Tish nearly chokes. “What?”
“He’s the one who sent Kurt after me after he fired me. HR wasn’t impressed.”
“Oh my god.”
“It gets better,” I say, lowering my voice like I’m about to spill the hottest tea in Hollywood. “They offered me my job back.”
She gasps. “No.”
“I turned them down.”
Her eyes glimmer with pure joy. “You’re a legend.”
I shrug, smiling. “I’m finally feeling like it.”
And for the first time in days, I feel like myself again. No—not just myself. More than who I was before. Stronger. Clearer. Freer.
“This demands a drink,” Tish declares, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Tish,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”
She waves a dismissive hand like time is a social construct. “It’s five o’clock somewhere. Besides, after what you just pulled off? You’ve earned champagne for breakfast.”
I stifle a laugh. “Don’t you have work?”
“I did. But seeing as my boss just got fired, I think we cansafely assume the office is in chaos. No one’s going to notice I’m gone.” She grins, all teeth and defiance. “Come on. Let’s toast to your badassery.”
I can’t help but laugh this time. “Let’s go.”
We walk to a nearby restaurant with a cozy little bar tucked inside. Tish orders something sparkling and celebratory, naturally, while I stick with water.
“Water?” she moans, looking offended. “We’re supposed to be celebrating, not hydrating.”
“You celebrate for the both of us,” I say, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “I’ve got a letter to write.”
At that, her teasing softens. She reaches out, touching my arm. “That’s fair.”
“Yeah.” I stare at the condensation sliding down the side of my glass. “It’s time.”
“Want help?”
I shake my head. “I think this is something I need to do alone.”
She nods, raising her glass. “To finding your voice again. To clean exits and full-circle moments.”
I tap my water against her glass with a soft clink. “To Sam.”
And even though my heart aches, I know what comes next might just be the most important thing I’ve ever written.
We stay at the restaurant longer than I expected. News about Frederick and Kurt spreads like wildfire, and one by one, coworkers trickle in, drawn by curiosity, shock, and the collective desire to gossip over fries and overpriced cocktails.
At one point, I hear Jenny—the same Jenny who used to drool over Kurt in the break room—lean across the bar and say to someone, “I always had a bad feeling about him. Total snake energy.”
Tish and I lock eyes. The look we share is all it takes. We both burst into laughter so loud it turns heads. It feels good. Like exhaling weeks of tension all in one breath.
But eventually, the crowd thins. The adrenaline fades. And the weight of the letter I still haven’t written settles back onto my chest like a stone.
“I should go,” I murmur, gathering my things.
