Page 112 of A Bossy Roommate

“Good evening, love,” Hattie says with that cheerful smile of hers when I step off the elevator. There must be a strange look on my face because her smile falters. “Are you feeling all right, dear? You’re rather pale, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I assure her. “Just feeling a little under the weather.”

“You mentioned that the other day, as well, didn’t you?”

“It’s just exhaustion, it’ll pass.” There’s no point in trying to explain to Hattie how my possible guilt over Carter’s firing is draining me.

Hattie doesn’t look convinced—however, she’s learned by now that it’s hard to argue with me when I’ve already made up my mind. I turn to unlock my door.

“Hang on just a moment, dear. Do you remember that I had something to tell you other day? Perhaps it does turn out to be significant after all. It’s about a woman who was here not too long ago.”

My heart in my throat, I turn back to her. “What woman?”

“Well, my dear, a couple of weeks ago, a woman turned up here. She arrived around noon, appearing somewhat perturbed when I answered the door. She claimed to have lost her way, and we had a bit of a friendly chat. She inquired about my neighbors, to which I replied that you and your husband reside here—to which she seemed a bit puzzled. Tell me, did I act correctly in divulging your marital status? I presume that is the image you wished to project to Eleanor and all others, is it not?”

Oh, no.

“What did the woman look like? Was she blonde with glasses? A couple of years older than me?”

“Ah, yes, that’s the one, my dear! That describes her exactly. A very elegant and amiable lady, I thought. Do you know who she might be, love?”

Gretchen.

Oh, no.

Even though Lexi has glasses too, both she and Jaylin have dark hair.

“Somebody from work,” I say, feeling sick to my stomach. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later, Hattie.”

“Goodbye, love.”

Once inside the apartment, I collapse onto the couch—face down.

After ten minutes of hell, I drag myself to our bedroom. Along the way, I shed all my clothes, not caring about leavingthem on the floor. My body feels like lead. I climb into bed in my nightgown, rolling myself into the comforter like a burrito.

However, as tired as I am, my brain has a tough time quieting down.

It’s my fault that Carter got fired.

I trusted Gretchen and told her we’re living in the same apartment, just next door to each other—basically a thin wall and an eyebrow raise away from “living together.” My story must have sounded so fishy she figured we were practically sharing a bed. She’d come to check. She’d informed Huxley. Huxley had had Carter fired. Once again, I’d made an error in judging someone’s character. And this time, it’s Carter who paid the price.

I feel dizzy.

What am I going to do?

I drag myself to the balcony to get some fresh air.

What will he do once he finds out? How angry will he be? Will he somehow think I did it on purpose? Kick me out?

I want to strangle the damn bastard who’s responsible for this.Those were his words.

And that damn bastard is…me. I’m responsible. I’m the one who lit the fuse. I’m the one who plunged the knife. I’m the one who pulled the trigger. Yeah, it was Huxley who seized the opportunity, but ultimately, I had placed my trust in the wrong person. Again.

Wild thoughts spin over and over in my mind as I sit there on the balcony floor, wondering what I’m going to do.

I’m the one who destroyed the future he had tirelessly worked toward for numerous years, dedicating endless nights, winning strenuous battles, and proving himself to those who doubted him.

The irony is, he had fought for me there in the boardroom. He had abandoned his dream job, ensuring I would keep mine, so thatmydream of working in New York City would continue.

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