Page 138 of Not Safe For Work

Once I had my brain back, the first thing to go would be that Empire Strikes Back soundtrack.

For now, though, I only swung by the Zone to get my keys and my coffee cup. “Hey, Teagan. I’m calling it an early day. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

She lowered the piece she’d been shaping with an X-ACTO. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Just…” I waved my hand. “I’ve got some stuff I need to deal with.”

She held my gaze.

Don’t push, T. You know what this is about.

Finally, she nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

From behind me, Cal piped up, “Taking an early retire—”

A look from Teagan stopped him dead. No one else spoke. She tilted her head toward the door, and I didn’t wait around.

Without another word, I got the hell out of there.

I hadn’t even taken off my shoes or my tie before I opened the bottle of whiskey. Day drinking wasn’t my usual MO, but it was today, and I didn’t give a fuck.

I dropped onto the couch, careful not to spill my drink, and propped my laptop on my knee. I opened the long-neglected document that was my résumé and went down the list, tweaking some dates and updating my contact information. Working on my résumé under the influence probably wasn’t the brightest thing I’d ever done, but hell, why not? I was on a roll these days. Kissing Rick at work and gambling on the assumption that no one ever checked the cameras? Not my proudest moment.

In the end, I still had my job but couldn’t make myself believe it was worth it, because I didn’t have Rick anymore.

What else could I do, though? Keep fooling around with him until the charade got old and I got tired of trying to tell myself I wasn’t really being a prostitute for the firm?

Well, whatever the case, maybe it was time for a switch. A change of scenery. Maybe a new flavor of bullshit that didn’t get its stink all over my personal life.

Though I had been with Mitchell & Forsythe for years, I still kept my résumé up to date. Well, that wasn’t true. I had a document containing my résumé, and I brought it up to date whenever something made me question how many more years of my life I could piss away at that place, working my fingers to the bone and inhaling rubber cement fumes. Inevitably, the feeling would pass, but at least my résumé would be current.

I opened my browser and searched for “architectural modeler” on one of the more popular employment websites.

Four matches. Only one within fifty miles.

Fuck.

I needed another drink, so I went back to the freezer. After the second trip, I brought the bottle into the living room with me. The floor was about to start getting uneven, so the fewer trips I had to make, the better.

I was…too many glasses in and still somehow too fucking sober when the front door opened. A second later, my ex-wife appeared in the doorway.

“You’re home early. Sick?”

“No, no. Jus’ needed some downtime.”

“Can’t blame—” Karen glanced at the bottle and then did a double take. She faced me fully. “What’s wrong?”

My shoulders sank. “I…fucked up. Royally.”

“How?” She came closer and took a seat beside me on the sofa. “What happened?”

I swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. After the burn wore off a little, I took a deep breath and ran her through everything that had happened since Marie and I had stepped into that conference room right up until I’d walked away from Rick this morning. Everything after that was unimportant, and it was all starting to get a little blurry anyway.

When I was finished, she shook her head. “I wish I knew what to tell you. But it’s a shitty situation all around.”

“Yeah. It is. And fuck if I know where to go from here. Or if there’s a goddamned thing I can do that’ll actually do any good.” I took a drink, nearly draining my glass. “About all I can do is just keep working for—”

“What?” She stared at me. “You’re not seriously going to stay at that place.”