When I finally stumble into the breakroom, reeking of bleach, the first thing I do is grab my phone.
You will not believe what just happened to me!
I know Jared’s probably asleep because he just came off night shift, but he’s still the first person I want to tell.
Because Deborah just offered me any placement I wanted. Not out of pity, but like she was acquiring talent. Like I was a good investment even when I was covered in Saint Bernard vomit and drool.
Giselle might have decided I was worthless without my looks, but Deborah just proved that the people who actually matter never cared about the surface. They never actually thought my face was the most important thing about me.
Maybe it just took losing it for me to figure that out.
Chapter 9
“You need to help me choose what to wear for tomorrow night,” I say to Jared.
It’s the Hero Awards banquet, which honors acts of bravery. And my amazing…friend with benefits…has been nominated to receive an award for talking down a man who was threatening to jump from the Harbor Bridge. Jared spent three hours on that bridge in the wind and rain, and the man’s alive today because Jared refused to give up.
“I’d really like you there,” he’d said when he invited me. Not “I need a plus-one.” I’d immediately said yes, but that was before I realized I’d have to meet his colleagues.
Now I’m panicking about meeting people who save lives every day, who probably all look like they stepped out of an emergency services calendar. Compared to me, the guy with the fucked-up face who Jared’s screwing on the side.
And then I start stressing about exactly how he’s going to introduce me? “This is Felix. We bone sometimes, but it’s totally casual,” or “This is my friend Felix. Don’t mind his face. He’s actually a decent person.” Will they ask about how I got my scars? I mean, from a group of paramedics and firefighters, it’llprobably just be professional curiosity, won’t it? My stomach churns at the thought.
“It’s suit and tie,” Jared says now, and I drag my attention away from my nerves back to his not very helpful answer.
“Well, duh. The question is, what suit and tie?”
Jared raises his eyebrows. “You have multiple suits?”
“Of course I have multiple suits. I used to work in fashion, remember?”
I grab his hand and drag him toward my bedroom.
“I normally like it when you drag me into your bedroom, but I’m not sure I’m going to like this,” Jared says, and I laugh before turning to my walk-in closet.
“I need you to be my fashion consultant.”
“I’m not sure if I’m particularly qualified for that position, but I’ll try,” he says.
The first suit is my safety option. Navy blue, classic cut, the kind of thing you wear when you want to disappear into a crowd of other men in navy suits.
“It’s nice,” Jared says from where he’s sprawled on my bed, Patches already claiming his lap.
“Nice?” I turn to look at him. “That’s what you say about your aunt’s potato salad when you don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“Okay, it’s boring. You look like you’re going to audit my taxes.”
I retreat to my closet and emerge in option two: charcoal gray with a subtle pinstripe.
“Better,” Jared says. “Now you look like you’re going to audit my taxes but feel bad about it.”
“You’re terrible at this.” But I’m grinning as I disappear again.
The third suit is one I haven’t worn since before the accident. It’s a deep purple velvet that catches the light, paired with ablack shirt. It’s the kind of thing Old Felix would have worn without thinking twice.
I hesitate before stepping out. “This one might be too much.”
“Let me see.”
