Kylie
I’m at my desk trying my best not to cry. I can’t cry here, not now. I must be big about this and take my punishment. I’ve done wrong, and I must bear the consequences. That’s how it works, right? That’s what being an adult is all about.
Except, I hate this. I lost my job just like I feared I would. Where do I go, now? What do I do?
Just beneath the threatening tears, panic waits for me. I know the moment I walk out of these doors I’m going to fall apart. It’s crazy how just a few weeks ago I had this master plan that didn’t end with me staying with RidgeCo anyway. But everything has changed. I’ve come to love this job. And Wes. What about him? What about us? I can’t even think about that yet.
It doesn’t take me long to pack my things. I’ve been at the new desk for such a short time I didn’t have time to accumulate rubbish. I guess it was a blessing in disguise. I tried very hard to be anything but devastated, and I failed.
Why couldn’t I just have stayed away from Wes? Okay, so he was my boss at the time. But I should have stayed away from him, told him no when he came onto me like that the first time in his office. No matter how much I’d wanted it.
Because he was as irresistible then as he is now.
I shook off the thought. He was trouble from the start, and I fell for it. And look where I am now, because of it? I’ve lost my job, my income. How am I going to take care of my mother, now? How am I going to find a new job? I will probably have to be a receptionist again because I wasn’t a project manager for long enough.
The thought of taking a step back in my career breaks the dam wall, and I start crying. I can be strong saying goodbye to my friends. I can leave the company behind. But taking a step back in life – that gets me. My eyes well up with tears and I scold myself for being such a baby.
The desire was so damn strong every time Wes made a move, I couldn’t resist. I should have. I should have resisted every time. I had a plan. But I wanted him as much as he wanted me.
Maybe if I was strong enough to resist someone like Wes, I would still have my job. God knows what Leon might have done anyway, but I know this is partly my fault. I should have been stricter, more set on saying no.
But I didn’t want to say no to Wes.
And the sex with him is the best sex I’ve had in my life. But I can’t think like that, I scold myself. No sex is good enough to lose your job over. No man is good enough to sacrifice your career, your future for.
God, I’m just an idiot.
I shouldn’t have slept with him. I should have resisted. I should have done the right thing and walked away, or reported him or something.
But, of course, I couldn’t do that. I wanted him and I had him and every moment that I did I loved it. Sure, I could have stopped, but I didn’t want to stop. So, I didn’t. That made me just as guilty.
I take a deep breath and start on my drawers.
No one stops by my desk while I’m packing. They’ve all heard, and I’m sure none of them want to see me or talk to me. I imagine it’s a scandal, they’re frowning down on me. I’m embarrassed and humiliated, and even if they want to come to me and offer their condolences, I don’t want it.
I stack all the work I’ve already done on the project on the corner of my desk for whoever is going to take over on this project. With Leon, me and Wes gone, I’m not sure how well the project is going to do, but I guess that isn’t my worry anymore. I imagine a new CEO interviewing new people for the same position, and I’m suddenly angry.
I’m furious. My blood boils beneath my skin, and I feel like I could choke on my rage. What am I so angry about? The injustice of it all, the fucking unfairness. I’m a woman, and I’ve been discriminated against. Leon has made me seem like a problem from the start and Wes has objectified me.
The latter isn’t true – or fair – and I know it. But I’m so angry, and I feel sorry for myself. I want to wallow in self-pity. I want someone to realize that I am a victim. Anyone. I was fired for doing nothing wrong.
I shake my head at myself. My reasoning is messed up. I came in with malicious intentions, and even though I quickly changed my mind, I can’t pretend it wasn’t the case. Then Leon was fired for how he treated me, but the rest is also my fault. I know that. I knew the policy existed and I chose to break it.
The sex was fantastic with Wes, too. I don’t think I’ve ever had sex that good, every time. If I’d turned him down the first time and insisted we follow company rules from the start, I would have missed out on the best sex and the most interesting situation I’ve had in a long time.
Which is exactly how I shouldn’t be thinking. I’m terrible for thinking what I did was good, for allowing myself to think at all that doing something that wrong was warranted.
I sit down in my chair and sink my head into my hands. The anger is replaced by something like dread and despair.
What the hell am I going to do, now? I worked as hard as I did throughout college to get somewhere that would pay the bills, that would allow me a comfortable life. I didn’t want to end up like my mother who had nothing because some man left her with half a life that she had to build herself.
I wanted to be more. I got that scholarship and everything.
And now? Now I’ve been fired, and I have living expenses and a student loan for my master’s degree to still pay off.
And I have nothing to show for all my hard work except a poorly concealed scandal and a job on my résumé that has the word “fired” in big red letters stamped across it so that I won’t be able to apply for a new position anywhere else without this horrible situation following me around.
I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to go back in time and change things. But, of course, there’s nothing I can do about what’s happened, and I must deal with the consequences. I must man up and accept my fate.
I can’t help but think it’s Wes’s fault. It’s my fault, too, but I blame him. What do I blame him for? For being so handsome. For being so damn good in bed.
For being irresistible and too comfortable about what we were doing, too confident that we wouldn’t get caught.
I blame him for everything I don’t want to blame myself for this situation. I’m trying to find an excuse or reason to say this wasn’t my fault, that I’m not the one that messed up.
But I know I did, and that’s a fact.
When I’m done packing up, I look around the office one more time. I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. It’s going to be horrible walking out of here. I have been a part of RidgeCo for many years. The promotion was new, working in this department was new, but I was a receptionist for a long time, and I knew everyone that walked through the doors, knew this building like the back of my hand.
I guess all good things must come to an end. And who would have thought that in the end I’d look back on my time at RidgeCo as a good thing? I harbored such anger for so long. But it really wasn’t founded in the end. That makes everything all the more bitter.
I stand up from my desk and pick up the apple box I used to clear out all my stuff. With the years here accumulated into one tiny little box, I head toward the elevator.
I balance the box with one hand while I push the button. I want for the doors to slide open.
When the doors ping and slide open, Wes is already in the elevator. I freeze when I see him. My stomach turns, and it’s like my body doesn’t know what to feel. I want to get excited that it’s him, but the anger overrides everything, and it squashes any positive feelings I have for him.
He’s carrying a box, too. I assume he’s heading out of the building the same way I am, but he doesn’t have nearly enough things in the box. Maybe he has to come back and clear out his office with a moving van. I only consider waiting for the next elevator for a second before I step in next to Wes and turn to face the door the same way he is.
The atmosphere in the elevator is strained. Usually, we’re so close to each other we can fit into the smallest spaces together without blinking. Usually, we can’t keep our hands off each other, can’t resist touching or kissing or fucking.
Now, the elevator is too small for the two of us and tension hangs between us so thick I can run my fingers through it.
I’m getting angrier and angrier. I know it’s my fault, but being angry is better than the alternative, which includes me having a meltdown and crying. I’m not going to do that in front of Wes, and certainly not anywhere anyone can see me when I walk out of the building. No, the anger is welcome. It keeps the rest of my emotions at bay.
I can feel him looking at me, his eyes burning on my skin. Not even two hours ago, I would have reacted differently to that. I would have looked back at him. I would have wanted him to do more than stare at me.
Now, I want him to get away from me as far as he can. I don’t turn my head and look back at him. I ignore him as if there’s no one else in the elevator but me.
“Kylie,” he says after a minute, “why are you being like this?”
I turn my head to him and blink. “Being like what?” I ask him.
“Why are you pushing me away?”
I can’t believe he’s asking me this.
“Because I lost my job because of what we’ve done. Which is exactly what I was afraid of. I don’t have all sorts of trust funds to fall back on.”
He frowns. “That’s not fair. This is horrible for me, too.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure. I can imagine how difficult it will be for you to find your feet and get into a new position again. Or live at home for however long you want because you have the cash for that kind of thing.”
“That’s not fair,” he says.
I shrug. I know it’s not fair but I’m furious, and I want to hold onto the anger for as long as I can because it holds all the other emotions from overwhelming me.
“Let’s just call it what it is, Wesley,” I say, and he flinches when I use his full name. “We messed up, we got fired, and now we’re leaving the building, going our separate ways.
“That can’t be what you want?” he asks.
I turn my head and look at him. His green eyes are dark and hurt. His face is serious. He looks as distraught and upset as I feel. His hair is a mess like he spent a lot of time pushing his hand into it in the last hour.
But I don’t care. I have to look out for myself now. I can’t get distracted looking out for someone else, or by his good looks. He will always be the most attractive man I have ever seen.
The elevator pings and the door slide open into the lobby.
“It’s exactly what I want,” I say and step out of the elevator. I walk away from him, clutching onto my box like it’s a lifeline, and I don’t look back.