Gatsby doesn’t want me to stay over tonight, so I go home in a foul mood. I want to help him, but I don’t know how. Everything is suddenly getting very complicated and complex. We haven’t been together long, I don’t even know if we’re ‘together’, and now there’re all of this business and family matters to deal with. I need a break, but I can’t take one. I don’t really want to either.

I go home, disenchanted. I’ve been staying over at Gatsby’s house a lot, and I know that I’ve been neglecting Maggie Mae. I don’t care and want to stay over another night. But he’s shutting me out, and I feel myself growing more clingy.

“Hey there,” Maggie says.

I find her sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of wine.

“I didn’t think I was going to see you today,” she says. She’s a little drunk, and I dread talking about this right now. I try to go straight to my room.

“Hey, listen, I’m really tired.”

“So you’re actually staying here tonight?” she asks.

“Yes, of course.” I nod.

She’s leaning back in the chair, glaring at me.

“Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t been here that much. I promise we’ll catch up tomorrow. I’m just really tired right now.”

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes and stands up. “I don’t need your insincere apology.”

“Insincere?”

“Yeah, insincere!” Maggie Mae’s slurring her words. She’s drunker than I realized.

“If you’re not going to be here, if you don’t want to be here, then don’t. Then just go over there and move in with him!”

She gets up and starts stumbling around the kitchen. I walk over to try to hold her up, but she pushes me away. I didn’t realize that she was this mad.

“I don’t need you, Annabelle. You know that? You were the one that needed me!”

She smashes her body into the kitchen counter, knocking over a half-empty bottle of red wine. The bottle shatters, and the wine goes everywhere.

“Oh, shit!” I run to her to make sure that she’s okay. But Maggie Mae simply steps over the glass and walks to the bathroom.

She doesn’t close the door, and I hear her throwing up into the toilet. I leave the mess and go to her. With her head buried in the toilet, she begins to sob and utter something. But I can’t make out what she’s saying.

“What?” I ask over and over, holding up her hair.

“We broke up!”

“Who?”

“Me and Elliot,” she says through her sobs.

I have no idea who she’s talking about. Oh, my god, I’ve been more absent and self-absorbed over the last two weeks than I even realized!

“He dumped me. He said he didn’t want to see me anymore.”

I pull hair out of her face and wrap my arms around her. I feel so sorry for her. And I hate myself for not being here for her.

“You don’t even know who Elliot is,” she says accusingly.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been so distracted. With all the work—”

“Oh, please.” She gets up and runs her mouth under a stream of water. “You’ve just been too busy fucking your boss to pay any attention to anything else that has been going on.”

“You’re right. You’re totally right.” I nod. “There’s no excuse for any of this. How can I make it up to you?”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head.

In her room, I help her change into her pajamas.

“I’m really sorry, Maggie Mae. But I’ll be there for you more in the future. It’ll be just like before. I promise.”

Maggie Mae finally relents. She lets me pull the covers over her and whispers, “Okay.”

---

Back in my room, I lay in bed relieved. I really messed up. Maggie Mae was there for me when no one else was, and I have been a terrible friend. Everything that has been going on with Gatsby is no excuse. It’s just selfishness and self-involvement. No guy is worth this.

My mind starts to go in loops. But then again, Gatsby isn’t just any guy. I am really starting to fall for him. He might even be the one. Really? The one? I’ve known him for barely a few weeks, and he lied to me through many of them. No, I can’t let myself think like this. It gives him too much power, leaving me with barely any. But something about that was also sexy.

Shivers run up my spine, and I have trouble falling asleep.

The following morning, I get to the office a few minutes late, and Gatsby is already waiting for me.

“Atticus is coming today,” he says.

He’s drinking a cup of coffee that I was supposed to make for him.

“How long have you been here?” I ask.

“Since five am. I had a lot of things to get done.”

“So how was your night?” I ask. I want him to tell me that he has missed me.

“Sleepless. I fucking hate Atticus for doing all of this.”

I nod.

“So what are you going to do?” I ask.

“I have no idea. I have to see what he says about everything.”

“What?” I ask accusingly. I should give him some space, not just saddle him with my opinion on the subject, but I can’t keep my mouth shut.

“What?” He asks.

“What are you talking about?” I ask. “You can’t just hide this, Gatsby. You can’t just not tell the shareholders about this. Then you’ll be an accomplice.”

He shakes his head. I feel myself getting through to him.

“They’ll blame you for all of this, you know that, right?” I continue. “They’ll think that you were in on it all the way.”

“That’s if they find out.”

“Of course they’ll find out. They always do.”

“You don’t know my father. He’s a very powerful and influential man.”

I look straight at Gatsby. His eyes are no longer twinkling. He looks defeated and lost. I shouldn’t have left him alone last night. I should’ve insisted on staying with him. Maybe then he would’ve gotten some sleep. Maybe then he would be thinking straight today.

“What, why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“Because I just can’t believe what you’re saying. This is ridiculous.”

“This is ridiculous?!” He starts to get angry. His cheeks flush, and his eyebrows furrow in discontent. “You know what’s ridiculous? Taking business advice from some personal assistant. How dare you speak to me this way. Who do you think you are?”

I shake my head. I can’t believe what he’s saying.

“Answer me!” he roars. “Who do you think you are, Ms. York? You speak to me as if I need your advice. You’re just my assistant. Nothing more!”

“Nothing more?” I whisper. “Silly me, I thought that we had something…”

“We have nothing! We are nothing. You’re just some girl that I fucked for a while. So what? Does that give you permission to fuckin’ advise me on personal family matters? No!”

I step away. The man before me no longer looks like the person who I left last night. Or even the person from only a few minutes ago. His eyes are filled with hate and anger. He really doesn’t think any better of me, does he? Of course not. I shake my head. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It can’t just end like this.

“My father and brother are going to be here soon. I need you to go.”

I nod but don’t move. I can’t. I feel like my feet are glued to the floor.

“NOW!” Gatsby roars in my face. I wipe little droplets of spit off my cheek and turn to walk away.

I turn to go to my office. I want to lock the door and not see him for the rest of the day. But he stops me near the door.

“I would like you to collect your things and leave now, Ms. York.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

I feel him watching me. I head toward the desk and grab my purse. I stuff some papers into it and look back at him.

“I’m sorry that you didn’t think that we had something special. Because I did,” I say.

“Well, then you don’t know me very well.” He laughs.

“No, I guess not. I don’t think I know you at all.”

I try to walk past him, but again he stops me.

“Can I get through, please?” I say.

“You didn’t take everything.”

I look at him. I thought that he was just sending me home for a day. Maybe a few days.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying that I want you to leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yes, please take all of your things. Otherwise, I can get Ms. Greaves to send them to you. But you’re not invited back here again.”

I shake my head. My heart feels like it’s about to stop.

“Am I fired?” I whisper.

We are still standing in the middle of the doorway. He’s so close to me I can hear him breathing. He takes a moment to answer. I want him to change his mind. But he doesn’t.

“Yes.” he nods. His eyes are firmly on mine. He means what he’s saying. He doesn’t want to take it back.

I feel tears welling up behind my eyes. But I can’t give him the satisfaction of hurting me. I hate this man. I love him at the same time. I thought I knew him, but now I realize that I don’t. He’s a mystery. An enigma. And now, he’s no longer my enigma.

I go back to my desk and gather a few things. I don’t have much here that belongs to me. I meant to bring in a plant last week, but I didn’t even do that. I grab all the pens and pencils, even though only three are mine. I take the eraser that I brought thinking that I could actually get some sketching done while I was here. I take the sketch board. Nothing else is mine. It’s embarrassing how little of an impact I’ve made on this place.

Suddenly, my mind goes to the woman who I’ve seen leaving the place when I still worked outside with Ms. Greaves. Oh, how nice and normal that time seemed to be. Now, I wish more than anything that I could go back to it. To return to that girl sitting at that big desk and tell her not to come here. Not take the job inside the big cube near Gatsby. Mr. Wild, whatever it is that I’m supposed to refer to him as. The woman who was escorted by the security guards was carrying a large box with all of her things. I’m leaving with nothing. Everything I have fits into my rather small purse. But I can’t bear to think about this any longer right now. I still have Gatsby to get through.

I turn to face him again. He’s still standing in the doorway. His eyes are steadfast now. Sparkling again. Is this making him happy? Is he completely different from the man I thought he was? Disappointment courses through my veins. I want to hit him. Punch him hard in his face. Shake him and demand to speak to Tristan, the kind, sweet guy I met in Yosemite. I can still see that man somewhere behind the façade, but I don’t dare raise a hand to him. I don’t want to be crying and panting and cursing when they eject me out of this place. I will leave with dignity and grace. He deserves neither, but it’s not for him.

“I really thought you were someone else,” I say to him when I get close.

“I’m sorry for you,” he mocks me.

“I’m not.” I shake my head. I don’t know where all of my strength is coming from, but it’s holding me up and making me say things that I never knew possible.

“And why’s that?”

“Because I found out the truth about you now rather than two weeks, two months, two years from now. You saved me a lot of heartache. And for that, I thank you.”

I can’t believe those words actually came out of my mouth! From the look on Gatsby’s face, he’s just as surprised as I am. His jaw even opens a bit.

“Close your mouth,” I say. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”