Chapter 2
Bridge Burning for Beginners
Tessa
I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I didn't pick up the clicker and lob it at anyone's head – even though I was sorely tempted.
Instead, I looked to Stuart with a scoff. "Swift action, huh?" I gave him a thin smile. "Shouldn't that be 'Swift action, period'?"
Someone in the back snickered, and Stuart's face went beet red as he gritted out, "I suggest you gather your things."
"Oh, yeah?" I forced a laugh, not caring that it sounded half-crazed. "Which things are those? My five years of unpaid overtime? Or that stash of popcorn I keep in my desk?"
He swallowed. "Popcorn?" Funny, he hadn't mentioned the overtime. But then again, they never did.
And now I was on a roll. "You know what I do at night, when you're off with your family and friends?" I leaned toward him. "I burn the shit out of that popcorn. On purpose!"
This wasn't quite true. Like a good little team player, I hadn't brought a single kernel into the office after that anti-popcorn policy had gone into effect.
No joke. The policy was real – and in writing, too. Thatcher-Hale was known for its polished presentations, which was why our conference rooms were so lavish while our health benefits were so cheap.
Of course, to be fair, it's hard to sell polish when the boardroom smells like a flaming snack. But I was in no mood to be fair. They hadn't been fair to Monica, who'd been fired on a Tuesday afternoon without so much as a warning.
Absently, I wondered if they'd be issuing a new policy related to bridges, because my own bridge – the one I'd spent years building – was going up in flames.
But my snide comment about popcorn?
Yeah, that had been for Monica, who, last I heard, was waitressing to make ends meet.
I whirled to face Toby. "You are getting this, right?" But of course, he was, because the phone was still there, trained in my direction, like I was the dancing bear at a corporate circus.
Missing the point, the idiot gave a little nod.
Jerk.
I was so done with this place.
And as far as those "things" Stuart had mentioned, I'd cleaned out most of them already – not because I'd known this would be my last day, but because of that trip to Miami.
With plans to be gone for a whole month, I'd lugged the important stuff home just yesterday to stop my fellow employees from pilfering.
I wasn't paranoid. I was practical. The last time I'd gone away for a month, I'd returned to find my purple stapler missing from my office and sitting on Brad's desk.
Yes, he'd returned it, but only after I'd asked. Repeatedly.
And now?
I was done asking for anything.
I squared my shoulders and strode toward the conference room door, bypassing Stuart as I went. I didn't look back – because I refused to give Evan Carver the satisfaction.
He was surely loving this.
Had he paid Toby for the sabotage? Or promised him a future reward? Like a cushy job or glowing reference?
Whatever it was, it had to be good, because as I reached the open door, I caught movement in the corner of my eye and saw the little weasel stand and follow after me, still clutching the phone like a golden ticket.
He wasn't the only one. All around me, phones were popping up everywhere – over cubicle walls, behind glass offices, and down the hall – while I stormed into the neighboring conference room like a girl on a mission.
Remember that trip to Miami?
Well, that was obviously toast.
Even if I still caught the flight, I'd be a fool to believe my hotel room would be waiting for me as planned. And forget my corporate credit card. If history held, it would be canceled before my shoes hit the first-floor lobby.
In the neighboring conference room – this one, all glass and no cover – I spotted the display I'd spent hours setting up at the crack of dawn.
I stopped to stare. Yup, there it was, in all its glittering glory – a long table covered with a pristine white tablecloth. On top of the table sat tiered acrylic risers, draped in tropical cloth runners and dotted with tiny LED lights.
Dozens – no, hundreds – of festive little bottles sparkled under the overhead fluorescents, arranged by color and flavor like some unholy hybrid of a massive minibar and a favor table at a wedding.
There were pineapple shooters in hot pink sleeves, coconut rum in metallic teal, gold-capped bourbon, lime-flavored tequila, and even espresso martinis in black matte glass.
And this was only the top row. Below that was a virtual cornucopia of tiny temptations in glass.
As far as signage, that was still in the works. But I'd set up the display anyway and had our photographer take some terrific photos to show those focus groups in Miami.
And the worst part?
I'd paid for that booze myself after the potential client had balked at sending so many samples. That little shopping trip hadn't come cheap.
I felt my eyes narrow as I stalked forward, ducked down, and flung up the edge of the tablecloth. On the floor below, I spotted the giant tote bag I'd tucked underneath.
I grabbed that sucker like a lifeline and stood. Slowly, I turned to stare at the crowd gathered at the door and along the glass.
I barked a laugh. "How's this for swift action!" I turned and started shoveling bottles into the tote bag like I was raiding a grocery store with zombies on my heels.
As I fumbled with the bag, one of the straps caught on a nearby riser. To free it, I yanked the strap, and the riser tipped, causing a cascade of falling glass. Bottles slid, bounced, and shattered on the marble floor, the sound exploding through the room.
Nobody said a word.
I didn't turn around. And I didn't stop looting.
I could feel them now, eyeballs and cellphones burning into my back. The bag was barely halfway full when I grabbed a little blue bottle – I didn't even know what it was – and turned to face them with a show of defiance.
With my gaze locked on Stuart, I twisted off the cap and tossed it aside before bringing that tiny bottle to my lips and taking a good long gulp.
My eyes watered, and my throat burned, but I gulped again – and a third time after that, making sure the bottle was good and drained.
Whiskey.
Damn it.
Why, oh why, hadn't I gone for something I'd actually sampled? Their rum, for example, was particularly tasty, especially with tortilla chips and guacamole.
But that was beside the point.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and smiled wide for the crowd. And then, I turned and kept shoveling bottles until the tote bag was overflowing.
The bottles were mine, after all. And hell if I'd leave them for Brad, who had this annoying habit of swiping my diet Cokes from the refrigerator in the break room.
I knew it was him, because one time, I'd spotted him, chugging away at the open fridge.
But now the chugger was me – not yet drunk, but soon on my way with the whiskey deep down my gullet. Crazy or not, I felt nearly giddy with the power of losing it – until I spotted him through the crowd.
Evan Carver.
He was giving me that now-familiar look, this one with a twist. This time, it didn't only say, I know where you sleep. It also said, And I'll be coming for you soon.
And that's when I knew.
I'd be a fool to go home – at least right now.
I considered my two suitcases, already packed and waiting in the first-floor holding area. Technically, I didn't have to go home.
At least not yet.
But where would I go?
I needed someplace remote and somewhat off the grid – a city or town where I had no family connections to leave an easy trail.
But first – and this was a biggie – I needed to catch up with my sister, who'd been ghosting me for months.
As for Evan Carver, he could crash and burn without any help from me. It was only a matter of time, right?
But how much time?
Weeks?
Months?
I had no idea, but I did know I should get the hell out of Chicago. So with a jerk of my chin, I hoisted the tote bag high on my shoulder as the glass bottles clattered and clanked.
If I made it out of here without further breakage, it would be a small miracle.
But hey, miracles happened every day, so I strode toward the gawkers at the door as the crowd parted to let me through.
Ignoring the whispers, I kept on walking, making a beeline for the bank of elevators as I left the crowd behind.
Staring?
Probably.
But once again, I didn't turn to look, because I didn't want to see him – the guy who'd surely track me down the moment I left.
I felt my jaw clench. Good luck with that, buddy.
Because I'd just decided where I was going, and it was so far from Chicago, at least in terms of the vibe, that nobody would ever think to look.
When I pressed the button to go down, the nearest elevator opened right away.
See? Miracles did happen, even to a girl like me, who'd probably just made the biggest mistake of her life.
But so what?
At least I was alive and unbroken – well, physically, anyway.
Mentally? I wasn't so sure.
But hey, give it time.
For now, I had booze, baggage, and a one-way ticket to obscurity. As the elevator doors slid shut, I heard myself whisper, "What else does a girl need?"