Chapter 7
Sloane was sitting on the couch with Miles, her boyfriend, when I got home.
Sloane had met Miles when we’d gone to a Dodgers game and the kiss cam thought they were a couple.
The first three times they had just laughed and waved it off, mouthing strangers to the camera.
The fourth time they’d kissed. The crowd went wild.
He’d asked her out at the end of the game. It was perfect.
I stepped inside and shut the door behind me.
They were watching some reality television show, but I couldn’t tell which one at just a glance.
Two empty wineglasses and half-full boxes of Chinese food sat on the coffee table in front of them.
Sloane was wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket, her feet pulled up on the couch with her.
I made a show of taking a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse, walking over to the bookcase against the wall, and placing it into the Bad Decisions jar.
“Twenty?” she asked, her chin going down to denote that she knew this was serious. “Tell me it’s not what I think it is.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, hanging my keys on the hook in the kitchen, ready to escape into my bedroom to spend time with a guy who could do no wrong—Lord Leopold from the book I was currently reading. He would ease the pit in my stomach.
“If you didn’t want to talk about it, you wouldn’t have done that.” She pointed to the jar. “You would’ve just lied. Or at least waited until tomorrow.”
“I’m ashamed and that was my penance so I can sleep. Hopefully.”
“You should’ve slept with flat-earth guy so that you weren’t so susceptible to you-know-who and his wiles.”
“I matched with twenty people in the car just now.” Another part of my penance.
“ Twenty? Wow, you really do feel bad.”
“I also ordered at the counter instead of the drive-through at Jack’s.” I held up my bag of food.
“But there wasn’t a hot bad boy with a heart of gold waiting for your inside?”
“No,” I said with a pout.
“What is happening?” Miles asked, pausing the television. “I don’t understand a word of whatever secret language you two speak.”
I shot her a warning look. Sloane was the only person on the planet who knew my history with Rob and I hoped she hadn’t shared our best-friend secrets with her boyfriend of the moment.
That was an unfair thought. They’d been together at least four months and she seemed to really like him.
I was just jealous. So jealous. But still, I hoped my secrets were safe.
“Margot is horny,” Sloane said.
“Thanks,” I said.
Miles opened his mouth to speak and Sloane held up her hand in his direction. “I swear if you make a three-way joke right now, I’ll show you the door.”
He pantomimed zipping his lips closed. “Hadn’t even thought it.”
She laughed. I headed toward the hall, thinking I’d gotten the worst of my shame out of the way when Sloane said, “This is sabotage, you know. Either on his end or yours, and I can’t decide which is worse.”
An hour or so later I set my book aside right in the middle of a steamy scene.
How dare my mind ruin my ability to appreciate Lord Leopold’s roaming tongue.
Apparently, twenty dollars, twenty matches, and one opportunity for a random meeting weren’t fooling anyone into forgiving me of my shortcomings.
Thoughts on self-sabotage , I typed to Oliver.
I stared at my phone for at least five minutes, and just as I went to put it aside in exchange for my book, a message buzzed through.
Am I pro or anti? was his response.
Yes.
I guess it would depend on the context, but generally speaking, anti.
Any self-respecting person would be. But as I lay in bed, trying to read, I had decided that Sloane was right.
Intentional or not, me walking into that office and kissing my boss not even a full day after telling him we needed to talk about my future with the agency was…
self-sabotage, self-preservation, self-hate? It was definitely something.
My phone chimed with another notification. Oliver had followed up his statement with: You? For or against?
I thought I was against but my subconscious seems to be all about self-sabotage. It’s a flag waving, pin wearing, dues paid in full member of the self-sabotage club.
That sucks.
I couldn’t help but laugh at that simple yet completely accurate statement. So much , I responded.
Do I get actual context to this line of questioning because I’m dying to know?
I smiled at his word choice. Most guys in my dating history would’ve played it cool, pretended it wasn’t a big deal either way. But not him. He was dying to know . I knew his openness with his emotions and questions was because we were chatting like friends.
And yet, still, could I tell Oliver, the most consistent guy in my life (according to Sloane), about my less-than-stellar life choices?
A wave of shame washed through me again.
No, I couldn’t. But I could tell him part of it.
So I responded with: I should’ve been promoted at my company about three years ago, after paying my dues in the assistant and junior agent pool, but I haven’t.
For many reasons, most of which consist of me holding myself back.
I should’ve taken my resume and experience to another agency if my boss wasn’t willing to give me a chance but I haven’t.
I thought it was because I was loyal, but really it was because I was holding out hope that something would develop between me and my absolutely-wrong-for-me boss.
Why haven’t you? he asked.
I think I’m afraid of rejection. Of failing at this. That was true too, I thought as I typed.
And what would happen if you failed?
I knew that was supposed to be a motivating thought.
It was supposed to make me think of the worst thing that could happen and realize that the worst thing wasn’t all that bad.
But from where I sat… well, from where I lay at the moment, my bedside lamp creating a soft glow in my room…
the worst thing was a complete derailing of my future.
I’d have to figure out all over again what to do with my life, and I was worried that I’d have absolutely no idea.
Somehow, despite my brain being unable to turn off, I managed to fall asleep. I didn’t feel much better in the morning, though. I wanted to pull the blankets over my head and fake a sick day. But Rob would see right through that after the way I’d fled his office.
I groaned and opened my phone. Several messages waited for me.
Not surprising with how many matches I had pushed through the night before.
Some of those matches were questionable, considering my state of mind.
I scanned through them quickly. Most were the fairly typical “Looks like we’re a match. ” But then I came to a guy named Riley.
Riley at three A.M. : Hi, how are you?
Thirty minutes after first message. Riley: Hello, are you someone who doesn’t answer messages right away?
“Can’t answer messages in my sleep, Riley,” I said to his little profile picture on my phone.
Thirty minutes after second message. Riley: Whatever. I’m a 9/10 but sometimes I message a 4/10 because I value personality over looks, but I don’t wait around forever for fours.
Such a gentleman. Thanks for taking the trash out , I messaged back before unmatching him.
Despite my snarky response, his comment stung. “This is your penance,” I reminded myself.
I scrolled further and came to a message from Oliver. Relief poured through me and my mood immediately lifted.
What did you really need to hear last night, my texting teacher? Because it wasn’t what I said.
I chuckled and typed back: Failing sucks? I understand why you might be paralyzed in fear, feeling like your whole life is on the line? I’ve never failed in my life so I don’t get it? One of those would’ve worked.
He didn’t immediately answer and I got up and padded to my bathroom to brush my teeth. When I was done, a one-word answer was there.
Sorry.
I returned to my room, shut the door, and sat on the end of my bed to respond. Yes, please read my mind next time. You can make it up to me by telling me your worst failure. That might help as well.
Easy. My engagement.
What? How did I not know this?
We didn’t talk much on our date.
True. How long were you with her?
Two and a half years.
You still talk to her at all? I stood to open the blinds on my window, letting the light stream in.
Occasionally, but not much.
What happened? I asked, settling back onto my bed. I mean, if you want to tell me. It’s really none of my business.
She cheated on me.
I scrunched my nose. Sorry.
It happened a while ago.
How long?
About three years.
I furrowed my brow. Three years? I sat up. Wait… I typed.
Yes, you were my first date after the breakup.
Oh my god, Oliver. Why didn’t you tell me?
That would’ve been an appropriate first date conversation?
Probably not. Fonts was much better , I responded. Could this explain why he was so distracted, so awkward, so seemingly uninterested in actually getting to know me on our first date? Or had his recent breakup let me see the real him?
Ha! You’re never going to let me live that down.
Never. But really… I’m so sorry.
Don’t feel sorry for me.
I heard someone recently gave you a carrot, so you’re right, I don’t feel sorry for you.
I didn’t get the carrot!
Well, you should’ve. We need to know what it means. Will you text her back and ask?
I unmatched her.
I paused. Interesting. He was quick to unmatch people too, apparently. Another reason we were on and off each other’s radars. Have you unmatched anyone today?
A woman whose first message was asking me what size shoe I wore.
Is that third message talk?
That’s wait and find out talk.
I smiled. That was one thing I hadn’t found out. My hands never made it that far. An image of me unbuttoning his shirt, sliding my hands across his abs, his body reacting to my touch, flashed in my mind and sent a thrill through me. I cleared my throat, surprised. To him, I only typed: Noted.
I’m sorry , he typed back quickly. I don’t normally… if that made you uncomfortable…
I laughed. Pretty sure I started it. Doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, I found that I was enjoying the innuendos very much. But again, this was never our problem.
What about you? he asked. Unmatch anyone today?
A man who told me I was a four.
You are NOT a four.
A knock sounded at my door and I jumped, nearly dropping my phone.
“I know you’re awake,” Sloane said through the door. “If you’re staying in there to avoid me, it’s not going to work.”
“I’m not!” I called.
She opened my door, then jumped onto my queen-sized bed beside me.
“Twenty matches last night? I bet that made for some interesting messages to wake up to,” she said.
I pulled my blanket around my shoulders and crossed my legs under me. “Someone called me a four out of ten.”
“That person obviously wouldn’t know a ten if it slapped him in the face. Which, you should. I hope you go out with him just so you can march up, slap him in the face, and then leave.”
“I unmatched him.”
“Probably a less-unhinged option.” She took my hand in hers, then said, “Spill. What happened yesterday?”
And so I did. She sighed heavily throughout the retelling of the events of the day before. I understood. Telling it again, in the light of day, made it even more obvious how stupid I’d been.
“Rob is a manipulative jackass,” she said when I was finished. “Are you okay?”
“Okay?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“It sounds like he kissed you when you didn’t want him to.”
“No, I mean, I didn’t at first but then I did. He asked,” I said.
She lowered her brows, angry. “He did all that because he doesn’t want to give you a promotion. You think the timing of him missing you is a coincidence?”
“You think?” I asked. I’d been quick to beat myself up about the situation but I didn’t think Rob had ulterior motives, aside from the obvious one.
“I know . You do all the work on your junior agent splits and at least half the work as his assistant on all his other clients. He doesn’t want to lose you. You’re damn good!”
He just wanted to get laid. It was as simple as that as far as I was concerned.
“Turn him in to HR,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest.
“We’re too small to have HR,” I said.
“Then turn him in to the other agents.”
“And tell them what? I propositioned Rob two years ago, he took me up on it, and we’ve been sleeping together off and on ever since. And now that I want a promotion, I want him to get in trouble for not giving it to me?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re making it sound stupid on purpose because you know I’m right. He shouldn’t have been sleeping with you to begin with no matter who started it. He’s your boss, Margot. And a lot older than you.”
I knew this. It ate at me often. “Let’s stop talking about me. How was your night? Is Miles going to steal you from me?”
“You’re stuck with me for a while longer. He’s nice but it’s only been six months.”
“Six months? I thought it had been four. Is that a record for you?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, it’s a record for you. For me, it’s pretty average.”
“Really? Huh. Well, if I get a vote, I say keep him. He seems low on drama.”
“Unlike you? I need balance?”
“Rude,” I said, shoving her arm. “But probably fair. I swear, I’m working on minimizing the drama.”
“Just in time for our quarterly brunch this weekend? The women are going to be so disappointed.”
“I don’t think I’m going to that. As another part of my penance for kissing Rob I have to go to my nephews’ T-ball game.”
“How does that make any sense?”
“Believe me, it does.”
“Well, try not to let your sister take over your life.”
“I think at this point, I’d be better off handing it over to her.”