Page 20 of Bastard In A Suit, Vol. 3

Chapter 11

A week passeswithout further contact from Duke—or Alan—and I’ve fallen into a routine of moping around, sleeping, and watching Days of Our Lives with my upstairs neighbor. With my first check from Kingston Industries, I bought a coffee table, and another pint of ice cream. The rest sits in my bank account, untouched, like it’s somehow dirty.

Maybe I’ll take a trip—Italy? Mexico? Somewhere all-inclusive and hot.

I’ve scoured the papers, but most of the media attention on Kingston Industries has died down. Forrest won’t take my calls, and Jake…Well, I haven’t read much about Jake. My gut says he’s guilty and that just adds to my depression.

Snap out of it.

I keep trying to convince myself that Duke isn’t worth it, that I should be happy to be free. Except by chaining me to the company, I’m still trapped. Not just in this job, but under a mound of memories that refuse to fade. When my paycheck arrived, I spent twenty minutes tracing Duke’s signature, remembering how his fingers felt as they danced along my skin.

A shiver runs the length of my spine.

In search of distraction, I clean my apartment, stock my fridge with healthy groceries, and even buy a new cell. I’m just about to give the number to Alan Prentiss when it suddenly rings. Tentatively, I answer.

“Hailey? It’s Alan. You’re a hard girl to track down.”

My tongue trips up. “Sorry, sir. I got a new number and haven’t had a chance to tell people about it…”

“I have a crack team of IT guys,” he says, and I can hear the laughter in his voice. “They figured it out in the end.”

In record speed. I’d barely turned on the thing before it rang.

“Listen,” he says. “Duke Kingston has agreed to release you from your contract—no strings.”

My stomach flutters. “He did?”

Alan chuckles. “You bet. I didn’t even need to sic my legal team on him. So, if you’re still interested in that job…”

“I am,” I say, quickly. But the second the words come out, depression rears its ugly head. The hair on the back of my neck stands up with unease. This is exactly what I wanted—to be completely free from Duke’s chains—and yet, instead of being excited, I am incredibly sad.

A wave of emptiness rolls through me and I feel like I’m tumbling over the side of a cliff and into an abyss.

“Great!” he says. “I’ll have the contracts sent over to you right away.” Through the phone lines, I hear the unmistakable swoosh of an email being sent. “In fact, they should be there right now. Have a look at them. Any questions, give me a call back.”

I hang up, dizzied by this quick turn of events.

I’m grateful Duke has let me go, but my heart feels like it’s splitting in two. Working for FuturePlay is a wonderful opportunity, and I’m itching to use my skills. It just feels strange…painful…to apply them for someone else, even if it is “the” Alan Prentiss.

I fire up my laptop and scroll through a week’s worth of emails, most of them SPAM. I bypass the corporate rhetoric from Kingston Industries employees—there’s not one personal message from Duke—and click on the incoming mail from FuturePlay. My fingers tremble as I open the attachment.

The contract is everything I could have hoped for—and more. I’ll head up my own department, present at conferences and workshops, even travel the world. It’s clear Alan has done his research and every task listed is a reflection on how well he understands my skills. This, more than any position at Kingston Industries, is a dream job.

All I have to do is print off the paperwork, sign it, and a new corner office at FuturePlay is mine.

I take a deep breath and read through the conditions and clauses. Confidentiality is paramount, as expected, but I don’t feel as though I’ll be trapped. Alan has attached pictures of the office building, and while not as visually impressive as Kingston Industries, there’s a warmth that resonates.

Sign the contract.

I shrug off the voice in my subconscious—knee-jerk acceptance of the paperwork at Kingston Industries is what got me into this mess. If I’ve learned anything from this experience, it’s to slow down. Not rush into anything.

I close out of the email and start deleting the rest of the spam. A message from my college catches my eye. It’s an invitation to speak on a panel about technology and innovation. A different kind of thrill runs through me. The conference is one of the most well-known in the country, an opportunity to really showcase my talents.

A squeal of excitement ekes out from somewhere in my gut.

I fire off an email to accept the opportunity and slam my laptop closed. The conference is in three days. I need a new outfit, a visit to the salon, maybe even a pair of fancy shoes. This honor is the first true bright spot after a really dark week, and I plan to make the most of it.

But then my happiness abruptly fades as I imagine what my life might look like in a few months or years, and seeing it empty of the man who is all I can think about.

I know someday the pain of losing him will fade, but for now, the ache of missing what we had is destroying my excitement as quickly as it arises.