“Is it stressful?”
“Oh, no, I like it.”
It might be a slight exaggeration. It pays well and I sit at a computer. Not bad, right?
He’s on his tablet and I don’t go into details about how I’m about to blow up my life even more.
“You don’t have a car.” He says matter of factly, not looking away from his device.
“Yeah.” I’m confused. “I do, I mean. Jared took it to—you know.”
“To go and cheat on you with your supposed friend.” His tone is even and clinical, like a coroner examining the carcass of myrelationship.
Fury bubbles under my skin so fast I see black spots.
“Will somebody pick you up?”
The question comes out of left field and cuts the wind in my sails.
“No, I’ll walk to the main road and take the bus. You might not be aware, but there are these big cars with more than two seats. People use them to get around.”
He levels me with a blank stare, not amused.
“We leave in ten minutes. I have some business in town,” Carter says, like I’m one of his employees. Theoretically, I suppose I am, but still.
“What’s with you and ordering me around? I don’t need your pity drive.”
His eyes widen then narrow dangerously. “I’ll go either way. It’s your choice if you’d rather traipse through the woods to work.”
He goes back to ignoring me and I’m left boiling with anger. Furious at him for his aggravating logic and attitude. But also at myself because I know I’ll accept his help yet again and it’s eating me inside. His voice echoes on repeat in my head.Charity case. No matter how hard I try to hide them from him, he’s got a sadistic talent for digging up all my problems.
Mercifully, Carter refrains from being an arrogant ass during the ten-minute drive. It gives me the chance to catalog the interior of his rental to keep my mind from spiraling. I’ve always admired the expensive cars cruising through town or parked at the marina when the owner of one of the yachts comes in for the season. But I’ve never actually been inside one until now.
Nestled in the leather seat I leave as much distance between us as humanly possible. In an enclosed space, Carter’s presence is overwhelming. His smell and the heat of his skin when he uses the armrest fuel the rapid thrum of my heart. I’m not scared of him. Rather drawn in, like Martha to the yarn discount bin.
“Please stop here,” I plead when we’re too close to the office.
“Don’t you—” He points into the distance, where the GPS shows the red pin.
“Thanks,” I yell over my shoulder while I dash out of the car. I want to avoid unwanted attention. That won’t happen if a Maserati drops me off in front of the building.
This end of Main Street is less historic and whimsical than the opposite end that plunges into the harbor area. It has a more utilitarian feel, built to house new businesses, low-rise residential buildings similar to the one I lived in until three days ago, and less traditional seaside places. I zoom past Quinn’s coffee shop, the tendrils of panic tightening around my lungs with each step I take.
The gray building looms on the other side and my knuckles are white from gripping my bag. I force air in and out in slow succession while I stare at the weather-washed Vista Pine Paper Company sign over the entrance.
Working in the Supply Chain Department is not the most exciting job, but it pays the bills. Brain-numbing, but safe. And I’m about to walk away from it.
I’m frozen in place. The prospect of handing in my resignation and facing coworkers doesn’t make my legs move. They’ll pity me or laugh at me for being soblind and naive. I got cheated on with somebody prettier, funnier, so sure of herself. Who’s Eliza to compete with her?
It’s not until a car horn makes me jump out of my skin that I practically throw myself across the street, so I won’t change my mind.
The access card trembles in my hand as I swipe it three times before the beep of the door pushes me forward on wobbly legs. I take hesitant, slow steps like I’m walking through a land mine. I want to avoid running into people I know but I can’t concentrate with the erratic pulse whooshing in my ears.
The stairs are a better idea than risking getting trapped in the elevator with any of the people working here or, God forbid, Amy or Jenna.
Anxiety propels me up the stairs but my leg muscles cramp and I’m panting by the fourth floor. In the darkness of the stairwell, I stop to catch my breath against the metal door. I don’t get much of a reprieve when a burst of laughter follows the sound of the door creaking open some floors below. The Customer Service team is like clockwork with their smoke break. They’re nice people but worse gossipers than my so-called friends and I don’t want to get on their radar.
I slip through the door, holding it steady with increasingly sweaty palms. A few more steps and I’m facing my manager’s door. Luckily his office is in the hallway to the elevators and not in the open space that takes up half the floor.
