Page 96 of Written By a Woman

I couldn’t blame her for that either.

“I did,” I nodded, stepping around my desk and inching my way toward the doors, “I can write out a formal resignation letter if you’d like.”

Jacqueline stared at me; her open mouth snapping closed as she stiffened at my words.

“I’m so sorry,” I felt a small tear trail down my cheek, something Jacqueline glanced down at as she followed me to the elevators. It wouldn’t be until the doors shut behind us and I punched the button for the first floor that I realized it was part of her job to walk me out. It was probably part of the plan of reassurance to protect Zaid, so he could confidently know I wouldn’t be coming back to his office again.

“Signe,” Jacqueline sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, like how I saw Zaid last.

Oh god, don’t think about the last time you saw him.

I sniffed, aggressively wiping another stray tear.

“Look,” Jacqueline had created a long pause after saying my name, so I took the opportunity to interject, “I know I fucked up, alright? I know I shouldn’t have, well, you know,” I nodded towards the iPad she was still clutching in her hands, “I didn’t mean to be this unethical about it. I never expected to become friends with him. I never expected to—” I stopped myself because telling HR that I had developed very real feelings for the man that I indirectly harassed probably wasn’t a smart move, “But, that doesn’t excuse my actions.”

Jacqueline just stared ahead at the elevator reflection, letting us sit in silence until the car stopped and the doors opened. She waited for me to step out first before following after me. It wasn’t until we had made it to the parking lot that I spoke up again.

“I do wish,” I swallowed around the lump in my throat once more, adjusting the strap of my bag before I turned to face Jacqueline directly, “I wish that you had come to me first.”

Jacqueline tilted her head to the side, “Why is that?”

I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the cute little plant in my hands, “I thought we were becoming friends.”

Jacqueline stiffened again, making me lift my gaze to meet hers.

She looked a little wounded. Not so wounded that my words made her have more empathy for me than she should have, but wounded enough to where I could see her struggling a little more to keep her professional mask in place.

“Signe,” Jacqueline sighed, “I was just doing my job.”

“I know,” I nodded, “I understand. It’s selfish of me but, maybe if you approached me first…I could have just left, and I wouldn’t have had to see Zaid like that.”

A touch of softness creased the corners of Jacqueline’s eyes at my words before she quirked her lips to the side and nodded at me once, “I can see that you aren’t feeling well,” her eyes trailing up and down my almost trembling form confirmed her statement, “I hope you feel better soon. You will be hearing from us shortly.”

I nodded, “I’ll send my resignation by tonight or tomorrow.”

Jacqueline hesitated, her mouth opening before she closed it and relaxed her shoulders. She nodded at me once more, before she turned and marched back towards the building.

I was such a fuckup.

Desperate for a distraction, when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket again, I immediately pulled the phone out and opened the latest update from Michelle.

Michelle: Still no takers, but this is to be expected. Stork Press didn’t think the story had anything special that hadn’t already been written in the genre. Unfortunately, we are going to have to comb through several publishers, and it might take a few rounds of submissions before anyone bites. Don’t let this discourage you.

When I got in my car, I practically threw my phone in the passenger seat in frustration. Fully discouraged. Heartbroken. Emotionally unwell.

It wouldn’t be until later, when I walked through the door to my tiny studio apartment, that I realized what else I had to do.

Because if I continued with this story, if everything continued as it was, I would be at serious risk of getting into more trouble. Zaid, and Sun Steer, had the funds to come after me.

I had to tell my agent what was going on.

Neither Michelle nor Layla were keeping track of my social media.

Would this end with my book being scrapped? Would potential publishers even want to continue working with me after I openly admitted to basing my love interest on a very real person like I have?

I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t find the will to sit down at my laptop and start drafting emails to figure it all out.

Instead, I laid down on the couch. Kicking my shoes off, pulling a throw blanket off of the back, and mourning the one thing that I was truly upset about.

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