Chapter 32
The mirrored elevator doors aren’t doing me any favors.
My puffy eyes, blotchy cheeks, and red, raw nose stare back at me.
I look like I decided to sleep in a ditch and still come into work today.
Honestly, it sounds more fun than what I did.
I should’ve stayed under the covers. Should’ve shut out the world and let myself wallow in my own misery for another few hours instead of going to Jenni’s and facing the harsh reality of my life.
But is that any better? Lying alone would mean thinking, and thinking pulls me straight into Jenni. Chris. Zach… the ring. The look on his face when I walked away.
I've lost everything in the last twenty-four hours. My only friend here wasn't a friend at all—she was my stalker, systematically destroying me for months while I thought she cared. And Zach... I pushed away the one person who actually loved me because I don't even know who I am anymore.
My breath hitches just thinking about last night. The ring. His face when I walked away. The hollow feeling that's been growing inside me since we got to college.
Jenni was right about one thing: I'm not strong enough for his life. I can barely handle my own.
My phone buzzes in my bag, but I don't bother to look this time. I can't handle leaving another message from Zach unanswered.
Ding!
The elevator doors open and I square my shoulders, desperately attempting to pull myself together. Calling in sick this morning wasn’t an option, so I have to force myself to hold it together. I can’t let anyone here know that I’m two seconds away from breaking into a thousand pieces.
The floor is quiet as I psych myself up.
I can do this.
I can sit at my desk and be useful.
Then the voices start. Angry whispers from the boardroom that get louder with every step I take.
It's Jonathan.
Jamie's father is here even though my father promised I wouldn’t have to see him again.
At first I flinch, regretting coming here, but what am I supposed to do now?
“You think she could be good leadership material?” he sneers, his voice loud enough for all the associates to hear.
“She’s weak. Pathetic, really. Always crying over boys instead of focusing on what’s important.
Do you know what you get when you hire with your emotions?
The market doesn’t care about feelings. Investors don’t write checks to women who faint at the first sign of difficulty.
They write checks to people who grind, who execute, who don’t crumble when a rumor drops. ”
I take a sharp breath.
Pathetic. Crying over boys. Faint at the first sign of difficulty.
It’s me. He’s talking about me.
I take a couple of steps back, knocking into someone’s desk.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
That’s when I see every head on the floor turn. I’m met with horrified, and gleeful faces. They’re just waiting for me to crack.
“Do you want a leader who blubbers through bad press? This isn’t a sorority. This is a business. We don’t have time for theatrics and hang-ups. We need Jamie, not her.”
My father mumbles a response, but it’s too low for me to hear.
Don't lose it. That will just prove Jonathan right.
I’m walking across the floor on shaky legs, praying they’ll hold me up until I get there. I plop my bag onto the desk and turn my laptop on, still pretending I can’t hear a word of what Jonathan is saying.
“She’ll drag us into petty scandals, personal apologies, and bad PR because she can’t separate the private from the public.”
My breath hitches. The room tilts, and I so badly want to melt into the carpet.
Then my father’s fist slams the desk, so loud we all jump. For a second the office is deadly quiet.
“I know,” he growls loud enough for some associates to gasp. “I know all of these things, Jonathan. My daughter is useless. She's flighty, has no sense of loyalty, and no interest in law.”
Useless.
I don’t move. I can’t.
My chest locks up, and I can barely breathe much less get my legs to function.
I stare at him through the glass of his office, waiting for him to look back at me and realize what he just said. To soften it. To take it back.
He doesn’t.
He keeps talking, but it’s all just white noise now.
I’ve always known I was a disappointment to him but hearing him say that in front of everyone here, makes me feel hollow inside.
I want to disappear so that no one can look at me and see how unwanted I am.
Happy fucking birthday to me.
“But she's a hell of a lot better than your so-called son and all the PR problems that come along with him.”
“PR problems my son caused? Are you forgetting your daughter is the one who fucked a homeless football player because she has daddy issues bigger than the fucking state?”
“Are you seriously going to compare her indiscretion to Jamie's?” My father's laugh is bitter. “The kid who impregnated half the town because he refused to use protection while he cheated on my daughter?”
This is too much.
I can’t sit here and listen to this.
Adjusting my shirt, I stand and haul my bag back over my shoulder. Then I make my way to the exit, my eyes only fixed on the elevator because if I look at anyone else, if I catch their eye and they see what's really behind them, I'll fall apart.
When the elevator doors shut behind me and I see the fractured image of myself again, that's when I finally admit it.
I'm broken.
I can't even make it out of the elevator lobby before my legs give out. I stumble to the wall, pressing my forehead against it, trying to remember how to breathe. People walk past without stopping. Without asking if I'm okay. They just... keep walking.
This is probably a normal sight for them.
I try to stand up straight, but my body won't cooperate. It's only when my phone won't stop buzzing in my bag that I finally pull it out, hoping for something—anything—that doesn't make me feel like I'm drowning.
Olivia: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABE!!! Landing tomorrow morning with Mike, can't wait to squeeze you!! Love you so much ????
Chris: Happy Birthday, Honey! The guys wanted to send you a video of them singing, but I told them we need to tone it down.
Chris: I know you're probably with Zach right now, but I'm here if you need anything.
Chris and Olivia. Both of them checking on me because they care about me. Actually care. Not because of Zach or what I can do for them.
But even having them doesn’t fix the hollow feeling in my chest, because my father’s words are still echoing in my head. Useless. Flighty. No sense of loyalty.
Another message comes through. Tiff this time, who is no doubt at Zach’s house now with little Ella. Guilt over not greeting her and Ella at the airport weighs heavily on me. They’re here because I helped make it happen, and I don’t even have the decency to greet them at the airport.
Tiff: Happy birthday, Honey! Zach mentioned that you weren't feeling great, so you might not be able to get to the game tomorrow. Can we come over to your dorm and see you before the game? Ella wants to give you the biggest hug. We'd only stay for a few minutes. Love you.
I press my palm against my mouth to keep from crying in the middle of the lobby.
Ella. Sweet, sticky-handed Ella, who smiles every time I walk into a room.
How do I say no to that? How do you tell a three-year-old the truth of the world and break her little heart?
How can I tell Tiff no when she’s offering me unconditional love?
When I only suffered through my father and Jonathan to help them?
I can’t.
I stare at the text, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard, but no words come. What am I supposed to say? That I'll be there with a smile on my face when I can barely stand? That I'll hug Ella and pretend everything's okay when my father just called me useless in front of his entire office?
The phone screen blurs through my tears.
I shove it back in my bag without responding.
Maybe my father's right. Maybe Jenni's right. Maybe everyone who's ever looked at me and seen someone not good enough has been right all along.
I push off the wall and force my legs to move.
One foot in front of the other.
That's all I can manage right now.
Just keep moving and get myself as far away from this place, and my father as humanly possible.