this could have been you.
I can’t get Paul’s stupid words out of my head.
Even though I had two cocktails instead of my usual one, and one of the guys vying for Delilah’s heart showed up on a horse, wearing chaps and singing the words to “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” (she kept him, by the way), nothing could distract me from what Paul had said. His words replayed in my head throughout the night, and to my complete horror, even in my dreams.
I’m not sure it was Paul’s actual words so much as what it felt like he was implying that bothered me. Seeing how truly happy Delilah had seemed last night, the way her cheeks warmed at the mention of her mystery man, I tried to remember the last time I looked like that. Vaughn and I are years past our honeymoon phase, but just because it doesn’t feel as exciting doesn’t mean it’s not good. It’s just real. It doesn’t matter if Paul doesn’t think I’m as happy as Delilah. I know the truth—I have a boyfriend I love, a job I love, and I’ll feel the same kind of happiness Delilah does when I become the youngest director at my firm.
The organized and constant chaos of Wright, Ghoram, and Degrate is music to my ears. Some people like the soothing sounds of waterfalls or violins being expertly played. But me? I love the yelling across the floor and the symphony of fingers hitting keyboards. The sound of money being made—even the sound of it being lost—drowns out Paul’s stupid words. I worked my ass off to get from my intern position at a small investment bank in Des Moines to one of the top investment firms in the country. And no offense to Delilah, but I think that’s a lot more impressive than kissing some men on television. Of course, Delilah also put herself here—it’s one of the many reasons we get on so well.
Today is supposed to be Delilah’s first day back at work after taking her extended leave to film. I dart over to her cubicle but instead of her gorgeous face, I’m greeted by an empty desk chair. I know it might take her a while to get back into the swing of things, but she was always one of the first to arrive at the office before she went on Real Love. I’ve missed our early morning chats these last few months while she’s been away. She may be a dirty traitor for throwing me to the wolves with the cameras last night, but I’ve been counting down the days until she returned. I even brought her favorite chocolate to give her as a welcome-back present.
I try not to look too disappointed as I walk to my desk and wave to the few coworkers who managed to beat me into the office today. When I reach my cubicle, it almost feels more like home than my apartment does. I lower myself into the aerodynamic chair WGD gave us all last Christmas—appreciating the way my back doesn’t groan anymore when I plant myself for hours of work—and turn on the three monitors sitting on my desk. As the screens come to life, so do I. Anticipation from the promise of the unknown shoots through me as all irrelevant thoughts drift away and I plan the different ways I’ll attack the day, making money for my clients, my firm, and myself.
I don’t know how much time has passed when a plastic bottle filled with juice in a very unappealing shade of green lands on my desk.
I grab it and twist off the lid, spinning to see Bailey standing next me.
“Figured you could use a little boost since I’m sure you’ve already been here for an hour or two and I doubt you had any breakfast.”
I glance at the time on my computer. It’s almost ten, so I’ve actually been here for closer to three hours, but I don’t tell Bailey. She’s a few years younger than my twenty-nine years and she’s still in the phase where she spends more time indulging in the Miami nightlife than she probably should. She says it’s work-life balance, but seeing how late she arrived, I think the “life” portion might be a good bit heavier than the “work” portion.
“Thanks.” I smell the juice before taking a sip, the apple and lime overpowering the kale and celery I know are blended in. “My coffee fuel was starting to run low.”
“I figured…” She lets her words trail off and I know she wants to talk about last night.
I lean back into my chair, taking another sip of the drink I love to hate and wait for her to mention it. She always seems to want me to bring things up—probably so it seems like I’m the one making a big deal out of things—but I like to wait her out. I get that she was just trying to get me there and it was in service of a friend, but I’m still annoyed she lied instead of being up-front. Maybe if I was prepared for what I was walking into, Paul’s jab wouldn’t have penetrated so deeply.
She fidgets a bit, twirling a piece of her long, wavy blond hair around her pale finger.
“Ugh, okay fine.” She finally breaks and I fight back my smug smile. “I’m sorry about last night. Delilah made me promise not to tell you. I told her it was a bad idea, but she was so focused on surprising you that I couldn’t get her to budge.”
“It’s fine, I guess. Just don’t do it again.” I talk a big game, but when someone apologizes to me, I don’t have it in me to hold it over their head. “Speaking of Delilah, is she here yet?”
“I don’t think she’s coming in today.”
“She’s not?” My head jerks back. “Why?”
I guess I’ll have to eat that welcome-back present myself…
“Not sure. Something to do with an interview in New York maybe? Honestly, I can’t keep up with her anymore.” Bailey is clearly less invested in our friend’s return than I am. She shrugs her shoulders and takes a long sip of her juice. “You know, I thought she hated flying, but she’s on a plane all the time these days. Either she got a huge prescription for Xanax or immersion therapy really works.”
I don’t really know what to do with this new information or the way my stomach falls as I realize my work bestie is going to be gone for even longer. So I do what I do best: avoid and deflect. “Last night was fun.”
And it was…minus the making a minor fool of myself on television and the crushing sense of self-doubt that’s been weighing me down ever since.
“Wasn’t it?” Bailey slides farther into my cubicle and I know I won’t be getting back to my work for at least another ten to fifteen minutes.
Bailey might not be the hardest working member of WGD, but she is a woman and she also went to Delilah’s alma mater. As such, when she was hired, Delilah and I immediately stepped up to show her the ropes and help guide her down this wild career path we’ve chosen. Bailey is definitely different from me, but once Delilah left, we were forced to bond, and now I think we’ve become pretty good friends outside of work too.
Plus, Bailey is a perpetual gossip and that has its uses. I may have been here longer, but she is literally the only reason I know how to navigate the office water cooler. Thanks to her, I know Jackson is sleeping with Bianka even though he has a girlfriend of six years. She’s also the reason I know Suzanne, the only female director in our office, is moving to Seattle for her husband—who Bailey also tells me only makes a portion of what Suzanne makes—and that Greg and Marcus (our bosses) have been holding a lot more closed-door meetings as of late, probably to figure out who will take her place. It’s the position I’ve been aiming for since I first started and it might be the only thing important enough to bring Delilah back to her senses.
“What did you think of the guys Delilah let through?” She pushes some of the loose papers that have accumulated since I started working this morning to make space for her nearly nonexistent butt…not unlike Delilah did all those months ago when I turned down Real Love and she took it instead. “She seems happy, but I don’t know. I’m not sure I trust it. I went home and looked up some of those guys and ehhhhh…I think she’s getting played.”
The part of my brain that has been concerned about this same thing leaps to life and I lean forward in my chair. “Do you think so? I’ve been really worried about that. I mean, she kept the cowboy. I’m not sure you can ever trust a man in chaps.” My mom would be so disappointed in me for taking part in what she would consider to be the very definition of a frivolous conversation. I justify it by telling myself that even my flawless mother would indulge in this conversation if she was concerned for the well-being of her best friend.
“I know!” she whisper-shouts, even though the voices shouting around the office would be sure to drown out any gasp of disgust. “I felt bad for the poor horse.”
The snort-laugh I held in last night slips free now and I’m so relieved to know I wasn’t the only one with these thoughts.
“I’m sure some of it was for entertainment’s sake. Delilah is one of the smartest people I know; she had to have a good reason for her choices.” This is what I’ve told myself every time I worry more about Delilah’s self-preservation more than she does. “Besides, it seems to have all worked out for her. When I asked her if she was happy, she said yes, and I don’t think she was lying.”
“I’m sure having the attention of the entire country and a new house in fucking Coral Gables would make anybody happy. If it works for her, then I’m happy she’s happy. And I guess the dentist seemed okay, even though I’m not sure I trust blond men.” She turns a conspiratorial grin my way and my stomach clenches for what I know is coming. “After all, not all of us are lucky enough to find the love of our lives in college, are we?”
I met Vaughn when I was a freshman in college and he was a sophomore. And by meeting him, I mean I stared and ogled at him from across the courtyard and went to our college football games just to see him—and admittedly a few others—run around the field in tight jerseys and even tighter pants. It wasn’t until my second year at the University of Iowa, at a frat party I didn’t want to go to, that Vaughn finally noticed me too. And we’ve been together ever since.
Even when he left school early to try to make it to the NFL.
Even when he was drafted to Miami in the third round.
Even when he suffered a catastrophic injury that ended his career before his first contract was up.
We’ve been through more in our ten years together than many people experience in a lifetime. When people like Bailey look at us, they see this epic love story of Notebook proportions that has defied all odds, but they don’t see the other parts. The parts we don’t talk about.
“Yeah,” I quip, thinking it’s about time for me to focus back on the monitors in front of me. “I don’t know what I’d do if I had to navigate apps to find a date. Maybe if I was on them, then Real Love wouldn’t have seemed like such a bad idea after all.”
“You’re not lying.” Bailey stretches. “It is not easy out here, I wish I had a Vaughn to lean on.”
“I got lucky.” Our relationship isn’t perfect, but is any relationship? Even my parents, who have been together for decades, have their problems. “I just wish we lived on the same schedule so we could see each other more.”
“Please, that’s my literal dream. See them when I need them and nothing more. You have it so good.” She slides her butt off my desk. “Anyways, wanna grab lunch later or did you pack one?”
I don’t want to admit to packing a lunch because I know it makes me seem even less cool and more uptight than I already am. But with rumors that my dream job is on the horizon, leaving my desk for any reason seems like an unnecessary risk. Marcus and Greg don’t often wander through the office and take stock of the floor, but when they do, I want them to see that I will eat, sleep, and breathe this job.
“I packed one.” I ignore the way her lips curl up. Knowing she’s about to make her favorite Golden Girls reference, I talk a little faster, throwing out an offer I know she can’t refuse. “But let’s do Cipriani when Delilah gets back. My treat.”
Any snarky comment she was about to make dies on her lips. Bailey is as snobby as she is cheap. It makes no sense, but I’ve come to just accept it…and also leverage it against her when I need to.
“Oh my god. Deal!” She clasps her hands together and I swear her eyes glass over. “I’ve been craving their braised artichoke hearts. That sounds amazing.”
“Then it’s a plan.” I open up the drawer with my purse inside to add it to my phone’s calendar as she saunters away and calls out her hellos to the rest of the office.
I pull my phone out of my purse and see I missed a call and a couple of texts from Vaughn. He usually sleeps later into the day because he works late nights attending various clubs and events he’s been promoting around the city and I rarely check my texts while I’m at work, so this is super out of character for him.
I open the messages and barely conceal my groan. Of all the reasons he could text me, it’s for this?
Big TV debut, huh?
So you weren’t going to tell me you’re famous now? Thinking maybe you owe your man dinner after all the shit I got today from the boys. You know I love your steaks, that could help make up for it!
It sounds like he’s joking, but he’s not. It’s one of the things that frustrates me the most about him—he won’t just come out and say something, he’ll be passive-aggressive and disguise everything as a joke until he gets his way.
I type out a quick response with a time for dinner because I’d rather deal with this later—and there’s no use in trying to talk him into a restaurant—before shoving my phone back into my drawer without waiting for a response.
I get back to work, trying to lose myself in the numbers again…and fight the feeling that as hard as I work to keep my life nice and comfortable and steady, something will always be waiting around the corner to knock me off course.