Page 65 of To Her

"Sure, Geri. What's up?" He'd gestured to the chair across from his desk, and I'd sat, placing the folded letter in front of him.

"I'm resigning," I'd said, the words coming out more abruptly than I'd intended. "I've accepted a position closer to home."

He'd stared at the letter for a long moment before picking it up, unfolding it with deliberate slowness. His eyes had scanned the contents, his expression hardening.

"Two weeks' notice?" he'd asked, looking up at me.

"Yes. My last day would be Friday next."

He'd sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I can't say I'm surprised, but I am disappointed. You're one of our best servers."

"Thank you," I'd replied, unsure what else to say.

"Is it just the commute, or is there something else? Something we could address to keep you?"

The question had caught me off-guard. I'd prepared for anger, for accusations, for guilt trips—not for this reasonable inquiry that suggested he actually valued me.

"Just the commute," I'd lied, avoiding his eyes. "And the hours. I found something with a more regular schedule."

He'd nodded, though I could tell he didn't entirely believe me. "Well, if you change your mind in the next two weeks, the door's open. Finding someone with your experience won't be easy."

I'd mumbled something about being sorry for the inconvenience and escaped his office as quickly as possible, the weight of his disappointment following me like a shadow.

The rest of my shift had passed in a blur of awkward interactions with James, who'd clearly been told about my resignation and was oscillating between hurt silence and pointed questions about my new job. I'd deflected as best I could, keeping my answers vague and my tone light, but I could feel his eyes on me throughout the day, searching for the real reason behind my departure.

By the time I'd clocked out, I was exhausted from the emotional gymnastics of pretending everything was fine, that this was just a practical career move and not another step in my ongoing effort to isolate myself from anyone who cared about me.

I had gone home and gotten changed for tonight. Alex had chosen a nightclub right in the city, one that was meant to be seedy but was also a crowd favourite. I hadn't been there yet, so I was a little interested. It was there that my life went down the rabbit hole.

The anticipation of the night ahead had hummed through me as I'd stood in front of my closet, deliberating. This wasn't just any Friday night out—this was a celebration of sorts, a marking of my transition from one life to another. It called for something special, something that would make me feel powerful and desirable and in control.

My fingers had trailed over the hangers until they'd landed on a dress I rarely wore—a tight, black number that hugged every curve and left little to the imagination. I'd bought it on awhim months ago but had never quite had the courage to wear it out. Tonight felt like the perfect occasion to debut it.

I had turned up wearing a skimpy black dress that hardly covered my ass, with 4-inch heels and painted red lips. I had gone for the skanky look tonight. Why, I wasn't sure—the mood maybe—but I did it.

The transformation had been almost magical. As I'd applied my makeup—heavy on the eyes, bold on the lips—I'd watched a different version of myself emerge in the mirror. Gone was the tired, conflicted woman who'd handed in her resignation earlier that day. In her place stood someone confident, someone who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it. Someone who didn't care what anyone thought of her.

The dress had clung to my body like a second skin, the hemline barely skimming the tops of my thighs. I'd paired it with my highest heels—strappy black sandals that added four inches to my height and made my legs look endless. My hair I'd left loose, letting it fall in tousled waves around my shoulders. The final touch had been my lips, painted a deep, provocative red that demanded attention.

Looking at my reflection, I'd barely recognized myself. But that was the point, wasn't it? Tonight, I didn't want to be me. I wanted to be someone else entirely—someone without baggage or regrets or a nagging sense of emptiness. Someone who lived purely in the moment, taking pleasure where she found it without worrying about consequences.

The Uber had dropped me off in front of the club just after 10. The line had already stretched down the block, but I'd bypassed it, walking straight to the entrance with the confidence of someone who expected to be let in. The bouncer's eyes had raked over me appreciatively before he'd stepped aside, unhooking the velvet rope without a word.

I walked up the stairs, and there was a sign on the desk that said "looking for staff," so naturally, I asked about it. They were looking for someone to do nights—Friday, Saturday, and Sunday—door work, from 9 PM to 1 AM. Simply standing there and taking the $10 entry fee from all the patrons. I could easily slot that into my life, and it would mean I would have an excuse to always be out. I gave them my number and arranged another interview.

The woman behind the desk had been striking—tall and lean, with a sleeve of tattoos running down one arm and a septum piercing that glinted in the dim light. She'd looked me up and down with an appraising eye that felt different from the bouncer's—less sexual, more evaluative.

"You ever worked the door before?" she'd asked, her voice husky and confident.

"No, but I've been in customer service for years," I'd replied, gesturing vaguely toward my current job. "I'm good with people."

She'd nodded, seeming to consider this. "It's not rocket science. You take the money, stamp hands, keep the line moving. But you gotta be firm—people try to pull all kinds of shit to get in without paying or to jump the queue."

"I can be firm," I'd assured her, thinking of the times I'd had to deal with difficult customers at the restaurant.

"I bet you can," she'd said with a small smile that suggested she was seeing something in me that I wasn't fully aware of myself. "Give me your number. We can set up a proper interview next week."

I'd recited my number as she'd typed it into her phone, then added, "I'm Geri, by the way."

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