial dater. I’ve had a few flings this past month, but nothing special.”
Outside, the rain pounded harder against the glass, mirroring my mood. “Fuck, I hate this weather.”
“It’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow,” Erika said, as if that could magically make everything better. “Summer will be here before you know it. I can’t wait to go to the park and see some man candy.”
I snorted, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable. Are you ever planning to settle down?”
“Maybe when I’m forty,” she replied, a trace of laughter in her voice, though I could hear the walls going up. “You know the story.”
I did know the story—her parents’ brutal divorce, the years of custody battles, and the scars it left behind. Her father’s anger, her choice to live with her mother—it all weighed on her. “But that doesn’t have to be your story.”
She exhaled, the sound heavy over the line. “Even if it’s not, I’d always worry it might turn out that way. People change. My dad went through a shitty mid-life crisis that tore our family to shreds. You know my brother still won’t talk to him?”
I frowned, sitting up straighter. “How’s Jim doing?”
“Off in the ozone somewhere,” she said with a hint of amusement. “Last I heard, about two weeks ago, he was heading to New Zealand with some buddies for prime waves, dude.”
I rolled my eyes. “I guess he’ll never grow up.”
“He’s happy being a leaf on the wind,” she said, but there was a note of resignation in her voice.
I scoffed. “He’ll have to float to the surface sometime.”
“Not anytime soon,” she said dryly. “He’s twenty-five and has a stack of cash to work with.”
Erika’s brother had hit it big trading stock options, and now he was living the nomad life, chasing waves with his surf buddies around the world. “Lucky him,” I muttered, a small pang of envy slipping into my voice. “I wish I could say the same.”
“You’ve got plenty, Morgan,” Erika shot back, her tone firm. “You should spend some of it instead of killing yourself at that job.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “They screwed me over for the supervisor position, Erika. That says something.”
“What assholes!” she cried, her voice rising in anger. “You’re the most qualified person there.”
“I know,” I said, the bitterness creeping into my chest again. “But it goes back to what Slade said.”
“That’s a fucked-up excuse, and you know it,” she snapped. “You deserve it, and who cares if you’re a woman?”
I huffed, tugging at the frayed hem of my pajama sleeve. “Apparently, they do. I want to walk out of there and tell them to fuck off, but it’s not that easy. I can’t live off my savings while I look for another job.”
“I’m sure any engineering firm would snap you up in a minute,” she said, her voice full of confidence.
I laughed softly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “I can’t count on maybes, Erika. I need something solid.”
There was a pause on her end, then she asked quietly, “Are you going to look?”
“Not yet,” I admitted, my shoulders slumping. “Abbott is expanding. There’ll be more openings for supervisors soon. If I don’t get promoted next time, I’ll have to leave.”
“Well, good luck with that,” she said, her voice brightening again. “I’ve got to run—my laundry is in the dryer downstairs, and apparently, there’s a panty snatcher going around.”
I blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly,” she replied, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “And if I catch the little prick, it won’t be pretty.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Good luck.”
“Toodles!” she chirped.
“Toodles to you,” I said with a grin as I hung up the phone.
I set my phone down on the nightstand and let out a long breath, staring up at the ceiling. Erika always knew how to lift me up, even if just for a little while. But the weight of the day, of everything, still hung around me like the rain outside. Doing nothing was supposed to feel restful, but somehow, it just made everything harder.
As the clock ticked on and the storm raged outside, I lay there, tossing and turning, sleep slipping further out of reach until well past 1:30 a.m.