Page 3 of Rare Blend
I yank open the door, and a ripple of heads jerk their attention back to their monitors. A slow, satisfied smile eases across my face as I wipe the moisture from my eyes.
I lean against the open door. “You know, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” I speak louder than would be considered conversational, throwing my voice so it reaches the far corners of the office suite.
Brandon freezes, his eyes widening. I see it happen in slow motion, the realization that he has no idea what I’m going to say but whatever it is, I intend to humiliate him.
“Marisa,” he drags out my name, unease dripping over each syllable.
Aaron has made himself scarce, clinging to the windows to distance himself from the situation. Such a weak little man.
“I lied.”
Brandon says nothing. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
“That time you asked me about your hair,” I continue. “I lied. It’s thinning horribly. Especially in the back. Giant bald spot. Huge.”
The office is completely silent, save for the low hum of office equipment.
His hand instinctively rubs at the back of his head, and his face turns red hot.
With that, I march to my desk to grab my bag. My gaze lands on Zoe, whose mouth is covered as she holds back a laugh. Nobody says a word, nobody so much as moves, as I leave the office suite without looking back.
I could’ve gone much lower and made a comment about what’s lacking under the belt or criticized his abilities in bed, but I knew he’d be able to talk himself out of those claims. His ego would refute it. But his hairline—particularly that bald spot—there’s no denying that.
Aaron’s voice calls out to me as I make my way to the elevators. “Wait, we need to conduct your exit interview.”
There is an incredible amount of adrenaline pumping through my veins as I step inside the elevator. “Sounds like a personal problem, Aaron.”
The elevator doors shut before he can close the distance between us. Normally, I would feel terrible, ever the people-pleaser. But right now, I’m all out of fucks to give.
CHAPTER 2
Marisa
PARA ESPAÑOL, OPRIMA EL DOS
“I’m going to kill him,” my best friend Hillary says while folding a onesie on her cute, little belly, using it like a tabletop. “I’m serious. He should be very afraid of me.”
It’s hard not to laugh at her when she gets riled up like this, even if it is to come to my defense. When she came home from work and saw that I was home already, she instantly went into detective mode, asking me a million questions. I quickly filled her in, and she’s been in a state of rage ever since.
Hillary is standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by heaps of baby clothes—it’s as if OshKosh B’Gosh threw up everywhere. Ever since she found out she’s having a girl, she’s been obsessed with buying everything in pink.
“Calm down. We don’t want to induce early labor because your blood pressure spiked.”
She takes a squatting stance and then eases her way down to sit on the couch. Hillary, whose petite frame is struggling to carry the weight of a growing baby, often looks like she’s about to tip over.
“How are you not more upset? I’m shaking.” She shoves her arm in my face to show me.
I internally roll my eyes. “When was the last time you ate? You’re probably shaking because you’re hungry.”
“Archie is bringing home takeout. And stop trying to change the subject. You need to get a lawyer. There’s no way what he did is legal.”
I curl myself into one of the several throw blankets adorning the couch. “Legal or not, I’m still out of a job.”
“Well, you’ve been applying all over the place. Any hits?”
Ever since Brandon and I broke up, I’ve been on the hunt for a new job. Obviously, I didn’t want to keep working there, but it’s not like I had the luxury to quit. Unlike some people, I don’t have a trust fund to fall back on.
“I’ve applied everywhere that’s hiring technical writers and haven’t gotten one call. It’s a lost cause.”
