Page 14 of On The Edge

“A chance to be someone,” he repeats.

“But I have a boyfriend,” I blurt out, uncertain what else to say.

“Then break up with him,” Kevin deadpans.

“Easy for you to say.”

He nods resolutely. “Yes. It is. Quite easy. You’ve worked here how long? Eighteen months?”

He knows how long I’ve been working here? I glance over my shoulder to see if there is someone, somehow getting him up to speed on me. Or maybe that already happened. Maybe that was what his flurry of texts were as the meeting ended.

“Yes. Something like that.” I glance around the empty hallway and try to figure out what he’s getting at.

“And in that year and a half, I’ve never seen a trace of that boyfriend. Not at our Christmas party. Not at our summer picnic. Not flowers on your desk on your birthday. Not a peep about him to your co-workers.”

I blink slowly almost as if that will help me process what he’s saying better. How in the hell would he know—

“I know everything that goes on in my offices, Maddix.” He smiles, and I’m not sure if I should be reassured by it or worried by it. “I can’t be an effective boss if I don’t.”

I’m too flustered to argue with him or compute the fact that he knows all of this. That he’s actually right.

Michael and I are . . . casual. Comfortable. Boring. But maybe after a year and a half we should be more than casual and yet, neither of us have felt strongly enough to ask for more or do something about it.

Another conclusion I came to last night that is somehow perfectly timed with today’s unexpected events.

It’s like I’m hit by lightning as I stand here, looking at my boss’s boss. How was I wondering one minute what I was going to eat for lunch and the next minute realizing this strange opportunity might just be a way to get out of this town? Out of this rut? And on to the life I have pinned on my vision board on my wall in my apartment?

I shift on my feet as a thousand thoughts race through my head. I could quit. It’s not like I couldn’t find another job to give me marketing and brand experience to make ends meet. They are a dime a dozen with the same shitty pay scale. But . . . it wouldn’t be this job. With this company. One that has endless opportunities and connections if you can make it through the lower-level grunt-work phase.

But any other job wouldn’t have the base of my spine tingling. It wouldn’t have goosebumps on my skin and anticipation mixed with excitement pumping in my blood.

I’ve traveled. Not much. Not outside the United States other than Mexico. And this . . . this is a chance of a lifetime.

Holy shit.

I can’t believe I’m about to do this.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” he asks.

“Yes.” I nod, my heart all but jumping out of my chest.

“And the boyfriend?” He cocks his head to the side.

“He’ll understand.”

“Not understand. You have to break up with him.”

My body has a visceral reaction to the comment but only because I don’t want to hurt Michael’s feelings. Not because I actually think there’s a future with him.

“I’m aware.”

“No. I don’t think you are. If you don’t make a clean break, if you contact him and continue to play nice with him, the media and armchair detectives on social media will find out. They’ll have it plastered all over every site about how you’re cheating on their beloved driver. So you need to end the relationship before you leave for both the company’s and your sake.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “People are obsessed with their driver. They have no mercy for anyone who wrongs them. And the perception of you cheating on him?” He whistles in response.

“Jesus,” I mutter more to myself than to him. He has to be exaggerating. Has to be. “There were people in the conference room who know differently. Won’t they say anything—”

“They’ve all signed NDAs. They know our legal team and that it’s better to be tight-lipped than to say anything.”