Page 42 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
I pin him with an icy stare. “I'm not really feeling the vibe.”
“I'm sorry you didn't get it,” he says, sitting in the chair opposite.
“No, you're not, because that would then mean thatyoudidn't get it.”
He bobs his head, agreeing.
“And if I'd gotten the job, you'd be unhappy.” I stand up and slip on my business jacket.
“I would be, but I would still help you to celebrate.” He stands up and looks disappointed that I’m not taking him up on his offer. “Help me to celebrate, Megan. Don't be a sourpuss.”
It's a man's world.
An unfair world.
A rich and privileged person's world.
“I’m not in the mood to celebrate, not even for you. Sorry. But I am happy for you,” I tell him. It’s me I’m not happy for.
“At least now I'll have you under me,” he grins as if this is really funny. My insides almost empty. Did he really say that out aloud?
“Careful there. I could report you to HR for sexual harassment.” I sail past him and rush out of the office, eager to get away. But I don’t want to go back to my empty home, and I don’t want to socialize with people.
A short while later I’m knocking on Arla's door. She stares at me in surprise because I didn’t tell her I was coming over. Instead, I hold up a bottle of red wine.
“More hot kisses with Lance again?” She grins as she lets me in. I can see that she's dressed up and not in her signature workout clothes. She looks nice. As if she's going out.
“Where are you going?” I ask, suspiciously.
“I have a date with Scott!”
“You do?”
Arla beams happily. “We’re going for drinks.”
I move towards the door. I should ask her where she's going, and what she's doing tonight, and I should be happy for her. Iamhappy for her; I just don't feel happy. “I didn't get the job. I was hoping I could drown my sorrows here.”
“You didn't get it?” Arla squeezes my arm. “Those idiots. They don't know your worth.”
I set the bottle down on her coffee table. “You have a good time on your date. I want to hear all about when you—”
“I'm not leaving yet. Scott’s picking me up at eight. Let's have some wine. I'll help you drown your sorrows.”
And that's what we do. She tells me about Scott and where they're going, and I ask her lots of questions because it’s better than talking about my problems. I don’t want to foist my misery on her. It seems that I always have problems. That's the story of my life.
“Who did they give the job to?” Arla asks, refilling my wine glass again.
“The asshole. Preston.”
She scowls. “He hasn't been there long.”
“He hasn't.” I take a big gulp from my glass.
“He started after you did.”
“He did.” And to think that he wanted me to go out and celebrate with him. The wine tastes good. Slightly bitter, yet full of flavor. It’s warm and spicy as it slides down my throat and heats up my belly. My shoulders relax, and the bitter edge of my anger softens.
“It's a man's world,” I say, taking a big gulp, then another one. I want to numb my senses, revel in the warm fuzziness that the alcohol induces.
