Page 14 of For the Plot
“Maybe it’s both. Take the job and just enjoy the view.”
“That doesn’t help.”
Maya shrugs. “Most of the best things in life start with a little danger.”
“Says the woman who once tried to hook up with a bartender who turned out to have four active warrants in four different states.”
“Hey, I asked the right questions. I just didn’t love the answers.”
We fall into comfortable silence, sipping coffee and chewing through our mutual denial in the form of overpriced bagels. Mine has the perfect cream cheese-to-bread ratio and is doing more emotional heavy lifting than my last three therapy sessions combined.
Eventually, Maya stands and dusts off her hands. “Listen. I’m not telling you to take the job because I think you should try to seduce your ex’s dad—although if that’s where this ends up, I strongly encourage it, and I also expect a full play-by-play.”
“Oh my God.”
“I’m saying maybe, just maybe, this is your chance to stop waiting for life to make sense and start choosing something that makes you feel something again. You have always been the type to think you have to have it all figured out. Your career, the husband and house and kids and all that. You’re only twenty-seven, just chill for a bit. Think about what it is you really want to do because we both know that even though it sucks ass that you got let go, you fucking hated that job.”
I blink at her, surprised by the weight in her tone. “That was almost profound.”
She winks. “Thanks, I have layers.” She starts gathering her things but pauses when her gaze flicks to the business card still sitting untouched on the coffee table.
“Have you called him yet?” she asks casually, even though her voice holds the kind of challenge that only comes when your best friend already knows your answer.
I snort. “No. I’m not ready to make a life-altering decision while wearing sweatpants that smell like regret and shredded cheese.”
She folds her arms, leaning against the arm of the couch. “So what’s the holdup? The man offered you a job, not a sex dungeon contract.”
“I mean, are we sure?” I arch a brow. “Hedoeshave that whole Christian Grey, might-have-a-secret-floor-in-his-building vibe.”
Maya smirks. “Please. If he does, it’s probably fully optimized for productivity and erotic restraint.”
I exhale hard, tugging at the fraying sleeve of my hoodie. “It’s not just the job. It’s him. Reece Blackwood. Archer’s dad. Billionaire. Serious as hell. And then there’s me…”
She narrows her eyes. “Don’t you dare.”
“I’m not being self-deprecating,” I lie. I don’t know how to express that getting fired, no matter how many times they try to repackage it with different words like “corporate downsizing,” really was the final blow for me. A real kick in the ass when I’m already down from getting dumped by Shane. It’s been a minute since my self-esteem has taken a blow this hard and frankly, I’m a little tired of always getting back up.
“You are. And I won’t allow it. Not in this apartment where I once saw you shotgun a can of whipped cream and belt Lizzo to your mailman.”
“That was one time.”
“Still legendary.”
I smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Because the truth is, this fantasy—this dark, delicious what-if running laps in my brain—has teeth. Sharp ones. And more than that, I honestly think my pride would take the biggest hit. Waiting hand and foot on your ex’s dad, an ex that treated you like trash.
“I can’t work for him,” I say softly. “Not without thinking about things I shouldn’t.”
“Like what he looks like when he’s sweaty and half-undone?”
I shoot her a look.
She grins, all teeth and mischief. “Don’t act like you haven’t imagined it. The tie loosened. The sleeves rolled up. His voice in your ear while you?—”
“Maya!”
“What?” She shrugs, utterly unbothered. “You’re single. He’s single. You’re both consenting adults with a glaring power imbalance and decades between your birth years. That’s not scandalous—it’s just sexy LinkedIn fanfic.”
I press my palms to my cheeks. “I hate everything you’re saying and also want to write it down for later. But while this is all fun and games, it’s not about the fact I can’t keep my hands to myself. It’s the fact that I feel like a failure and it’s a little humiliating.”
