Chapter 6
Chapter six
Audrey
Ididn’t sleep well last night. The cream-colored Egyptian cotton sheets I picked out for our apartment a year ago felt like they were strangling me, and as the elevator climbed to my office on the eighth floor I nervously adjusted my collar until I was pretty sure I’d permanently stretched out the shirt.
I pretended to be busy with something important on my phone as I walked past reception and into the safety of my office; a tiny gray room that smelled like synthetic air freshener and was void of natural light. At least it had a door that shut.
And the moment I was alone, I kicked off my heels and dropped down into the leather swivel chair at my desk, already mentally spent.
My shirt’s too tight around my neck, my skirt feels itchy, and I forgot my emotional support water bottle in my kitchen. Not to mention my evaluation with my boss is in three minutes—not nearly enough time to run across the street for the cappuccino my body so desperately needs.
Trying to find the positives, I think about what I can cross off my long mental to-do list. Both Penny and my parents worked on canceling the engagement party and informing the guests.
God bless Penny, who also asked that no one reach out to me right now.
Even if she hadn’t requested that, I knew I wouldn’t be hearing from the Tippins family.
Surely, I was public enemy number one. Jackson had probably spun some tale, casting the blame on me.
I was just a pawn in his life, nothing more.
It was a miracle I had arrived at work looking half-polished, with a fresh blowout and dewy face, because I was reminded, yet again, by the alert on my phone for my meeting that life goes on. Even with a shattered heart, I had business to attend to.
Steeling myself, I breathe in deep, roll my shoulders, and walk across the hall. Put on a brave face—the Elson way.
"May I?" I knock lightly on Ed Pierce's open door, and he beckons me in with an unreadable expression.
I sit in the stiff leather chair in front of Ed's mahogany banker desk. It’s similar to the one Jackson has in his study, and I wonder if this is who he'll turn into.
A man who avoids his family by marrying his work.
A man who never smiles and who speaks in textbook terms. A man whose tie is too tight and his gut too large.
Despite him being my manager for nearly five years, Ed and I don’t have much of a relationship.
The first year I worked under him, I was interning as a senior in college.
After all this time though, I'm still nervous sitting in this seat even though there is no reason to be.
I show up eager to please, have an excellent repertoire with the clients who are double my age, and play the part this financial corporation expects of me.
In all five years here, I never once questioned if this was what I wanted to do or where I was meant to be. This is just what I do, and here I am, knowing it's time to wager my promotion. It’s a checklist, a timeline, something predictable.
The last steady thing in my life at the moment.
"Your end-of-quarter numbers are above projections, as you already know." He gets right into it, offering a compliment that sounds like he's reading from a script. He clicks his mouse a few times, eyes no longer on me.
"Three new clients this month, correct?"
"Yes," I reply robotically, nodding along.
"Miss Elson, if you keep this up, you're going to be a director in five years by my predictions," he chuckles, but the words suck the wind out of me, and I have a hard time finding the humor in it.
Another five years. There’s nothing good about that amount of time. Nothing at all.
The room is starting to feel small and hot, the lights too bright. My mouth goes dry, and a slight ringing echoes in my ears.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?"
My eyes refocus, finding Ed’s, and I suddenly can’t form words.
If someone had asked me last week, I would have said in five years, I'd be happily married to Jackson Tippins.
We'd live in the exclusive Forest Hills neighborhood in our stone house, which we would've turned into a family home.
I'd be thirty-one and maybe even be a mother by then, if that was in my cards.
But now, as I sit at this desk, feeling smaller and smaller by the second, the answer escapes my mind.
"Are you listening, Miss Elson?"
At that, I perk up, clearing my throat.
"I apologize, Mr. Pierce. I am not feeling my best today, but I'm here." I plaster on the fake Elson smile, sitting up straight on the edge of the chair, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“I’ll make this quick then. With your record, if you keep putting in the hours you are, I believe you have real potential. This hasn't been announced yet, but the New York branch will be adding a position that would start in Q-four, end of September, really. They want you, Audrey.”
He pauses and all I manage to say is “Oh.”
“It would be a step up, with a sizable pay increase as well. I don’t make it my business to learn about my team's personal life, but I know you’re to be married this year. However, I would advise you to consider this offer.” He smiles smugly, adding, “You’d be closer to your family again as well.”
My heart flutters in my chest, and I rub my palms on my thighs. I don’t correct him about the marriage that isn’t happening anymore.
“Wow, I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t need an answer right now, but I’d urge you to consider it seriously, Miss Elson. Let me know by Friday before they open the position company-wide.”
Offering a small smile, I nod and scoot my chair back, eager to get out of here before I pass out.
“Thank you, I will consider it carefully.”
Back at my desk, I ignore my rapidly growing inbox of unread emails and instead find myself browsing real estate listings.
New York City is only an hour from my parent’s house in Connecticut, but it’s far enough I could have my own life there.
A fresh start. Away from this mess. Besides, a promotion would keep my parents happy for a while, maybe even make them forget about my imploded engagement.
Until now, I’d never seriously thought about a life in the Big Apple. But after the abrupt end to my chapter in North Carolina, maybe it’s time for something new. A way to ensure I don’t make the same mistake twice.
By the time I’m home that evening, I’m functionless from the bouts of mental gymnastics I had to perform all day just to stay focused.
Stripping off my constrictive business clothing, I put on my softest loungewear and fall back onto the sofa.
I flip on the TV, grab my Kindle, and phone.
I want every distraction so there’s no chance of self-loathing, or reminders of the work I didn’t accomplish today.
As I settle on rewatching my favorite comfort show, my phone buzzes.
Jackson: I’ll be home Wednesday evening—just wanted you to be aware. See you then Drey.
Slouching back on the sofa, letting the cushion swallow me, I toss my phone without following up to that unwelcome message. There’s nothing I could possibly say in response.
Normally I’d be planning a dinner out for Thursday night to one of his favorite places, maybe even inviting some of Jackson’s friends to keep him entertained.
But the thought of socializing turns my stomach, and there’s a small, satisfying relief in knowing I’ll never have to play host to Jackson’s circle again.