“So, you got a new job. Tell me about it,” Sean said, suddenly changing the topic. I smiled bitterly and waved my hand.
“Compared to yours it’s nothing special really.”
He smiled, not pressing the issue. His eyes sparkled again, and in that instant I felt a strong urge to get up and leave him behind. I had been wrong to think what Sean and I had was special. He wasn’t ‘the one’. He couldn’t be. ‘The one’ would never leave me behind.
“I’ve got to get packing,” I whispered, jumping from my seat. A forced smile played on my lips.
“Sure. Want me to—”
I held up my hand to interrupt whatever half-hearted offer he was about to make. “No, I’m fine. And congrats on finding a sponsor. It must have taken you weeks, if not months of hard work.” Hard work he failed to tell me about.
He straightened to kiss me on the cheek. I somehow managed to dodge him, grabbed my bag, muttered a ‘see you around’ and ran for the door, eager to get away from him as fast as I could. I didn’t hate him, but I also didn’t feel the way I knew I should have felt.
Once I reached my car and I dared take a deep breath of cold New York air, my heartbeat slowed down, and my hands stopped trembling. I drove home more carefully than usual. My cell rang once, and then beeped a few times with incoming messages. I looked at the caller ID and switched it off. I couldn’t blame Sean for following his dreams, when I was about to do the same. But I sure as hell couldn’t bear listening to him talking about it the way he did—with that sparkle in his eyes that told me he had found a passion greater than our relationship. My insides felt numb, but my brain was surprisingly lucid. So this was it. A year with Sean wasted, gone in the blink of an eye. The pain might come later. Right now I felt stupid for ever believing we had a future together. This job couldn’t come at a better time, and I was determined to get over Sean by focusing my whole energy on it.
Sylvie wasn’t in, for which I was grateful. I didn’t feel like company and even less like bitching about Sean, which was the only way Sylvie knew how to get over a breakup. I locked myself in my bedroom and texted Mom, telling her I couldn’t make it tonight because of my new job, and promised to call her as soon as I landed in Italy. For a minute I considered texting Sylvie in case she didn’t make it home before I left for the airport. It wasn’t unusual for her to find some guy and then spend the next forty-eight hours shacked up with him, oblivious of the world outside their bedroom. Eventually I decided to wait until ten p.m. in case she found her way back home after all.
I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and settled on my bed to flick through my contract. So far it looked better than expected. Great perks like health insurance, a brand new smartphone with two lines, one being mine and one belonging to Mr. Mayfield, and even a bonds package. A ten per cent pay raise once I got through the initial trial period of three months, company traveling with all expenses paid, and even a Christmas bonus. I liked what I saw and signed it right away, then spent an hour flicking through my wardrobe to choose what to take with me. I had clothes, lots of them, but I didn’t feel they looked like something a senior assistant would wear. Living in New York wasn’t cheap. After nine months of unemployment right before I landed my job—previous job, I reminded myself—my credit cards were maxed out, and I was still repaying my debt, so getting out there to buy new stuff was out of the question.
In the end, I borrowed Sylvie’s navy Jil Sander suit, and from the same collection a tailored, long-sleeved dress that ended just above the knee. They were the least expensive clothes in Sylvie’s stuffed-to-the-brim wardrobe, so I knew she wouldn’t mind me borrowing them. She usually preferred a riskier style anyway, think short and sheer, so she’d probably not even notice them being gone.
I was still flicking through Sylvie’s wardrobe when her key turned in the lock, and she walked in a few moments later.
“Are you ransacking my stuff?” She lifted the navy suit I had decided on earlier and smirked. “You could have picked something less—”
“Boring?” I prompted.
“I was about to say matronly, but boring will do.” She tossed the suit aside and sat down on the bed, tucking her naked legs beneath her. Her skirt was so short I could see her frilly Victoria’s Secret panties.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
“Actually, you’re doing me a favor.” She shot the suit a dirty look like it was about to steal her purse.
“I got kicked out of the department,” I said, ready to share my big news.
“What? Was it that prick, James?” She inched closer and wrapped her left arm around my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Brooke.” I could tell by her excited expression that she wasn’t. “But seeing the bright side: now we’re two unemployed chicks with the margarita world at our feet.”