Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I nod, “In Greenville.”
“Where’s that?”
“Maine.”
“Why the fuck would you buy a house in Maine?” He screws up his face in horror.
“Because….. it’s time.”
“For what?” he bellows. “To turn fucking Amish?”
“I want a family home with a garden and a dog, maybe even a family. Renting a tiny apartment in New York is never going to get me there.”
He blinks as he processes my words.
“I need to get out of New York, Gabriel.”
“New York is your home.”
“New York is your home. I’ve been here for eight years and I ….” I shrug, not wanting to elaborate on my loneliness. “I haven’t met anyone and it’s time for me to pull up my big girl panties and move on.”
He pauses for a moment as if processing my words.
“You’re leaving me?” he whispers.
“I have to.”
His eyes search mine.
“I’m sorry.”
His jaw clenches and then without another word he marches back into his office and slams the door, it echoes as the walls shake.
Hot tears burn my eyes.
You were supposed to beg me to stay.
It’s 6 p.m. and everyone has cleared out for the day, Gabriel hasn’t left his office all day, not even for lunch.
I’ve been hoping to have a quick word on his way out, but there’s still no sign of him.
The office is deathly silent, and I quietly knock on his door.
“Yes,” he calls.
I open it and peep in, “I’m going to head off soon.”
He doesn’t look up from his computer, “Okay.”
I wait for him to look up at me…… he doesn’t.
“Close the door on your way out,” he replies flatly as he picks up a pen and starts signing some documents.
Great, now the tantrum is over, he’s going to give me the silent treatment. “Are you not talking to me?” I ask.
“I have nothing to say.” He keeps writing.
“Gabriel….”
He lets out an over-exaggerated sigh as he glances up, “What is it?”
“I don’t want this to end badly.”
“It’s already ended. You can finish now. No need to come back and work this week, I’ve signed the last of your leave documents. You are free to go.”
I get a lump in my throat as I stare at him… that’s it?
He really doesn’t care.
He keeps his head down as he writes, seemingly totally unaffected.
I will not cry in front of this selfish bastard, it’s all about him…. it’s always been about him.
I quietly close his office door and walk to my desk, I take my bag from the drawer and with one long last look around the office, I feel my heart break.
Maybe he’s right, maybe I am doing the wrong thing. Who’s to say I’m going to like Greenville anyway.
No.
This is what he wants, if I give up on my dream now, I’m only cheating myself.
No pain, no gain.
The thing about being a glutton for punishment is this….
Nothing.
Turns out that I’m a total hoe for gluttony punishment and there is no excuse for my needy behavior. After tossing and turning all night, there’s only one thing I know.
I am not a quitter.
Just as I said I would, I will work until the end of the week and then I’m going to the Christmas party looking shit hot and then I’m walking out on my terms. He cannot finish me up on a whim.
Who the fuck does he think he is, anyway?
Right on 8:20 a.m. I knock on his door.
“Yes,” he barks.
I smirk, he’s annoyed that I came back. Well… prepare to be angered, fucker. I open the door in a rush and step back as my eyes widen in horror.
He’s making coffee in his briefs. Black, sexy Calvin Klein ones.
Lingerie for men.
He turns toward me, giving me a full frontal. “What are you doing here?”
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.
“Ahhh.” My eyes bulge from their sockets. “What are you doing….” I put my hands up toward his body, I’m flabbergasted as my eyes drop to the bulge in his briefs. “Doing that,” I gasp.
“I’m making fucking coffee, what does it look like?”
Something snaps in my brain, “It looks like you’re being a poser, that’s what it looks like. This isn’t a Calvin Klein runway show, you know.”
“Nobody has a gun to your head to look.” He angrily tips the coffee into his cup. “I think you like what you see, that’s what I think.”
“Oh….. you think that!” I yell, infuriated that he’s onto me. “I think you’re…… hideous.”
“Hideous?” he screams infuriated. “You’re hideous.”
Something about my boss standing there in his underpants yelling that I’m hideous tickles my fancy, and I burst out laughing.
“Nothing is funny about this,” he fumes. “Look away while I dress.”
“Oh please, I’ve seen it all now,” I scoff. “Stop acting frigid, we both know you’re not.” I sit down and open his computer.
“Apparently I’m too hideous to look at,” he mutters as he disappears into his closet.