Chapter 16- Two More Weeks
Christmas had always been Lizzie’s favorite holiday. The lights, the coquito, the chaotic Noche Buena table that never fit all the food—this year, every pastelito felt like a debt she couldn’t pay.
George had accepted the terms, at least initially.
She saved the text just in case she’s ever asked for proof.
Lidia lasted exactly one day in sweatpants. By day two, she was ring-light-ready, filming “Get Ready With Me” videos like nothing had happened. She told Lizzie she had to keep busy to cope.
Meanwhile, Lizzie doom-scrolled at 2 a.m., and there was Lydia at Vizcaya, sun-kissed and laughing: Living my best life ?
Lizzie locked her phone and put it under her pillow to keep from throwing it, or the bowl of cereal she was having as dinner at the wall.
Monday back at Pemberley HQ was December on steroids.
Although Lizzie’s improvements in customer service were based around tracking customer feedback and task completion, the people she was working with were just so…
customer service-y. Everything they said was done in hyperbole, and they were sickeningly positive.
It was especially annoying to Lizzie, who was already in a bad mood.
To add to the annoyance, they had jingle bells glued to their headsets.
Mariah Carey had taken the playlist hostage.
Someone brought cookies shaped like reindeer; someone else started an ugly-sweater contest. Still, Lizzie smiled until her face hurt.
She was going to meet them where they were and finish this project off strong.
Carolina appeared like a Christmas villain in red-bottom heels one day to check on her progress.
“Will’s in New York through New Year’s,” she announced, voice dripping honeyed venom. “Some of us still have to run the company while others… play consultant.”
Lizzie gave her the brightest, most fake customer-service smile in her arsenal. “Super duper!”
Carolina’s left eye twitched. Victory.
Friday brought the bonus email.
Subject line: Congratulations to our Top Performers!
For one stupid second, Lizzie’s heart leapt. Then she remembered: contractors don’t get bonuses. Her “bonus” was the commission now earmarked for George Wick’s yacht fund.
Saturday, she finally washed the Redlands mud off her car. The brown streaks came off in slow motion, and every swirl of the sponge took her back: the dance, the dip, Will’s thumb on her stomach, the wordless almost in the hallway.
She was crying before she realized it—ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs that turned the hose water salty. She let herself have exactly five minutes, then shut off the water, wiped her face with the muddy towel, and went inside.
That night, her phone buzzed with a new message from an unknown number.
Tell Lidia the price just went up.
Attached was a screenshot—Lidia’s face clearly visible this time, eyes closed, unmistakable.
Another $150k by Christmas Eve, or these go to every gossip site in Miami. I’m sure her 2M followers would be all too happy with these. Merry Christmas, Liz. —G
Lizzie stared at the ceiling until the numbers stopped making sense. This wasn’t just losing her commission; she didn’t think she could financially recover from this.
Another $150,000 on top of her bonus and exactly fourteen days away from ruin.
Two more weeks.
She whispered it like a prayer and a curse.
She could do this.
She had to.
Lizzie spent the next day taking inventory of all the things she could sell. She needed to declutter anyway. Even at her highest estimates and quickest turnaround, she could make maybe $1800. It’d be like spitting into an ocean.
Abuela walked in to see Lizzie, her head in her hands, with her notepad and calculations laid out before her. She didn’t need to ask what she was doing; she didn’t need her to explain how she was feeling; she knew.
She put an arm around her, pulled her close, and said, “Do you think there’s a market for feet pics de vieja?”
Lizzie’s laugh started as a rumble, and before long, she was wiping tears away as she tried to catch her breath between waves of giggles. Abuela always had a way of making even the bleakest moments seem bright again.
“Don’t worry, mi vida. These things have a way of working out. You’ll see, I’ll make a flan. Everything looks better after a flan.”
“Not my ass,” Lizzie joked.
Abuela made a dismissive pfft and said, “Especially your ass! It wasn’t some culo flaco that had El Will drooling over it at Thanksgiving.”
Lizzie groaned and put her head back in her hands. “God don’t even mention the name! I don’t want to be reminded of what else I lost?”
“Lost? Why lost?”
“Who wants to date someone with this kind of drama and baggage?”
“I thought it was you who didn’t want him?” Abuela asked coyly while mixing ingredients.
Lizzie was brought back to that night on the rooftop; how arrogant she had been. And her feelings now had changed so much. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m probably never going to see him again.”
“Qué exagerada,” Abuela said, rolling her eyes. “So dramatic.”
But Lizzie knew that Abuela wasn’t there that night in the hall. Didn’t see the rejection. She didn’t see the shift in his behavior. No, Lizzie was pretty convinced that she’d lost the favor of Will Pemberley for good.
The following week was the capstone; each day, she reviewed the results of a specific department.
She verified her results and ensured the improvements were fully implemented and functional.
It felt like a montage through her last 90 days; a quick recap of all she’d done, those she met, and a final farewell.
She told herself she wouldn’t see Will again, but she held her breath as she turned every corner, caught herself scanning every room, looking for any trace of him. But no, Carolina had been right. Will was gone.
On Thursday, Lizzie got a strange text.
If that’s how you want to play it, fine.
Lizzie didn’t know what it meant, but she was too tired and emotionally wrecked to do anything about it.
On Friday, her last day at HQ, Carolina met her at the end of the day and asked her to the roof. Lizzie had no idea what this was about, but agreed to go with her.
They were silent in the elevator, but Carolina burst almost before they took their first steps outside.
“Are you dating Will?”
“What?!” Lizzie said, caught completely off guard by the question.
“I heard that you were at the estate for Thanksgiving, and then Giana called today, and we spoke for a bit, and she told me… well, are you or aren’t you?” Carolina seemed on the verge of tears.
“Carolina, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, or why any of this is your concern.”
“My concern?! MY concern?! Because I’ve known Will since college!
We’ve been best friends, and I always look out for him and help him when he gets caught up with the wrong sort of people.
That’s why! Because he’s a smart, caring person who shouldn’t be taken advantage of by some chubby consultant who is out to take him for all that he has! ”
Lizzie was in no mood for this, and she squared up against Carolina.
“If he’s so smart, then you know he doesn’t need you to make decisions for him.
As for the rest, I’ll assume you’re emotional, and so you’re saying things you don’t mean, but don’t assume for a second that because you hired me to do a job for you, I will allow you to insult me.
After the last few weeks, I advise you to choose your next words very carefully. .”
The ice in Lizzie’s voice made Carolina take a step back. “So are you dating him or not?” Carolina tried to look confident, but her voice was barely audible.
Lizzie let out a sigh. “No I’m not. And weren’t you the one who told me he was serious with Alisa Reed?”
Carolina crossed her arms. “It’s complicated,” She said. “And sometimes Will is confused about what he wants.”
“Well, if he wants Alisa, you should have no worries about him dating me.”
“And will you promise not to?”
“No, I won’t.”
“But if you,” Carolina started, but Lizzie cut her off,
“Carolina, you have insulted me in every possible way. You have been rude since the day we met, and honestly, I don’t owe you anything. This conversation is over, and I’m leaving. There’s nothing in my contract that says I have to be subjected to this.”
Lizzie spun on her heels and headed for the elevator. She could hear her heart beating through her chest. Dating Will? Where on earth did she get that idea?
She stepped into the elevator, jabbed the button, and let the doors close on Carolina’s stunned face.