Chapter 31 Abby
Abby
The day is here. No more stalling. No more hypotheticals or daydreaming or rerunning our last conversation like a scratched-up record in my head.
I’m going back to work. Back to my office.
Back to Jonathan. Back to the man I walked away from without saying the one thing I should’ve said: I choose you.
That night outside the karaoke bar, it already feels like a lifetime ago, he stood in front of me, bare, vulnerable, hopeful even and asked me what I wanted.
And what did I do? I froze. I stood there like a deer caught in the headlights of my own emotional traffic jam, paralyzed and unsure what I wanted.
I’m not unsure anymore. I know exactly what I want. I want him.
I tried to go to his apartment last night after storming out on Marcus mid-dinner, an exit that felt dramatically overdue, if not slightly theatrical but Jonathan wasn’t home.
I thought about texting. Calling and even leaving a voice memo like one of those tearful podcast confessions.
But no. This conversation deserves more than that.
He deserves more than that. He deserves to see my face.
To hear the words directly from my mouth.
To know, without a doubt, that I’m sorry for everything.
The games. The chaos. The stupid Marcus moment.
All of it. I want to apologize for the mess I made over that wild, emotionally unstable, career-jeopardizing weekend.
And if he’s willing to forgive me… if there’s even a sliver of hope…
maybe we can start over. Actually start something real.
I know I’m taking a risk. He might shut me down.
Walk away. Still, I’m doing this anyway.
Because for the first time in a long time, I’m clear-headed.
Leaving Marcus last night was the best decision I’ve made in months, most likely years.
That relationship was always about comfort and control. It was never about connection.
Jonathan though? That kiss. That stupid fake dating pact. The shared cabin. The arguments. The whispered confession in the woods. That was connection. Messy, complicated and a real connection. Even if it started with a fake label, there was nothing fake about what I felt.
I want to kiss Jonathan again. I want him to hold me like he did that night in the woods. His hands firm at my waist, his lips sturdy like he knew what he wanted. Like I was what he wanted. I really hope I didn’t ruin everything.
The moment I step into my tiny office, a place that usually brings me a small jolt of peace with its warm lighting and worn-in office chair, I feel my stomach twist. I sit down at my desk, trying to will myself into productivity.
My inbox is overflowing, the red badge practically screaming at me and I haven’t even opened a single email when my office phone rings. It’s Victoria.
“Good morning, Abigail. Can you come into my office?” she says, in that ambiguous tone that’s not quite kind, not quite rude, just unsettling enough to make me nervous.
Every ounce of blood drains from my body. Her voice is calm. Gravely calm. The kind of calm that says, I’m going to destroy your soul with grace and precision.
“Yes, ma’am,” I manage to say, my voice catching halfway between terrified intern and regretful felon.
I shoot up so fast I nearly trip over my own feet.
My chair rolls backward and hits the bookshelf with a light thud.
I smooth down my khaki pants and tug my blouse into place, praying there aren’t any coffee splatters on it.
I swipe under my eyes, hoping my eyeliner hasn’t smudged into a gothic novella subplot.
I walk down the short hallway toward her office like I’m on my way to a sentencing hearing.
The second I step inside, her bubblegum-pink rug glares up at me like a warning sign against my beige-on-beige outfit.
I swear it’s mocking me. The scent in her office changes daily, some kind of psychological warfare and today, it’s a fresh and clean citrus smell.
She must be trying to fake me out. Bright scents before the carnage.
She gestures to the seat across from her desk. “Have a seat.”
I do, carefully, knees stiff, back straight like I’m taking a polygraph. She takes off her glasses with a dramatic movement. That’s not good. Nothing good ever happens when Victoria removes her glasses.
“Alice,” she calls over her shoulder to her assistant outside the door. Her voice crisp, yet too relaxed. “Can you close the door, please?”
Alice pokes her head in, eyes scanning the obvious tension. When she sees me, she gives a tiny, pitying smile. The kind people give when they drive by a car accident and aren’t sure if anyone made it out.
This is it. I’m getting fired. The door clicks shut behind me and my throat suddenly feels like it’s filled with dry cotton.
Victoria studies me in a way that makes me feel like I’m under a microscope.
Her eyes sweep up and down, pausing at my face like she’s trying to read every flicker of emotion that might give me away.
Then, finally, she takes an unhurried, controlled breath; in through her nose, out through her mouth.
“I had no idea Marcus was your ex-fiancé,” she says at last, her tone softer than I’ve ever heard it. “You know, the one who left you at the altar.” She doesn’t say it with malice. Just a long-buried, also humiliating fact.
I nod once, small and tight. There’s no use denying it. The whole thing’s out now, anyway.
“I feel like a bad boss,” she continues. “But more than that, a bad friend, for not knowing who he was to you.”
I blink. Victoria… expressing genuine emotion? Empathy? She even sounds like she means it. This is starting off weirdly wholesome. Maybe she lit that eucalyptus candle I bought her for Boss’s Day last year.
“I’m sorry,” she adds quietly.
She says it so directly, stripped of any performative flair and somehow that’s what makes it hit hardest. Everything crashes down at once, thickening my throat until I have to force myself to swallow.
“Victoria… thank you. But I should’ve told you the moment I saw Marcus. So I’m sorry too.” I meet her gaze and own it. I’ve made enough mistakes lately, I can at least take responsibility for this one.
She gives an approving nod. “Well, I appreciate that, Abigail. And that kind of ownership? That’s exactly why…” She pauses. “…I’m giving you the promotion to Vice President of Marketing when Allen officially steps down at the end of this month.”
My brain stutters. What? There’s a two-second delay between her words and the explosion of realization that hits me like a bottle of champagne to the face.
My chest fills so fast I swear I could levitate.
My cheeks go hot, a blush rising so fast I can’t stop it and before I can rein myself in I squeal, full cheerleader mode unlocked.
“Thank you so, so much, Victoria! I promise I won’t let you down.”
Her lips twitch into a proud smile as she slides her glasses back onto her face with a practiced little flourish, the moment sealed like a ceremonial stamp.
“I know you won’t,” she says with a smile. Then she starts again, just as I’m trying to settle the excitement bubbling up in my chest. “I have to say, Abigail, I’m impressed you faked a relationship just to get back at Marcus.”
I blink, caught off guard by the bluntness and the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for being so… ballsy,” she continues with a chuckle. “But I get it. And honestly? I respect it.”
I let out a laugh, partly from amusement, partly from relief that she’s not scolding me for my walk-the-line, workplace violation.
I reach up and smooth the collar of my blouse, trying to play it cool.
“Well,” I say with a sheepish smile, “it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision… me and Jonathan.”
His name still stings in the center of my chest like I haven’t spent the last twenty-four hours trying to will it away. I shift in my seat.
“Have you told him yet?” I ask, gently. “About who you’re picking for the promotion?”
She nods once, businesslike. “I did.”
I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. “What did he say?”
Victoria leans forward on her elbows and reaches for the glass bowl of candy perched on her desk like it’s her crystal ball. She selects a peppermint, unwraps it slowly, then pops it into her mouth like punctuation.
“He took it fine,” she says between a thoughtful suck on the mint.
That seems… not right. Not Jonathan.
“That’s because,” she adds, eyes flicking up to meet mine, “he resigned. Took another job in Boston.”
I blink. “Boston?” My voice cracks on the word. “Wait. When?”
She shrugs, still infuriatingly composed, like she didn’t just lob a whole emotional grenade into the room.
“I probably shouldn’t say more if he didn’t tell you himself,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “But he won’t be working here anymore. Effective today, actually.”
And just like that, the room feels like it’s tilting sideways. He’s gone? He didn’t even tell me?
I open my mouth, close it again. There’s a buzzing in my ears that wasn’t there a second ago. I pause, trying to swallow the lump in my throat before it gives me away. Then I clear my throat and nod once.
“Okay,” I manage. “Thank you again for the promotion.” My voice is surprisingly even, despite the fact that my brain feels like it’s spinning inside a snow globe someone just shook too hard.
I rise from the seat, my legs carrying me toward the door, even though my thoughts are still stuck back at Jonathan took another job in Boston.
Just as I reach for the handle, Victoria calls out behind me.
“Abigail,” she blurts.
I turn, forcing calm onto my features.
Already reclined in her chair, arms crossed over her stylish, tailored blouse, she gives me the kind of look only a woman who’s seen her fair share of life and heartbreak can deliver.