“How long has it been?” I raise an eyebrow. “Because unless it’s been over a week, it can’t be worse than getting kissed by someone who runs away afterward.”
She looks down at her food.
“How long?”
“About an hour.”
“Whore. What the hell, man? An hour.”
“Yeah, Carson is really neglecting me.” She grins.
“Stop rubbing it in.”
“Sorry. As for you, the man was clearly delusional. Like I said, he sounds like a bit of a weirdo. Honestly, Bridge, don’t worry about it. You have way too much going on in your life to worry about some sociopath who makes out with you and then leaves you high and dry. He probably can’t get it up anyway.” She brings her cup to her mouth and takes a sip of her brew. “Want my suggestion on what to do?”
“Sure.”
“After this, head to Barney’s, buy a new outfit, and kick some ass.”
“That’s all well and good, but I’m kind of on a budget. Internships and temp jobs don’t exactly pay worth a damn and, well . . . I don’t even have a job at this moment, remember?” I purse my lips.
“Have you talked to Karen?”
“Hell no. She’s worse than Miranda Priestly.”
“Who?” Lynn’s eyes widen in question.
“Devil Wears Prada—duh.”
“Of course, your cultural references will be from a chick flick. She sounds scary.”
“Frightening. And FYI, it was a book first.”
Lynn leans toward me, giving me her no-bullshit smirk. “Here’s some tough love. Suck it up, buttercup, and have the talk with her. At the end of the day, her client was in the wrong, not you.”
“You’re so smart.”
She winks and dives into her plate of fried grease.
She’s right, and I know I need to own my decision. Scary or not, I need a job.
Hangover and all, I find myself sitting across from Karen. The sneer on her face has my back going ramrod straight. She’s definitely not happy.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing walking out on the Axis Agency? You will go back there today and explain this was all a misunderstanding. He’s a legend. The best in the business. I can’t afford to piss him off.”
“I can’t ever go back there. He—”
“I don’t give a crap what he did. He’s the most influential person in marketing. Piss him off, and there goes every chance of getting a full-time job. If he decides you’ll never work in marketing again, guess what? You’ll never work in marketing again. That’s how this business works.” She clenches her jaw while drumming her nails on the desk. “If it weren’t for your sister and Spencer Lancaster, I’d never place you anywhere.”
I hate that the only reason I’m even getting a job is because of Olivia and her boyfriend. I hate that my own merits aren’t enough. But what am I going to do? Normally I’d say something, but in this case, she’s right. I know she’s right. In the marketing industry, securing a job in Manhattan is close to impossible. Coming in as a summer intern, learning the ropes and securing the connections I need would have landed me a job come September. Or at least, that’s what all my professors promised me back in school. Instead, I had to do a summer semester and missed my chance at most fall internships. When I landed Barkly it was a dream come true, but that fell through. My options are limited now, and I can’t afford to burn any bridges. Because as much as I adore my parents, I refuse to mooch off them any longer.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I finally answer. “I’m a hard worker, but not in situations that make me uncomfortable. If I need, I’ll press charges. That’s how serious I am about never returning there.”
Karen remains stone-faced but doesn’t say a word. We embark on a staring contest. I know these rules. The first to break eye contact loses. I refuse. I won’t back down. Grant’s words from the other night replay like a mantra over and over again, acting as my anchor.
You did the right thing in leaving.
“Leave. I need to think about how to handle this situation,” Karen says, turning away and effectively breaking our contact.
My fingers press into the skin on my forearm, the sharp bite of my nails silencing me. The urge to defend my decision is all-encompassing, but I know better. And as much as it hurts my pride, I stand and exit.
I did hold firm, and she did lose the battle of wills, but does it matter?
It’s been two days since the bar, and I can’t get Bridget out of my mind. I know it’s a dangerous game I’m playing, but I can’t control it.
I pick up the phone and call the head of security for The L. “Mr. Lancaster,” he answers.
“Miles, I’m going to need you to look into someone for me.”
“Not a problem, sir.”
“Her name is Bridget. She mentioned that she was working at a marketing firm but had to walk out. The temp agency she got the job through was the Karen Michelle Agency. Get me the details.”
“On it.”
I place the phone down, anxious to hear what he has to report. This girl has made me a weak and desperate fool. It’s not the first time I’ve been a fucking idiot where a woman is concerned. You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson.
I should call back and tell him to forget it. I should, but I won’t. I need to know something, anything about her. Maybe just a kernel of information will be enough to stave off the curiosity because that’s all it was: a passionate moment outside a bar with a stranger. A stranger who was desperate just as I was.
Yes, just one more piece of her is all I need. Information will curb the hunger.
Fucking idiot.
I’m sitting at my desk a day later, and everything is grating on my nerves. Spencer keeps calling. Ever since we had our little “heart-to-heart” after his girlfriend, Olivia, overdosed, he’s been waiting for me to talk to him. When he called months ago, it was right after Chelsea convinced me to bid on a property she’d found out he was interested in purchasing. He wanted me to tell him why I outbid him. But at the time I wasn’t ready to talk about the past. Hell, months later, I’m still not ready to talk to him. For so long my objective has been to destroy the legacy my brother stole from me, but now that resolve has changed. Something changed that day on the phone. When he yelled at me, telling me his girlfriend had just struggled for her life, I’ve never felt like a bigger asshole. His words hurt. Hearing the pain in his words hurt. But when his voice dropped and he said, “I want my brother back,” any residual fuel to hurt him faded away.