“Here we are,” the woman opens a door and motions me in. “Good luck,” she says before scuttling away.
A man stands from behind a desk as I enter. “You must be Ms. Scott.”
“Violet. Please call me Violet.”
“Devon,” he introduces himself as we shake hands. We take places at a set of chairs in the corner of his office. “How’s Frankie doing?”
I smile. Whether or not Frankie is jobblocking me, I won’t whine and complain about her to a stranger, her former boss no less. “She’s good, and the business is doing well. Growing every day.”
“Which leads me to my first question. Why do you want to leave your current position and come work for me?”
Crap. I walked right into that, didn’t I? “It’s personal.” Devon nods, but he doesn’t say anything. When the silence stretches on, I feel compelled to explain further. “I’m not getting fired or anything. Frankie can vouch for me.”
“Of course, Frankie can vouch for you.” He smirks. “How do you think you got an interview here?”
Apparently, not because my resume rocks. I guess Frankie hasn’t been sabotaging me after all. Fine, I’ll answer his stupid question.
“I’ve decided to leave the suburbs. I want to move to the city.”
Want? No. I need to leave the suburbs. Especially if Luke is going to show up wherever I am. But my hopefully future employer doesn’t need to know any of my pathetic history.
“Okay.” He nods. “Tell me why you want to come work for me specifically.” Duh. Because he’s the best of the best. Oh, and the only person willing to give me a shot.
For the following fifteen minutes, I answer his questions. With every question, I relax more and more until I manage to feel comfortable. We even laugh together a few times. I am kicking this interview in the ass. Go me!
This is nothing like when I interviewed with Frankie. Don’t get me wrong. Frankie is awesomesauce. She’s also super intimidating. She doesn’t do it on purpose. But she is laser-focused and her reputation in the event planning world proceeds her. As a lowly recent graduate with zero experience, I was more than a bit afraid of her.
“I have to be honest with you, Violet. The only position you’re qualified for here is as an assistant,” Devon smiles as if a smile will lessen the blow of his words. They don’t. “You don’t have the experience necessary to be an event planner for us.”
Looks like I’m not kicking this interview in the ass after all. An assistant? “But I’m an event planner at F&J’s Events. I have a portfolio here of the events I’ve planned with references from clients.” I reach into my briefcase to pull out my files, but Devon stops me.
“No need. I’m sorry. But I can’t hire you as an event planner when you have less than a year of experience in the event management business. Most of our assistants work here several years before being promoted to event planner,” he explains.
“I don’t want to be an assistant,” I say and hope I’m not shooting myself in the foot.
Devon stands. “Think about it. There’s no reason to make a decision right now. If you want to move to the city, we have a place for you. It may not be what you were hoping for, but it’s a darn good job.”
I thank him and shake his hand before leaving his office on shaky legs. I rush through the office and out of the building as my eyes sting with the tears I’m holding back. I make it to my car before the first tears fall.
Great big sobs rack my body. Not because I’m sad. Oh no, I’m not sad. I’m pissed. No, pissed is too mild a word. I am fucking furious. Irate. Outraged. Infuriated. Add in a bunch more synonyms for mad, put them all together, and it’s still not enough to portray how pissed I am.
Fucking Luke. I finally had my life back on track after he reduced it to rubble and now I’m going to have to give it all up and start all over again because of – you guessed it – Luke. Rebuilding my life the first time nearly destroyed me. The second time might well finish me off.
I grab my phone and quickly type out a message.
You ruined my life. I hope you’re happy.
There. Lashing out makes me feel a little better.
Who is this?
Seriously? I’ve held onto the life destroyer’s phone number for all these years. But not him. No, he doesn’t even know who I am.
Have you ruined so many lives you can’t keep track of the devastation you’ve wreaked?
I switch my phone off before he can reply. I don’t need to be accused of betraying him again. I know I didn’t betray him, but every time he accuses me, I feel guilty. And how stupid is my reaction? I sigh. As the anger leaks out of me regret pours in. Why did I message the peckerhead? I’m such an idiot.
Maybe a job as an assistant won’t be too bad after all. At least I’d be far, far away from Luke. And it is the best event planning company in the Midwest. I start the car. I need to think about this. Because this assistant job is probably the only opportunity I’ll get in the city anytime soon.
Chapter 8
It’s my house, I’ll not wear a bra if I want to. ~ Violet’s Secret Thoughts
I’m sprawled on the sofa binge-watching The Good Place when someone dares to interrupt my perfectly chill Sunday morning by knocking on the door. The nerve of some people. Well, guess what? I’m ignoring the door like a champ. Because the last time someone dropped by it was not pretty. In fact, it was downright ugly. I don’t need a repeat of that for like another million or so years.
There’s another knock before I hear someone shout, “Open up, Violet. It’s Brodie.”
Damn. What is Frankie’s husband doing here? I jump up from the sofa where I planted my ass several hours ago. But the blanket I wrapped myself in refuses to give me up, and I end up falling flat on my face. Oof!
“Violet! Are you okay?”
I claw at the blanket, but I only manage to tangle myself more. Finally, I start rolling and roll myself straight out of the blanket. I make it to the front door without further injury. “What is it? Is something wrong with Frankie?”
He nods, and my heart beats double time. Shit. Shit. Shit. “What is it?”
“She’s sad.”
“What? She’s sad? You’re here because Frankie is sad?” Note to self: Never, ever answer the door again. Ever.
“She’s depressed because no one wants to come to lunch at Grandma’s house anymore.”
I snort. “Can you blame them? The last time I saw Grandma, she set me up with some dick I went to high school with. No thanks.”
“Come on, please.”
“Did Frankie send you here to do your dirty work?” He shrugs. I’ll take that as a yes.
“Come on, I’ll owe you one.”
Insert eye roll. Yeah, sure. Everyone says things like ‘I’ll owe you one’ but when you go to collect, they’re all like ‘huh? I have no idea what you’re talking about’.
“Don’t make me beg.” I don’t want to see Brodie beg. Now, Luke, there’s a man I’d like to see down on his knees begging. Ugh! Why can’t I stop thinking about the great big heart stomper?