Page 66 of Under the Weatherman
Oh, God, was I about to get fired? I waited for the dread to settle, the fear of losing a paycheck. But what I felt instead was a weird combination of rage and relief. She was right. I wasn’t cut out for the job. I’d been chasing the rewards of capitalism, and every day spent here was another day I’d never get back.
I imagined Chelsea—who would tell me to channel the person I wanted to become—then I straightened my back and said, “You’re right. I quit.”
The shock on her face was nearly worth the ramen noodle dinners in my future. “You can’t quit. I need you to write tonight’s rundown.”
I shrugged. “Why? I’m clearly not adding any value.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. You treat people like they’re disposable, but I’m not. I know my worth even if you don’t.” God, it felt good speaking my mind, burning it all down. “Maybe you’ll treat the next assistant with professionalism and respect. And a little goddamn understanding.”
She growled, literally growled. “It figures you’d somehow find a way to make a bad situation worse. But fine.” She threw out her hands, like she was giving up. “Leave us to clean up this mess.”
I shrugged. “It’s literally not my problem anymore.” Then I turned on my heels, grabbed my messenger bag, and, with a shit-eating grin at Gigi, who stood gaping, waltzed out of the newsroom.
Chapter Twenty-two
Evan
“I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.”
—As You Like It
I awoke Tuesday morning to a clattering sound and the smell of smoked meat. Yawning, I threw off the cover and hauled myself to a sitting position on the sofa. Elbows on my knees, I leaned forward and stretched out my neck, cringing at the sounds of popping joints. As much as I loved Bas—and his cooking—I was so ready to move into my own place. Fortunately, I’d signed the lease on a gorgeous little house for rent downtown, but I still needed to get my furniture out of storage.
In the kitchen, Bas hummed as he poked at some sausage frying in a pan.
“You’re in a good mood,” I said. “Anything to do with Chelsea?”
The two had watched my mortifying weather report together the night before, but I’d been too tired to check in on how their non-date date had gone.
“Maybe.” He quirked a secret smile before pulling down a couple of plates. “Pour yourself some coffee.”
I did as he asked, settling in at the counter to await what would probably be a better breakfast than I could get at any restaurant in town.
“She’s coming here Saturday night to watch a movie,” he said, a little too casually. He plated the sausage along with eggs and toast and pulled up a stool. “Juice?”
“No, thanks.” I bit a corner of the toast. “So you’re tilting at windmills still?”
He shook his head, poking at the piping hot food. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m just saying.” I couldn’t build enough trust to start a romantic relationship, but Bas would rush in like a house on fire and then burn out when his passion ran its course. “Are you just in this for the challenge?”
He shot me a look that told me I’d crossed a line. I wasn’t trying to be a dick, but Chelsea came with a fireproof romance suit, and I didn’t want him to get torched.
I changed the subject tactfully. “Can you help me move on Saturday?”
He stuck out his tongue in disgust. “Has this been a long con? Friend me, keep in touch for years, and then bam, ask me to carry furniture?”
I laughed. “I’d have to be a glutton for punishment to put up with you that long.”
“You like me enough to accept my hospitality, jerk face.” He was smiling, so I just gave him a fake look of insult.
“It’s not that much stuff.” I pictured the bed frame, sofa, dining table, and TV leaning against the wall of the storage unit.
“Okay, but as payment, give me some space Saturday night?”
I shrugged. “Once I’m moved in, I’ll be out of your hair completely.”
