Going to be a fun day.
When we reach the parking garage, I watch her walk toward the SUV where Callahan is already waiting. I watch her climb into the back seat withoutlooking back. Watch Indira pull the vehicle out of the garage.
Then I’m alone.
My phone buzzes. The board meeting. Donors panicking. A company burning down around me while the woman I’m falling for drives away believing I’m exactly the kind of scarred monster I’ve spent ten years trying to prove I’m not.
25
Bree
I’ve been wearing the same oversized NYU hoodie for forty-seven hours.
This is what rock bottom looks like, apparently. Not glamorous weeping into a pillow or dramatically staring out rain-streaked windows. Just me, unwashed, surrounded by empty Ben & Jerry containers and scrolling through news alerts about myself like some kind of masochistic gremlin.
Briana Dawson, 27, executive secretary.
Sources say the CEO’s relationship with his subordinate raises questions about professional boundaries.
Pattern of manipulation.
I refresh the page again.
Stop refreshing.
You’re not going to find anything new.
But I do it anyway, because apparently I hate myself.
My phone buzzes. Again.
I’ve had it on silent since Monday, but every time it vibrates against my coffee table, I flinch like it’s a live grenade.
Could be work.
Could be reporters.
Could be Nico.
I haven’t looked.
Coward.
Yeah, well. Add it to the list.
The knock on my door a few minutes later makes me jump hard enough to spill warm ice cream on my laptop keyboard.
“Bree, I know you’re in there. Open up or I’m using the emergency key!”
Sora.
I drag myself off the couch and unlock the door. My best friend takes one look at me and winces. “Oh, honey. You look bad. Like, really bad.”
I force a smile. “Thanks. Really needed that.”
She shoves past me with a paper bag that smells like Thai food and a bottle of wine that looks expensive.
“Sit. Eat. Talk.” She points at my couch like she’s commanding a particularly stubborn golden retriever. “In that order.”
