When we ate our cold dinner at the dining table inside, I decided I was going to use my new trait of being honest and just give it to her straight.
“I sold ten percent of my shares in Fiscal Heights Holdings to Dean in exchange for six months in New York.”
Silverware clattered on the table and silence filled the air.
I continued. “That was back in January. I have three more weeks before I need to pack a bag and move back to Los Angeles. I’m not going to ask you for shit, because I know you have your life here and that you love your job, but…I’m just letting you know.”
Her eyes shot up, and she choked on her dim sum. They glittered with different emotions, which I was still too much of a dick to recognize. But I was fairly sure she wasn’t pissed off at me this time.
“Three weeks?” she repeated.
I nodded, solemn. “I can try and sell ten percent more of my shares, but there’s no way Trent and Jaime will let that happen. It’ll put their asses at risk, too.”
She drank more wine, probably to buy herself some time. After polishing the whole glass, she winced. “Thanks for telling me.”
I didn’t know what I was expecting. Actually, I did. I expected her to say that her job could go fuck itself, she was moving with me.
But then, why would she give up on her career just so I could chase mine?
“Sure. Are you gonna eat that last dim sum?” I pointed my chopsticks to her plate. She shook her head, suddenly looking sad. I picked it up and stuck it in my mouth, chewing so I wouldn’t have to talk anymore. “Good stuff.”
“AND AGAIN, I’M SO SORRY,” I parroted my own words for the twelve hundredth time, twisting my fingers together as I stood like a punished kid in Brent’s office. It was all white, other than the paintings hung on each wall of the room. They were beautiful.
One of a strawberry field.
One of naked men wearing fancy dress shoes.
One of a gun crying.
And one of a cherry blossom tree.
He stared at my painting and sighed, pushing his reading glasses up his nose.
“I’m not sure what to tell you, Millie, other than the obvious. You’re making a huge mistake.”
I would have argued, but there was no point. He was probably right. How many girls would have left everything they knew and loved—their city, their dream job, their sister, for a guy who kicked them out when they were eighteen? Not many. Yet I was that girl.
I was everything illogical and reckless, everything stupid and irrational…because I was his.
So I continued standing there, tapping my foot nervously. Brent got up from his seat, pushing from his white desk, and strode over to me. It was different than standing in front of Vicious when he was my boss.
Because now I wasn’t scared, just sad. Sacrifices were like vices. You made them, gave up something good, in order to get something better.
“What will Rosie do?” he asked. He didn’t know my sister all that much, but he’d met her a couple of times and knew our story. I shrugged. That was the most painful part. The part that made me feel like a traitor.
“She met a guy. Hal. She’s staying here in New York. Wants to enroll back in nursing school, anyway.”
Brent gave me a look—that look that said, See? You should stay here too—but I dismissed it by fixing my eyes on the naked-men painting.
“I’m so sorry I disappointed you,” I said. Which was true.
“You didn’t.” Brent leaned into my face, sighing. “I’m just hoping you’re not going to disappoint you.”
I made my way to Vic’s office right after I handed in my resignation. On the subway, I thought about the fact that I’d never resigned from so many good jobs in such a short amount of time. Ever. But I knew what I wanted, and what I wanted was to move to Los Angeles. I’d never been there, but it didn’t matter. He was going there. My parents were there.
LA was my home, and I hadn’t even been there yet.
I sauntered into Vicious’s office, and as usual, his receptionist gave me the stink eye, though at this point she knew better than to try and stop me from getting inside. Over the past few months, I’d walked in that door countless times, and, embarrassingly, produced noises she could hear perfectly while I was there. Noises that clearly gave away the idea that I was engaged in some grueling cardio activity. Vicious didn’t have a treadmill in his office, so she knew exactly what we were doing.
“Hi.” I nodded to the receptionist.
“Mmm,” she answered back, flipping through a glossy magazine with a picture of heavily photoshopped Selena Gomez on the cover.
I missed Patty. I’d only worked there one week, but it didn’t stop me from getting attached. She was fun, even when she’d twisted my arm so I’d ask Vicious to do things for her.