“I don’t want a fucking pity job,” I say, my voice slightly shaky at the thought. I clench my hands as though that will steady my vocal cords.
Curie nods. “I understand.”
Her ready agreement doesn’t relieve my anxiety. “I’m being stupid, aren’t I? Overthinking everything.”
“That’s how you are when you’re dealing with a big decision. The only one who you just went along with was Court.”
She’s right about that. I slept with him the night we met because I liked him. A lot. And then… I just couldn’t say no to him. Probably because deep inside I wanted to be with him, no matter what excuses I came up with.
“I’m on your side.” Curie puts her arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “You always do what’s right, whether it’s about your job or Court.”
“But it feels so scary.”
“How come?”
“The one-night stand was easy because I thought it was just one night. But now, I feel more for him.” I swallow. “I still love him for all that he is—his smile, his sweet personality and generosity. And I realize now that I reacted much worse than I might have, because seeing Dad’s superior smirk just hours before confronting Court put me in this terrible mental space.”
Curie nods. “So why don’t you unbend a little? He’s been trying to reach you, but you’ve been ignoring him.”
“The stakes seem so big.” I pick at the skin around my thumb. “And I wonder if Court’s attitude is innate, the way Dad’s is. Like, because of the way he was brought up, or what he’s always been surrounded with. People don’t change. Just look at Dad. We just didn’t know because he never had the opportunity to show that side of himself. So…if it fails, I’ll have nothing except a broken heart.”
Curie looks at me long and hard. “So how is that any worse than where you are right now? And what if it works? I know weighing all the risks and probabilities and stuff that makes my head spin is what you do, but sometimes life is about gut feelings. What do they say?”
That’s the problem. I don’t know. They’re like an angry, needy crowd yelling different things as loudly as possible.
“You don’t have to answer right now. But you should really look deep inside and figure it out.”
And that night, I stare at the dark ceiling and try to listen in the silence. The gut feelings Curie wants me to listen to produce more cacophony than an open market in Delhi, but I start to see the underlying pattern.
Fear.
I’m scared—and humiliated at the prospect of being jobless again…and proving Dad right. I’m terrified I made a huge mistake when I walked out of Court’s place—even though I had to before I said something permanently damaging—and that maybe Court exerted more influence on Gavin than he claimed. He is a client, after all, isn’t he?
But when my mind starts coming up with what I’m going to say in my letter of resignation, I know what I need to do.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Pascal
Go with the gut feeling. Just like I did with Court earlier.
That’s my new mantra for the day as I get up in the morning and draft my letter of resignation to Gavin. I debate long and hard about mentioning Court, but decide not to because the email could be printed and end up in my record. Gavin probably doesn’t want people to know about what Court did. I merely thank Gavin for the opportunity, but I also tell him I don’t believe I fit in well at OWM.
My stomach burns because it’s such a lie. I love that company. If I could, I’d work at OWM forever. But I send the email.
I sigh, my shoulders drooping. Torn between sadness and regret, I lean back against the headboard in Curie’s guest bedroom for a time. I’m officially jobless, starting now. Well, technically I have the two-week notice period, but it’s highly unlikely Gavin’s going to want me back on the office, knowing I’m not going to be around. It isn’t like I have to train a replacement or hand anything off.
I reach for my phone to call Court, but stop because he’s probably sleeping off his evening with Nate. I should let him get the rest he needs. Trying to have a relationship talk while being hungover would suck.
To be honest, I don’t even know
what I’m going to say. I’ve made so many lists that I can’t even keep them straight anymore.
Time to update my résumé and look for a new job—one I’m going to get without anybody asking for favors on my behalf.
My phone rings, and I pick it up automatically. “Hello?”
“This is Hilary Pryce, calling for Pascal Snyder.” Her voice is warm and professional as usual.