Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Shit. This is New York. What hope do I have when it comes to starting my own firm and competing against these huge powerhouse businesses? I’m kidding myself thinking I could do this.
Stopping by the storeroom, I grab a cardboard box and make my way back to my office. I mutter a string of ridiculous insults as I go, and with every step I take, I can’t help but feel the eyes of my colleagues on my back. They all saw the meme. Hell, most of them were laughing with me about it first thing this morning, but the second I was called into Dwayne’s office, they all knew what was going to happen. I suppose I did too, but I didn’t want to believe the asshole was that petty.
Who am I kidding? Of course he is.
I’ve always had an open-door policy, but as I walk into my office, I pull the door closed behind me, needing privacy from the prying eyes as I drop the cardboard box onto my disorganized desk. I’ve got way too much work to do to have to worry about being fired, but I suppose it’s somebody else’s work to handle now. It’s no longer my problem.
A heavy weight settles into my chest. I like this stuff being my problem.
Damn it.
Dropping my ass to my desk chair, I search through my drawers and grab all of my personal stuff before dropping them into the box, then just to be an ass, I take the potted plant and put it in too. Once the drawers have been emptied, I work on my desk, and my gaze settles on the picture of me and my nana from my college graduation nearly six years ago. She was always my biggest supporter, even if it meant having to deal with the insane distance. Two weeks after this photo was taken, I was gone.
All Nana wanted was for me to be happy in what I was doing, though there’s no denying it, she was worried about my heart. When I left for New York, giving up my home wasn’t all I walked away from.
Nicholas Stone.
He was my high school boyfriend and was everything to me. Nick was my first real love, and having to walk away from that left one hell of a scar on my heart. I think a part of me will always love him, but that’s ancient history now. We were together right until the day I left, but during those college years, it was tough.
The distance never really worked for us, and I could feel the castle we’d built around us beginning to crumble. Calling it quits was the most difficult decision I’ve ever made, but had we continued, we would have ended up hating each other, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that happening to the man I was so deeply in love with. It was time to go, and tearing myself away from him destroyed me in a way I’ve never truly recovered from.
It’s been nearly six years since I last laid eyes on him, and honestly, he’s a big part of the reason why I haven’t headed back to our beautiful small town of Blushing, Colorado since the day I left. But Nana has nothing to worry about—at least, she didn’t. She passed away in her sleep last month, and due to the ridiculous amount of work I have going on here, I couldn’t make it back to Blushing for her funeral. I regret my decision not to go, and truth be told, I think the day Dwayne denied my application to take personal leave was where this downward spiral at work began. I had respect for Dwayne before he denied my leave, and since then, all I can seem to do is picture blowing him up like a hot-air balloon and watching him sail away into the sky, the same way Harry Potter did to his bitch of an aunt.
Ahhh, shit. Who am I trying to kid? I’ve been picturing something a little more brutal, but I’ve been trying to reel in my violent thoughts. It’s almost Christmas. Isn’t it the time of year for peace and joy? I doubt thinking about strapping my boss to the front of a car and ramming it into a brick wall is going to help me find my zen this time of year. So for now, I’ll settle with the hot-air balloon.
Maybe I need to start looking into meditation. Or therapy.
Grabbing my phone, I call my best friend, Rena, and shove my phone between my ear and shoulder as I continue collecting my things off my desk, making sure to add the company stapler and scissors.
The call rings twice before Rena answers. “What’s up?” my best friend’s sing-song tone sails through the phone, accompanied by the sound of the busy New York streets around her.