I take a chocolate-frosted cupcake and carefully peel off the wrapper. “I just got a job offer. From a media company. They want me to discuss writing for them. I could work from home and maybe give up my assistant job.”
Montana’s eyes widen. “India, that’s amazing! Tell me you’re saying yes?”
“I’m tempted. But the money is probably less than I’m getting at Walker Industries...”
“Screw the money!” Montana says in a very un-Montana-like way. “Look, money isn’t everything. You’d still have enough to keep up with rent, right?”
“Right...”
“And you’d still have time to write your novel, right?”
“Right...”
“And you’d even get to work from home. Or anywhere. That would be good, right?”
“I mean, yeah...” I grudgingly admit, still feeling a kernel of doubt in my stomach at the thought of leaving William.
Because, honestly, what other woman will be crazy enough to put up with him like I do?
But why do I care?
“So, what are you waiting for? Email them back and take the job!”
I bite my lip, still reluctant. I think of his arrogant blue eyes, and my stomach twists even more at the thought of leaving the bastard. Which makes me even madder at him for enslaving me emotionally in ways I don’t even think he’s conscious of.
“I mean...should I be rushing into this so fast? I don’t even know what kind of work I’d be dealing with yet. And I don’t have much experience, really. What if I screw it up?” I ask Montana, truly confused.
She takes my hand. “I’m telling you now—you are not going to mess this up. I don’t care if you don’t have experience. I don’t care if you don’t think you can do this right now. You will figure it out as you go along. There’s nothing you can do to ruin this chance for yourself...except not taking it.”
She’s right of course. She always is. I nod vigorously, as though trying to convince my body to keep up with my brain. I’m doing it. I’m doing it.
Inhaling for courage, then exhaling, I type up my response. Montana squeals and claps as I hit Send, and then I watch as she sneaks to the fridge and removes a bottle of champagne. I grin.
“Champagne? Really?”
“Yep. We’re celebrating. Let’s get trashed.”
I laugh as Montana fetches two glasses for us.
“Don’t you think we should take it easy? It’s Thursday night. We’ve got work tomorrow.”
Montana shrugs. “Not for me. I’ve got tomorrow off. And who cares if you show up a little hungover now, right? You’ve got a new job lined up. Come on... What do you think?”
It’s not my style at all. Come to think of it, it’s not Montana’s either. We’re good girls. We stick to schedules and plans and don’t allow for chaos in our lives. What are we doing, getting drunk when I have to be at work at eight tomorrow?
But I’m too nervous about my decision, and I could use something to ease the stress. I’m going for it. Montana hands me a glass of bubbly and I grin, raising it up.
“Cheers.”
* * *
I wake up Friday morning and bet it’s 5:00 a.m., like clockwork. Except today, trying to open my eyes is like trying to lift rocks from my lids. I feel nauseous. My stomach is still protesting the copious amounts of champagne I drank last night.
I sit up in bed with a groan. I know I must be late for work. There’s no way on earth that I managed to wake up on time. I glance at my watch and my heart seizes.
It’s 8:43 a.m.
Body, oh body, you failed me!
I’m going to be late to work on the day I hand in my notice. Shit!
Still feeling worse for wear, I shower as quickly as I can, throw on some clothes and call a cab. No time for the “L” today.
I watch the streets pass outside the window with dizzying speed. This is not how I planned to leave Walker Industries. I pray that I can at least keep my dignity when I walk inside to hand in my notice.
My watch says that I’m forty minutes late. Not as bad as I expected, but I already know that William will be furious. I dash for the elevator as the receptionist at the front desk watches me in wonder. I furiously press the button in an attempt to make it move faster. Someone is yelling, “Hey! Hold the elevator—”
And oh, my god, I press the close button. “Sorry!” I yell as the doors seal shut.
The sooner I get this over with, the better.
I head straight for the top floor, fanning myself, trying to stop the sweat pouring from me, but when the doors open on the top floor, my skin is soaked.
I already know where William is. I can see him in his office with three men in business suits. I curse. I was meant to sit in on the meeting this morning to take notes. William is going to be even angrier than I anticipated. Still, there’s no turning back now.
I stride with as much confidence as I can muster toward William’s office. I watch his head tilt upward as he notices me. His professional meeting face melts into pure, unadulterated fury. He rises from his seat just as I reach his door. I don’t wait for him to invite me inside; I just enter the lion’s den.
The other men turn to see who’s interrupting their meeting. I can hear my own breathing, heavy and loud in the otherwise silent room. William’s jaw is set, his blue eyes gleaming.
“You’re late,” he snarls. I take a deep breath.
“Yes, I am.”
“You need to change that attitude before I fire you on the spot,” William snaps, not caring that the other men are listening to every word. Our eyes clash, my whole stomach churning in rage for how he always treats me like this. And that’s the moment I realize how much I need to do this. I can’t stay in a place where a man gets off on humiliating me.
“There’s no need to fire me, sir,” I reply, flashing him a smile that’s sweet as sugar. “I fucking quit.”
William
What the hell?
I stare at India, wondering who the hell she thinks she is. She shows up here late, looking like she’s been dragged through a bush backward and then she has the audacity to stand there and threaten to quit? I watch her intake of breath as I take a step toward her. To her credit, she keeps her head held high, her eyes never leaving mine even though her breathing quickens.
Just like my damn heartbeat.
“What did you just say to me?” I ask, my blood boiling with rage and something else. Something I’ve never wanted to feel for her but can’t seem to control.
The closer I get, the more her scent reaches and teases my nostrils. Damn her. Still, she tilts her head back, refusing to break our stare-off.
“You heard me. I quit,” she says defiantly. I can feel my neck and jaw heating up. How dare she humiliate me in front of my clients? I push past her to open the door to my office.
“Out. Now,” I tell her. She folds her arms, smirking a little. She’s finally letting loose with the rebellious side I knew she had. At the worst possible time.
“You’re not my boss anymore,” she says, pouting