But what kind of consequences?
Will he fire me? A slap on the wrist and a warning to never do it again? Will he slash my pay? Fuck, I can’t afford that. Not with over half my money going to my siblings.
I press my hands to my face, rocking back and forth, praying no one comes in and hears the full-blown panic attack I’m having.
Yes. That’s what this is. A panic attack. I need to calm the fuck down. I practice some yoga breathing, closing my eyes and taking long, slow, calculated inhales and exhales.
Then I analyze the scenario.
Worst case: he knows everything and my life is over.
More likely case: It is what it was, simply put. He thought I was spying on his phone call with his dad and was unhappy about it. Just that and nothing more.
I nod, swallowing even though my mouth is dry as the Sahara, and tell myself that’s all it was. After all, he didn’t mention anything else. If he did know what I know, what I’ve done—shoot, what I’veseen—I am pretty sure he would have done more than just verbally threaten me for all of two sentences.
Right?
Right.
I decide that I’m going to live with that story and move on. I get up and check myself in the mirror. Aside from flushed cheeks and a couple locks of hair out of place, I don’t look that disheveled. But as I make my way out of the bathroom, I can’t shake the feeling of what just happened.
He was so in my face, so intense, socommanding. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t going to replay that in my head but in a different context, one that leaves me writhing in my sheets.
“Stop it, Amara. No more. You’re going to give yourself away.”
I don’t realize that I said the words out loud until Susan from Accounting is suddenly staring at me, washing her hands with an odd look on her face.
I clear my throat, offer her a bland smile, and walk out.
For the rest of the day, I make sure Ransome has what he needs before he asks; that way, we have little to no interaction.
Normally, I love even the smallest run-in with him, even if it’s just him blowing past me to rip someone’s head off about something. But right now? Right now, I feel like I am wearing all my thoughts on my face.
They’re better left unsaid.
By the time I leave, I am nearly running out of the building. For one, it’s hard to keep up a disinterested persona. But also, I have a double date tonight, something Electra has not stopped blowing up my phone about all day.
I have just enough time to run home and change into something less professional. I go with a flowy teal dress that is more or less backless and crosses in the front in a way that makes my boobs look great.
It’s not that I want to impress the guy; I couldn’t care less about Jordan or James or whatever his name is. But I will also never hear the end of it if I don’t at least “try.” Electra reminds me regularly that“if you got it, flaunt it. And you apparently got all of it when God was divvying it out.”
It’s hot for autumn in New York. I debate on putting my hair up. I have a clip that is my go-to, one I wear at work a lot. It’s gold with a phoenix on it. Odd, I know, but I found it at a flea market with Belly and she insisted it wasslayand that I needed it tocomplete my vibe.
For some reason, I can’t find it anywhere.
So I resort to a couple of dollar store bobby pins. I pin up a few of the locks of my loose, flowing hair and slip into some strappy, wedge sandals, then rush off to the restaurant. It’s nestled in the middle of the city, surrounded by other bars, lounges, and restaurants.
Honestly, I was a bit surprised we were going to this one. Spice is a rather ritzy Thai place. I’m not sure who picked it but I really hope Jason or Jerald or Johnny is picking up the tab.
“There she is!” Electra shrieks as I approach the table. I am the last one to arrive and everyone stands as I approach to give me a sarcastic ovation.
“Sorry I’m late.” I smile, going through the normal motions of giving my bestie a quick squeeze and a cheek kiss before turning my attention to the guys. “I love that we are sitting outside. It’s such a beautiful day today.”
“You’re beautiful,” the blonde guy blurts and I realize I forgot to ask which one I am supposed to be flirting with. I assume but his forwardness that he’s my guy.
“You must be Jason,” I offer a hand and immediately see the confusion on his face and the eye roll from Electra.
“Thisis Jonathan…” Electra motions at contestant number two, the darker, more jaded man with no expression on his face other than an intense gaze and the tiniest hint of a smirk.
