But I refuse to just lie down and give up.
Pulling myself up by my imaginary bootstraps, I put one foot in front of the other and walk out my door. When the elevator doors open, the heavy fragrance of fresh flowers instantly engulfs me. The sweet scents of roses, lilies, hydrangeas, and lilacs are the most pronounced. Without conscious thought, I inhale deeply, drawing the bold aromas into me. The scents flow over my frayed nerves and soothe them, reminding me of a rural area I visited briefly during my summer internship. I round the corner and my eyes land on the security desk that’s lined with vases and vases of beautiful flower bouquets.
“Wow,” I remark to Daniel, the security guard. “These are gorgeous. Someone is lucky.”
“Someone?” he chuckles. “These are all for you. They started arriving last night and have kept coming, almost hourly. Someone loves you.”
“All of these are for me?” My eyebrows disappear into my hairline, my jaw is slack, and my eyes are transfixed on the dozen or so vases of flower arrangements.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies. “Jim and I called you last night, but we didn’t reach you. Do you want us to take them up to your apartment for you?”
The shock of the moment wears off, and I quickly step away from the desk as if it’ll burn me. My gaze flits over each one and I finally see the small, square card sticking out of each arrangement. No doubt there are various renditions of “I’m sorry,” “I love you,” or “I’m a fucking bastard who deserves to have my balls cut off and force-fed to me,” marring the perfectly designed generic florist cards.
My rage has returned full force when I meet Daniel’s eyes again. “No. I don’t want them. Any of them,” I say through gritted teeth. “Throw the cards in the garbage and give the flowers away. Take them home to your wife, Jim’s wife, your neighbors’ wives. Whatever. I don’t care. Just make sure they’re gone before I get back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies. He keeps his tone even, his posture relaxed, and his eyes neutral, as if he’s heard this demand every day. I can’t tell him how much I appreciate it, as that would break the facade, but I do give him a single nod of appreciation. He understands, returning the nod and doesn’t make another comment.
The good part of this encounter is that it seems to have infused steel back into my spine and helps me to face the day ahead of me. I have no doubt I’ll be assaulted with sights, sounds, and smells that remind me of Bobby all day. Hopefully, this anger and desire to cause him bodily harm will see me through until I can fall apart privately at home tonight.
Chapter Two
“Got a second?” Marcia Bettis, my supervising attorney, asks with a single rap on my open door.
“Sure. Come on in,” I reply as I look up from my laptop.
Marcia closes my door behind her, and my stomach settles somewhere near my ankles. It’s never a good sign when the boss wants to talk, privately, behind closed doors. She sits in the chair across from my desk, tilts her head to the side, and gives me a small smile. “How are you doing, Layne?”
“I’m okay,” I lie. It’s been three and a half weeks since I caught the cheating asshole and the skanky ex-best friend together. I’ve told no one at work about what happened because of my intense need to keep my worlds separate. “Why do you ask?”
“Honestly, I’m concerned about you. You don’t seem like yourself anymore. You’ve completely missed a few staff meetings when you’re normally the first one in the room. And just now, before I spoke, I stood in your doorway for a good five minutes while you stared at your laptop, and you never realized I was there,” Marcia replies, warmth infused in her tone. “Talk to me, Layne. What’s going on with you?”
“I’m experiencing a few problems in my personal life, Marcia.” I choose my words carefully not to give too much away and to shift the focus from my shitty personal life back to work. “I admit I didn’t realize it was affecting my job so much. But now that you’ve brought it to my attention, I will immediately step up my performance.”
Marcia regards me for a few uncomfortable seconds. In her later fifties, she’s around the age my mom would be now, and despite her tough-as-nails demeanor in the courtroom, she’s been incredibly supportive and nurturing toward me. She took me under her wing when I first started working here during my summer internships. She knows me too well.
She nods her head slowly. “That was a great, politically correct response. But that doesn’t answer my question.” Her eyes lock on to mine and her determination is clear. She won’t leave until she gets her answers. She won’t give up until she’s satisfied she’s squeezed every last ounce of truth out of me. And she uses sneaky tactics to trip up her victims, tactics I haven’t learned, much less perfected, yet.
But I know she has my best interests in mind.
“I hope you have a few spare minutes,” I sigh, conceding defeat.