Chapter One
I WOULD RATHER shave my eyebrows—and not be allowed to fill them in—than sit across from this halfwit for an entire ninety minutes. Working with your ex is as unfortunate as everyone claims—take it from me. Just when you think you’ve had a productive day, full of ass-kicking and sticking it to the “man,” you see that stupid, smug face staring back at you. It brings down the hype girl energy really quick.
Our conference room has tall windows and modern vibes. Not only can everyone in the meeting see how you interact with said ex, but so can everyone who walks by during said meeting.
“Let’s go ahead and get started.” Stella, my boss, kicks off the meeting. Her voice is barely above a speaking volume and yet, she commands the entire room.
“I’d like to go over the finishing touches for the Bliss4ul event and the follow-up strategy.” Stella speaks like the yoga instructors I pretend not to hate when I’m attempting a group class. Tell me yoga isn’t one of the hardest things you’ve done and I won’t believe you.
While the Bliss4ul—pronounced blissful—event is only two days, we’ve been planning it for months. One of our top-tier clients who brings in a quarter of our revenue, has made sure our team has been meticulous withthe details. If this client wasn’t so important, I’d definitely make fun of the random number in their company name.
Our marketing team discusses the tasks following the event, as well as social media content that will align over the next few weeks. Since this phase means everything is out of my hands, I zone out for a minute, once again mulling over that night a few months ago.
Jack was never all that creative; it’s fitting he’d sleep with his assistant, without checking to see if his long-term girlfriend was still at work. Inconsiderate. Idiot. Hell, he didn’t even check to see if anyone was still at the office; spoiler alert: I wasn’t the only one still here.
Jack was a dickbag for many reasons, but especially because the thing keeping me late at work was a last-minute urgent task he couldn’t take on. What he meant washe couldn’t take it onbecause Misty wastaking iton his desk—in an office which also has floor-to-ceiling windows. Classy.
I try not to laugh when I notice Jack’s wearing two different Gucci patterns. For someone who “doesn’t care about name brands and recognition,” he’s put himself in quite the outfit. I like how it screams “do you see me” with the worst kind of desperation.
“Jack. Ivy. What time’s the flight?” Stella glances between the two of us. Why is she asking Jack about flight details? I’ve made it clear that while I can work with him in an eight to five capacity, traveling is off-limits.
“Early. We board at 6 a.m.,” Jack responds while running his hands through his hair. This habit comes off as staged like he’s trying to be charming. In all reality, it makes his hair greasy.
Wearen’t boarding anything.
“Myflight boards at 6 a.m., yes, but Jack isn’t planning on taking this trip.” I try not to sound confused but my brain is scrambled. I shoot Jack a professional look which could only be interpreted as a courteous, “What the fuck?!”
It feels like everyone in the meeting is holding their breath. Peoplecasually walking by the conference room have slowed to try to sneak a listen. No one dares to move and eyes dart from me to the front of the room, avoiding eye contact. Probably because at any minute, lasers could blaze out from my pupils.
Since it’s a conference call, the video of the meeting room shows on a flat-screen TV. I’m sitting razor straight, not a hunch to be found, and I’m truly having a spectacular hair day. My long dark hair curls at the ends and stands out against my white top. When things are going south, it’s the little details that matter.
After the longest pause, in the history of pauses, someone finally speaks.
“It was my understanding Jack would accompany you. Since the two of you couldn’t find someone to get up to speed in such a short amount of time,” Stella explains. She catches my eye and immediately knows something isn’t quite right.
Before I can find a way to professionally ask, “What the fuck is going on?” Jack interrupts as we make eye contact.
“I’ve been working on a plethora of high-profile clients and urgent tasks. I didn’t have a chance to get to it,” he says like he’s been working on a cure for cancer. “No worries, I’m happy to attend and make up for my client time elsewhere.” He nods and smirks. “I love being a team player.”
The nerve to turn something he didn’t do into the greatest of deeds. Also, who says plethora? Dick. Bag.
Jack and I were supposed to attend this event together. Our relationship wasn’t a secret but we kept the traveling to a minimum. We did our best to keep our work and romantic relationship separate. Turns out the separation was easy for Jack because he managed different relationships—and girlfriends—depending on the setting.
After the very-public-cheating-fiasco, Jack agreed to find another colleague and bring them “completely up to speed” for this event, which were his exact words. I asked if I needed to check in on the progress andhe responded with, “Come on, Ivy. I know this stuff backwards. I’ll get it done.” No matter how questionable his morals were, it was rare for Jack to miss a deadline or forget a task.
Until now. How convenient.
It’s official, I’ll no longer be giving him any credit. My brain struggles to grasp what’s happening all while trying to keep my cool. Don’t want to feed into the emotional-woman-in-the-office stereotype. I relax my jaw and make sure my lips aren’t pressed into a thin line.
Even though it was the least he could do, he flat-out didn’t do it. Instead, he chose a monthly team meeting to share his “plethora” excuse, but not to worry because he’d behappy to go. I doubt Jack ever planned to follow through and this was his best shot at still attending the event.
No chance.
“No, no, Jack. I’d hate to put you out. Seems like a bit of miscommunication but I can handle it on my own. No problem.” I look down at my notepad and act as if I’m nonchalantly adding something to my to-do list when I’m actually writing “what a loser” in my prettiest cursive. “It’s a quick trip. I’ll be back before you know it.” My smile is forced and my voice sounds like a Stepford wife.
Stella nods in approval. Jack’s mouth turns down just enough for me to notice. He’s seething.
Good.
