Page 1 of Rare Blend
CHAPTER 1
Marisa
GIANT BALD SPOT. HUGE.
There better be a damn good reason why theother womanis gracing me with her presence this early in the workday.
“Brandon wants to see you in his office at ten o’clock,” Quinn says, standing at the threshold of my cubicle with her arms crossed and nose scrunched as if she smells something unpleasant.
Curious eyes flick our way. I’m sure they’re all wondering if this will be the Jerry Springer moment everyone has been waiting for. While I could definitely take her, I would prefer to hang onto the small shred of self-respect I’ve managed to maintain.
Despite her obvious distaste and overall attitude, she’s beautiful. The kind of beauty that stops you in your tracks—head-turning gorgeous. It’s no wonder Brandon cheated on me with her. He is a man, after all.
Forcing a smile onto my face, I may or may not be imagining scenarios that could land me my own episode ofSnapped; the thought widens my smile. “Okay, I’ll be there.”
She whips back around with a huff, her blonde hair swaying and heels clacking against the tile floor. She hates that I’m niceto her. I honestly think she would prefer it if I were mean; maybe it would alleviate some of the guilt she undoubtedly feels.
“Now I know he did not have the audacity to send his side piece to come get you for a meeting,” Zoe, my cubicle neighbor, says, watching me dumbfounded.
“She’s his admin, who else is he going to send?”
She snorts. “An email, like a normal person. That man is trash. Straight, hot garbage, rotten trash. He did you a favor revealing his true colors before trapping you with a ring.”
I nod silently, because she’s absolutely right. Things are bad, but they could have been so much worse.
“What do you think he wants to meet with you about?”
I shrug. “Who knows. You never know with him.”
I can actually think of a few reasons he would want to meet with me. There have been rumors of a layoff coming for weeks now. And my direct manager is conveniently on short-term disability until he’s recovered from knee surgery, leaving no one in my corner if things go south.
Zoe’s lips purse, but I disregard her implication. I have thirty minutes to let my mind wander down thewhat ifrabbit hole, and I’d rather stay blissfully ignorant for as long as possible.
To pass the time, I get caught up on emails and listen to Zoe as she updates me on her latest dating app match. I used to enjoy her dating stories when I was perfectly happy, in what I thought was a very secure relationship. Being on the other side, though, newly single and fast approaching my thirties, the stories sound a lot less rom-com and a lot more psychological thriller. At some point, I’m going to have to get back out there and try to land myself a fish in what is likely swampy, shallow water. Just thinking about it makes my stomach roll. I’m a relationship girl through and through, but I’m nowhere near ready to start dating again. Brandon, on the other hand, is such a relationship guythat he started an entirely new relationship while still being in one with me. Pig.
When the clock reads 9:55, I rise from my chair, every muscle feeling more tightly wound than a twisted corkscrew. My breathing turns ragged as I walk the short gauntlet to Brandon’s corner office. Ignoring the watchful eyes and questioning looks of my coworkers, I keep my gaze fixed ahead. Murmurs and mumbles burn my ears and heat my neck as I pass each desk.
Shoulders back, neutral expression, steady, deliberate steps. More importantly, never let them see you sweat.I repeat the mantra over and over in my head, hoping if I think it enough, I’ll embody it. Of all the times to try out this manifesting bullshit.
Quinn is noticeably absent from her desk outside Brandon’s office. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Feeling petty, I walk up to it and deliberately knock over the glittery, pink cup of pens. Surprisingly, it does slightly brighten my mood, only for it to darken the moment I cross through the doorway.
Ignoring the blob of a man seated at the desk, I choose to begreeted by the view of the Seattle skyline instead. It’s an unusually clear fall day, and the Olympic Mountains stand out against the light-blue sky, their crisp edges defined by snowcapped peaks.
Seconds after I walk in, Aaron from human resources is at my heels, apparently joining us. HR is never a good sign—in fact it’s just the opposite. The door closes behind him with an ominous thud. My throat tightens as I swallow down the lump threatening to rise, and my heart beats heavy in my chest.
“Thank you for coming, Marisa,” Brandon says.
Hearing him say my name stirs a storm of emotions within me. The painful clenching of my heart and the fiery anger I feel toward him collide with the utter sadness sitting deep within me. Even worse is his professional tone—no warmth, nofamiliarity, all business. We’ve managed to keep our interactions to a minimum since the breakup. In truth, I’ve made it my sole mission to avoid him at all costs. A lot of good it did me.
I take the chair opposite his desk.The very chair I used to sit in when we would eat our lunch together that once felt comforting and sturdy. Now, it feels shaky, rocking unevenly beneath me as I sink into it. It creaks with a loud echo as it depresses under my body weight.
Mustering all of my willpower, I try my best to avoid looking directly at Brandon, but I fail. My mind may loathe him, but my stomach still dips when I see his classically handsome face, his broad shoulders, that dimple in his chin, his slightly crooked nose that adds a subtle edge to his pretty face. I’m intimately familiar with him, yet now we exist as strangers, despite knowing everything about each other.
Brandon is wearing the tie I got him for his birthday last year, the one that brings out the blue in his eyes. I threw the majority of his clothes in the lake across from our condo, so it must be one of the survivors. Not my finest moment, but it was incredibly satisfying. I had to unleash my rage somehow. Especially after literally catching him in the act, pounding into Quinn in away he never had with me. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the relentless slapping of their skin; my stomach churns at the memory.
What better way to take out some aggression than to destroy all of his fancy clothes? He’s always been so vain and obsessed with looking the part. He wouldn’t be so obsessed with it had he actually earned his position. But when your daddy owns the company, why work your way up when you can be handed everything instead?
Brandon’s eyes won’t meet mine; they wander about the room but never land directly on me. I am definitely about to lose my job. The rumors of layoffs, talks of budget cuts,Brandon’s recent erratic behavior—he yelled at Diane, our sweet office coordinator, because she brought in homemade cookies for everyone. He called her a distraction. Then there was the company-wide email about not backfilling positions and learning to manage larger work loads with less employees. The puzzle pieces are forming a picture, and it isn’t pretty.
