Chapter 7 Abby
Abby
Victoria opens the door to my office and makes herself right at home by sitting in my desk chair.
My chic-yet-cozy, white sherpa-covered chair.
The one I picked specifically for my comfort and taste.
She gestures to the two chairs opposite my desk, the ones usually reserved for client meetings and the occasional coworker vent session.
They’re still stylish, cream leather with gold stems and high backs.
But way stiffer. I decorated my office to feel like me.
Since I basically live here, it might as well feel like home.
A very put-together, productivity-inspiring, Pinterest-worthy home.
Jonathan lets me sit first. Oh, so he’s a gentleman now that we’re both potentially getting fired.
Victoria leans forward, bracing her elbows on my desk like she’s about to interrogate us under a flickering light bulb. She squints at me. Then at Jonathan. I suddenly feel like we’re suspects in a crime drama and she’s the lead detective who already knows we’re guilty.
She lets out a breath. Not just any breath, a full huff. Like we’ve already wasted her time.
“So,” she says slowly, “you expect me to believe that now you’re a couple?” She doesn’t ask it so much as challenge the very concept.
Jonathan clears his throat. My heart stops. He better not crack.
“I admit,” he says, “it does seem… surprising, given our history of office rivalry. But opposites attract. And yes, we’re a couple. A happy couple, actually.”
My heart starts beating again. Good save. For a second there, I thought we were toast.
“Yes, Victoria,” I add, channeling every ounce of fake confidence I have.
“We’ve learned to love what makes us different.
It’s what we admire most in each other.” A bead of sweat slides down my temple.
It’s freezing in here, but I’m sweating anyway because pretending to be in a steamy office romance with the guy I once tried to report to HR is apparently a full-body workout.
“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” I express.
Then Jonathan does the unthinkable.
“I take full responsibility,” he says, cutting in. “For not informing you sooner. I’m prepared for any consequences.”
My mouth almost hits the floor. Jonathan Slack, taking the bullet for us? For me? Who knew he had it in him. Uncannily selfless for a guy who once ordered a mug that said World’s Okayest Coworker and gave it to me for Secret Santa.
“I’m not going to fire you guys,” Victoria protests, leaning back in my chair like she owns the place. “You two are my best employees.”
I glance at Jonathan, who gives me a small but noticeable smirk, like he knows he’s the teacher’s pet.
“But,” she continues, “you realize you’re both up for that promotion once Allen officially leaves?”
Oh my God, the promotion. I’ve been so caught up in the last twenty-four hours of my unhinged life choices; kissing my nemesis, fake-dating said nemesis and then lying to my boss about all of it; I completely forgot we’re both up for Vice President of Marketing.
My mouth opens, the truth ready to tumble out, but Jonathan sees it happening and stops me.
He grabs my hand and gives it a firm squeeze.
Then he raises our joined hands like we’re the poster couple for corporate harmony.
“We understand the stakes,” he says smoothly, “and we hope our relationship doesn’t sway your decision away from either of us. ”
Victoria glances at our hands, whatever she’s thinking is hidden behind a blank stare.
She unhurriedly turns my chair toward the window, my favorite part of my office.
The view isn’t quite as stunning as hers or Allen’s, but it’s still a dreamy sliver of skyline that makes the long hours almost worth it.
“You two are my best,” she says again, still facing the window.
Then she spins the chair back toward us and fixes us both with a steely glare.
“I’m not considering anyone else. If I choose one of you over the other, you’ll need to be adults about it and not let it affect the company.
” She pauses, then adds with pointed clarity, “And you will certainly not let it spiral into some romantic meltdown that ends up in my office. That’s when we’ll definitely have a problem. ”
Even though Victoria can be intense, I actually respect her more than anyone else at this company. She’s wise. No-nonsense. Everything I aim to be on my most confident days. Also, she’s not wrong to have concerns.
I look at Jonathan and slip my hand out of his. Not in a dramatic way. Just… firmly. He notices.
“I understand completely, Victoria,” I say, as composed as I can manage.
“Makes sense,” Jonathan chimes in, doing that overly agreeable thing that makes me want to strangle him with a phone charger.
I want to tell Victoria. I want to blurt out who Marcus really is; to me, to my past, to every ounce of mascara I cried off that day. Saying it out loud, though, would unravel everything. Our little “relationship.” The lie. The fake boyfriend act. All of it.
Before I can say another word, Victoria slaps her impeccably manicured hands, undoubtedly treated to weekly appointments and some sort of collagen glove treatment, on my desk.
“Okay then,” she demands. “Let’s get back to work.” She spins around in her Louboutin heels and Chanel skirt and struts out of my office like a luxury war general.
The moment Victoria clears the threshold, I let out the breath I’m pretty sure I’ve been holding since she sat down at my desk. Jonathan steps forward to make sure the door swings fully shut behind her, like he’s guarding the scene of a crime.
“Whew,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was close.”
His eyes find mine and the deer-in-headlights energy I’m radiating must be blinding.
“This isn’t good,” I say flatly.
“It’s fine,” he replies, way too coolly. “We’ll ride this out while Marcus is here. Then in a few weeks, we have a very civilized, mutual, totally no-drama breakup. Happens all the time. Not a big deal.”
I start pacing, my office suddenly feeling ten square feet smaller.
“What’s on your mind, AJ?” he asks, hands sliding into his pockets like he didn’t just bulldoze through my emotional peace and expect me to thank him for the renovation.
I stop pacing long enough to breathe.
“The first relationship I’ve had in almost four years… and it’s fake. And it’s with the one person I hate more than anyone,” I shout, not loud enough for others to hear obviously.
He flinches and throws his hands up like I physically slapped him with the truth. “Well, that’s rude.”
“Oh, stop it,” I snap. “We both hate each other.”
“I’ve never said I hated you,” he admits, in a tone I don’t recognize coming from him.
My feet stall and I turn to face him. Is he catfishing me? What’s his play here? I can’t read him and I pride myself on being a human lie detector.
“Sure, I find you annoying and yeah, I can be selfish. But I never said I hated you, AJ.” He takes a step closer, his voice lighter now.
For the first time, I think I’m seeing something resembling a nicer side of Jonathan Slack. And it’s… disorienting.
“Why did you say you’d take the fall for not reporting our relationship?” I ask, folding my arms. “You could’ve been fired.”
He takes my hands in his, skin warm and comforting. “It’s just a job,” he says with a shrug. “I love it, but I don’t need it.”
“Oh and I do? Because I’m poor and you’re rich?” I snap, yanking my hands away like they burned me. “Wow, thanks, Daddy Warbucks.”
He lets out an exasperated breath. “See! This is why you’re annoying.”
“And this is why no one trusts you!” I shoot back. “You act like being nice is some foreign language. I can’t tell when it’s real.”
“I’m trying to be real,” he bites out, his voice rising just a little. “But with you, it’s like no matter what I say, it’s wrong.”
“Oh, please.” I cross my arms again. “You’ve been a dick to me more times than I can count. So forgive me if I don’t throw a parade the one time you don’t act like Satan’s hot cousin.”
He goes quiet, forehead creases and for a moment, I think he’s ironically considering my words. Like… really thinking.
Finally, he sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.” There’s a beat of silence before he adds, “Let’s just get through the next few days.” Then, without another word, he opens the door, walks out and leaves it hanging open behind him.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I hurt his feelings. But that’s impossible. You can’t hurt the feelings of someone who doesn’t have any. Right?
I go behind my desk and sit down, pressing my head into my hands and trying to control my breathing with a meditation exercise.
Whatever, it’s not working. I surrender, picking my head up and I can feel the pressure starting to dissipate behind my eyes.
Just when I think I’ve finally wrangled my nervous system into submission, in walks the ghost of fiancé’s past.
“Hi,” Marcus says, knocking on the door with one knuckle.
I twist my head and I swear all the blood drains from my skull to my feet. A wave of dizziness rolls over me like I’ve just stood up too fast on an empty stomach.
“May I come in?” he asks.
I forgot how good he looks. Stupid good. With his dark, tousled hair, a side-smirk that used to melt me and those bright blue eyes that somehow still hit their target. I used to swoon over this man and now, annoyingly, the swoon still shows up. Traitorous hormones.
“Yeah. Sure,” I manage to stutter out.
He walks in and shuts the door. What is it with the men in my life and shutting my office door like we’re about to discuss national secrets?
“I’m sorry for just showing up like this,” he remarks.
“Yeah, about that.” I lift my head and level a look at him. “Why are you here? You knew I worked here.”
He sits down in the chair across from me and lets out a sigh, the kind that says I know I screwed up but not quite enough to say it out loud.
“When I was approached with this deal, I wasn’t sure if you still worked here,” he says. “You always talked about starting your own agency.”
He’s right, I did used to talk about that often. I used to have plans. Big ones actually. But plans require heart and after mine got shattered into microscopic dust, that ambition dimmed. Starting over felt impossible.
“Well, clearly I didn’t,” I snap.
“I realize that now,” he admits. “I was going to bring it up last night when I saw you, but I was caught off guard. I mean… I didn’t think either of us expected to run into each other.”
He shifts in the chair and it lets out the tiniest creak. Somehow, it sounds exactly like the crack of my heart the day he disappeared.
“Definitely wasn’t expecting that,” I admit, managing a half-smile that feels forced except it isn’t. Not when I’m around him.
Marcus’s face lights up. “I love seeing you smile.”
The words land like a brick to the sternum. Then he blinks, like realizing what just slipped out and shakes his head fast, like he’s trying to physically dislodge the thought.
He adjusts his blazer and clears his throat. “I promise I won’t get in your way today. Or during the retreat.”
“Retreat?” I repeat, my pulse ticking up.
“We’re taking the office to Cedar Lakes for a corporate retreat,” he says, with the same chill energy someone uses to say pass the salt as if this isn’t an emotional Hunger Games waiting to happen.
“When is this happening?” I ask, already bracing.
“Victoria’s announcing it today. We leave Friday,” he exclaims, undeniably enthused about it.
Friday. As in, two days from now.
I nod lazily, the muscles in my face trying to arrange into something that resembles a normal human expression. “That’s… great.”
“You say great a lot, don’t you?” he teases, flashing a smile before turning and walking out.
I sit there frozen, replaying everything: his vapidly charming face, his carelessly dropped retreat bomb, his exit line cuts like he’s walking out of a stage play and I’m the one left behind in real life.
So, in two days, I’ll be trapped in the woods with my ex-fiancé… and my fake boyfriend.
What could possibly go wrong?