“I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me,” she said. “Do I have to put it in some of those young people terms for you? You were formerly a ‘thot’, a ‘ho’, a jump-off. All of those terms mean the same thing, I believe. I’m sure you’ve suffered from your fair share of ‘Daddy issues’ but you should be long past those now.”
“I’m going to leave now.”
“Don’t you dare.” She glared at me, and my father said nothing. “If what they’re telling us is true, we’ll have to get ahead of this with a simple public statement. But between you and me, there’s no excuse for being that promiscuous.” She shook her head. “Not only that, but one of our people saw you entering 230 Park Avenue.” Her gaze was colder than I’d ever witnessed. “They followed you and saw that you went to the twentieth floor—the floor that holds a private place called Club Swan…”
I swallowed, felt all the color leaving my face.
“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you were there to celebrate a friend’s milestone of celebration—all forty-nine times, and that you don’t have a secret part-time career at a goddamn high-profile strip club.”
I said nothing. Her words cut too deep for me to speak.
“Do you have any idea what type of predators, sociopaths, and evil men go to places like that?” she asked.
The same ones who work at both of your companies…
“Is any part of this true, Meredith?” My father finally rejoined the conversation, looking somewhat concerned. “Is that what you like to do in your free time?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Whenever I danced, I felt free, like all the pain from my past couldn’t touch me. My twirls were a shield, guarding me from pent-up emotions and tears. They helped me deal with bullshit moments like this.
“You are never to step foot in that place again, Meredith Alexis Thatchwood.” My aunt pronounced every syllable in my name. “Are we clear?”
“No.” I stood to my feet. “No, we’re not clear at all. You know what, Dad? Next time you want to have one of these meetings, make sure my dear aunt isn’t with you.”
“Meredith...” He pleaded. “Meredith, please. Can we start over? We can change the subject and start anew. Surely there’s something we can get off on the right foot about.”
“You’re right.” I stepped back. “The right thing to say would’ve been, Happy Birthday.” I walked away without another word, knowing that they wouldn’t dare follow.
I decided to take the steps back up to Vogue instead of waiting for an elevator. As I made it to the second landing, I heard a familiar sound from my phone. The ‘Someone You Like Has Liked You Back!’ sound.
Curious, I pulled my phone from my pocket—hoping it was Athlete457, the sexy brown-eyed guy who I’d swiped right on during my morning commute. I opened the app and saw that it was him, but it wasn’t him at the same time.
The name was the same, but the pictures weren’t. Instead of a cute guy kicking around a soccer ball, these were all shots of the ‘too good to be fucking true’ sexy guy I’d swiped left on the other night. Yet somehow, these pictures were even sexier than the ones before.
He was wearing all black in every shot—business attire that covered his neck and silky woven ties that looked like the exact kind I’d seen on runways. His watches were definitely photo-shopped onto his wrist, seeing as though his previous pictures featured five different Audemar Piguet watches and these pictures featured five different types of Rolex ones.
He must’ve changed his pictures after I ‘liked’ him. Ugh. What a troll…
As I was preparing to get rid of him, I saw that he was updating his name again. This time, he was shortening it to The Devil. From the small chat box, I could even see that he was preparing to send me a message.
Ugh. Seriously?
I took screenshots of his face for much-needed vibrator use later. Then I “un-liked” him and flagged his account for fraud.
Michael
Before
I never understood what would make someone willingly apply for a job in corporate America. Between the monotonous hours, the chicken-shit pay, and the tedious tightrope treading across a fragile CEO’s ego, there was little to admire. It was why I remained completely unimpressed whenever I met a suit. They all talked and walked the same, and they honestly thought that they ran my city.
They had no idea about the gritty underbelly shit that kept the wheels turning while they were sleeping. No idea that every dime in their banks, every share from their investors, and every person who walked in and out of their sleek-colored buildings were all directly connected to me.
Still, every now and then, I couldn’t help but steal a glimpse of this world in action. Just to make sure that I’d made the right decision to avoid it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the employee of the month announcement is here!” The man who thought he was my boss, Evan Albright, stood atop a glass table at Pay Day Loan Holdings. He made millions every quarter by convincing people near poverty to take out small loans with high interest, yet he still couldn’t afford to figure out how to wear a decent suit.
“I hope you’re as excited as I am, people!” He pushed his wire-framed glasses up onto his face as the rest of the team entered the room. “Are we ready?”
I checked my watch and set the timer for seven minutes.
“The employee of the month, the person who will receive the life changing four hundred-dollar bonus on their next quarterly check is…Peter Monroe!”
The room erupted into applause. I remained still by the windows, running the numbers through my mind.
“Mr. Monroe has tripled his sales and landed us new business clients which will truly help our bottom line.” He continued to talk. “As for the personal feedback, he’s been stellar there as well. A customer called our corporate line and said her grandmother was sick—said she needed a little extra time to pay her loan, and Mr. Monroe said hell no. Then he double charged her account!”
Applause.
“There was another customer who claimed that he was about to be evicted—which we all know isn’t our fault, and Mr. Monroe turned down his request for an extension. He got him to sign on for another short-term loan with an even higher interest rate. Not only that, but he got this customer’s entire family to sign up for separate loans as well!”
Mr. Monroe smiled amidst another round of applause, and Mr. Albright encouraged the staff to cheer as loud as they could.
“I hope he’ll serve as an example for the rest of you this month and you’ll pursue the impossible, because it’s possible.” He clapped his hands. “Congratulations, Mr. Monroe. Now, back to work, everyone.”
The employees started to leave the room, and I debated whether I wanted to give this man my parting words now or in his office.
“Mr. Dawson?” He beat me to it. “Mr. Dawson?”
“Yes?” I approached the glass table.
“Can you stay behind a few seconds, so I can talk to you in private?”