I take a long sip, staring at my phone, contemplating throwing it into the nearest trash can.
Because of course. Of course.
Liam had to reject me with extra smugness.
RE: Future Innovators – Partner Opportunity
Hey Delilah,
Appreciate the message. I have to be honest—I wasn’t sure we’d be a great match, so I locked in with someone else. I had a few offers to choose from, most of them people I really liked.
- Liam
That’s it?
No exclamation points or “good luck” at the end. Just flat, impersonal rejection.
I groan out loud, letting my forehead drop to the bar.
I wasn’t sure we’d be a great match? What the fuck does that even mean?
Did I not seem architect-y enough for him? Did he sense my seething hatred through the email?
And then, like a dumbass, I scroll down back to the email I sent him and I’m not surprised he ignored me.
Ugh. I sound like a perky LinkedIn recruiter or something. No wonder he rejected me.
And now that I think about it…
Didn’t I used tohateLiam? Or have an argument with him or something?
I squint at my phone, memory kicking in.
Freshman year at a late-night study group. Liam said something annoying and sexist. I said something back, accidentally out loud. Something about how his voice sounded like a YouTube ad you couldn’t skip.
Yeah, good job Delilah. Roasting him in front of everyone might have cost you the grant and your future, was it really worth it?
Moe’s is half-empty, the low hum of conversation blending with the scratchy indie music playing from the speakers. The smell of cheap beer, old wood, and greasy fries lingers in the air, the kind of scent permanently embedded into the bar itself.
It’s too early for the real crowd to be here. Just a few scattered students in booths, some older locals nursing pints at the bar, and me—pathetically swirling a watered-downwhiskey sour, contemplating how my life has sunk to this point.
“You doing okay there, champ?”
I lift my head just enough to glare at the bartender.
“Absolutely not,” I mutter.
I refresh my inbox for the hundredth time, scanning the list of names again, trying to figure out who the hell I’m supposed to reach out to next.
And then?—
“God, people are so fucking annoying.”
The voice comes from a few seats down, low and irritated as hell.
I glance over.
And of-fucking-course. It’s Troy Hawkins.
