Strictly Confidential

Chapter 1

KATE

There’s nothing quite as humiliating as getting fired from a job you didn’t even want with a coffee stain on your shirt.

“You can’t be serious, Joe.” I stare at the scraggly orange beard that should really be put out of its misery and shaved off of his pale face.

“I’m afraid so, Kate. You’ve been a nice addition to the team here, but we’ve got to make cuts. Your track record isn’t as great as the others in your department.” He gives me a weak smile. The atrocious beard moves with it.

I gape at him. “You mean, Glenda? She’s the only other one in my department, and frankly, the reason her attendance is better than mine is because she comes to work when she’s sick. I can’t help that I get the flu every year.”

Joe glances over at Glenda’s cubicle and coughs weakly into his fist. “Well . . . her dedication to the workload is the kind of thing we need right now. You’re a pretty girl.

You’ll land on your feet.” He pats my forearm stiffly and scoots out of the tiny square box I’ve basically lived in for the last two years.

So, pretty privilege is getting me fired.

I stare, openmouthed, at his retreating back as he scurries to the safety of his office with a view.

Two years is what I’ve thrown away on this job, hoping to move up in the ranks.

Two years, I’ve clung like static to the position I was hired for on day one, fresh out of college.

Being a children’s book illustrator for a big publisher is all I’ve ever wanted to do.

Working for a graphic design company wasn’t my first choice, but at the very least, it’s in the realm of artistic work.

I was hired to be the general system coordinator—file away shit—but I hoped that by working hard, I could advance to a position that actually used my college degree and eventually pursue my dream.

Apparently, getting the flu can also result in losing your job.

There’s no sense in arguing with Joe anymore, so I pack up my little mug shaped like a cartoon house and the frame with a picture of my dad and me on a boat when I was a kid.

I should call him . . .

Later—when I don’t think I’ll be crying over the phone.

I really need to find a new job first.

“See you later, Glenda. Stay healthy.”

I wave at my cubicle neighbor as I meander through the narrow path, awkwardly carrying the filing box with my work life in it.

“Bye, sugar. You take care now.” She smacks her gum, not even dignifying my shameful exit down the stained grey carpet with a look or wave.

The parking garage is already hot at nine a.m. because this is Dallas and it’s early summer.

The heavens smile upon me because merging into traffic isn’t that bad, and I actually hit seventy-five percent of the lights on green.

“Maybe this day will start to look up from here,” I mumble to myself, exiting toward my apartment complex.

“Should I stop for wine? Or do I have some left?”

Talking out loud to myself is kind of my thing, and if people stare, that’s their problem.

I pull into the faded white stripes, amble out of my car with my sad little box, and make my way up the three flights of stairs that keep my calves nice and defined.

“I hope Stephen is still here. Getting extra time to spend with him will be a nice break. Maybe he knows a bar that’s looking for a waitress.” I’m musing again.

My boyfriend is a sweetheart, one of those guys who brings me flowers and cute house-shaped mugs “just because.” He almost always remembers our anniversary and my birthday too.

My best friend, Mel, is mortified by this fact, but she doesn’t get what it’s like when you’ve been with someone for eight years.

I stick my key in the door, twisting it open to the blaring sound of Stephen’s album playing.

“Wow.”

It’s not that he’s not a good musician; it’s more that he thinks he’s, like, a really great musician. And I completely, fully support his dreams.

However, I do think he should have a job in the meantime to pay the bills.

“Stephen?”

I walk past the messy kitchen, wondering if my roommate, Maddie, is out dog-walking. It’s her side gig, and I know the mornings are her busiest times in the summer.

“Stephen, are you—” I gasp at the sight before my eyes as I enter my bedroom.

There, on my grandmother’s queen-size mattress, my boyfriend and my roommate are in the compromising position that teenagers call “sixty-nine.”

I drop the box as my hand claps over my mouth. Maddie screams like she’s drowning, her mouth full of his dick.

Stephen jolts awkwardly underneath her, his legs splayed out on the bed. She rolls off of him, and I cover my eyes to avoid further permanent damage to my retinas.

“Kate! Why are you home so early?” Stephen bellows, and I hear the bed creaking.

I open my eyes back up, letting out a screech. “How dare you! You’re a sick, disgusting pig! Both of you are nasty . . . icky vermin!”

I reach into the box to pull out the mug he bought me. I hurl it at him, narrowly missing. It shatters against the wall. I’m not a bad shot, but rage is clouding my vision.

“Katie Bug, calm down.” He holds his hands up in defense, but his length is still exposed and shiny from her saliva.

Next is my pen cup, and it lands right on its mark, bouncing off of his head of luscious, long hair as the pens spew across the room.

“Kate!” Maddie is staring at me, wide-eyed. Her tits that are much, much bigger than mine are out in the open.

“What? You’ve been sleeping with my boyfriend while I’m at work, so what could you possibly have to say?” I scream at her.

She reaches down for Stephen’s band shirt on the floor to cover herself, but honestly, I’ve seen all I need to see.

“Bye, asshole. Have fun getting STDs and sucking at your career.”

Closure is overrated. I don’t need to know why. I just need to get out with the last word.

“Katie Bug, please . . . let’s talk about this.” His voice is high-pitched and desperate.

And to think, in eight years, he’s never gone down on me.

I think he’s starting to realize he can’t bum off of both of us anymore by sleeping here for free.

Now, I know why Maddie never had a problem with his freeloading.

I grab the only thing I absolutely need to take with me right this moment—Speckles’s tank.

My pet turtle has been with me through it all.

His little green shell has yellow speckles—hence the name.

When my dad got him for me, I was three, and my mom had just died.

I could never leave him here with a cheating boyfriend and a backstabbing roommate.

“Let’s go, bud. We’re visiting Auntie Mel.” When I look up at the traitors, my voice hardens again. “I want three hours tonight to get my shit without y’all here.” The slam of the door punctuates my words.

Mel insists on me submitting my résumé online before we go out tonight.

“You’ll be able to relax and let loose if you know you’re possibly getting a job while you’re busy, forgetting your lowlife, cheating ex.”

I don’t know how I’d survive without Mel.

I crush her into a hug before sitting down with my laptop to pore over the Indeed listings. My tear-filled explanation of today’s events is already over. She’s fully committed to my recovery program, which starts with applications and ends with vodka.

“I would rather gouge my eyes out than restart my entire life,” I whine. I get at least a one-day pity-party pass.

Mel is styling her shoulder-length copper-red hair.

“Babe, no offense, but restarting your life is something that has needed to happen for a while. Stephen was a little shithead. Your job was a shithole. Your roommate was a piece of shit, clearly. Basically, Speckles, your dad, and I are the only parts you should hold on to.”

I let out a dramatic sigh, knowing she’s right.

“Well, I feel like I should apologize in advance for the amount of lemon vodka I’m going to consume and most likely regurgitate in your toilet later tonight.”

She laughs. “Okay, so is there a game plan if you meet a sexy stranger? Should I hold you back . . . or be the wingwoman?” She smiles at me in the mirror, raising her eyebrows.

I’ve never even been on a manhunt. Stephen didn’t know how good he had it with a loyal woman. We met in high school, and he was my first for all the things. Too many years with one man has made me into a nervous little scaredy cat when it comes to the dating world.

“Hmm, if I have on vodka glasses, definitely hold me back. If you think I’d go for it on a regular Thursday night, then let me at ’em.”

She nods, red curls bouncing.

“It’s so weird . . . I’m kind of, like, not heartbroken.”

Mel narrows her gaze at me. “That’s because this needed to happen. Stephen was such a fuckwit.”

“And lazy.”

“Sooo lazy. Gah! Real men have real jobs. If a guy wants to pursue a dream, I am all for it, but have the damn decency to work at a shithole in the meantime.”

She’s right about it all, and I lie back on her bed, staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling.

A strange sense of freedom settles over me. I have a good feeling that tonight could be a game changer for me.