Chronicles of a Serial Dater - Book 7: A New Adult Romantic Comedy (3 page)

I returned to the bedroom with a towel in hand.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You look really pale,” he asked with genuine concern. “Is there someone you want me to call?”

I waved him away, making a point of not moving too much with the gesture. “I just had a rough night last night. Please, lemme show you where the bathroom is.”

I appreciated his politeness, but I figured it was mostly because the puddle of puke in his lap was preventing him from just fleeing the scene. I did my best to clean up while he was in the shower. The small blessing was at least I hadn’t gotten anything on his clothes.

We bumped into each other back in the living room, a bag of vomit towels in my hand.

“I guess I’m gonna…” he said, hooking his thumb toward the exit.

“Yeah, of course,” I nodded emphatically.

“Cool, so…”

“Yup.”

And so ended the most awkward goodbye of my life. We didn’t even hug. I closed the door behind him and wished for a time travel machine. I dropped the bag, unsure if I was going to try to salvage the poor towels or replace them completely. With my bedroom airing out, I grabbed my laptop and settled on the small round table that served as our kitchen set.

With exhaustion, embarrassment, and pure, unadulterated shame, I started my blog post.

“As of this morning, there now exists a man out there who has his own dating horror story… thanks to me. I’d like to introduce myself. Miss Pukes-on-Dick. But don’t worry… this man will be the last because Miss Pukes-on-Dick is officially coming off the market.”

It took all Sunday to get over my shame and hangover. Anette didn’t come back from Amie’s until late Sunday night, which gave me plenty of time to wallow in my own pity. Thanks to the instant-gratification culture and the thousands of bike messengers in the city, I didn’t have to leave my apartment for anything other than walking the dog. I could’ve hired someone to do that for me too, but I felt that was going a little too far…

Come Monday morning, I felt delicate but recovered. More importantly, I had an apology in my mind for Clint. Although I didn’t have a clear memory of what had happened, I knew it was certainly something that warranted making amends. My plan was to plunge straight into work, that way I could shift the apology quickly to business and shorten the awkwardness for everyone. That was the plan, at least.

I walked off the elevator at 8:57 a.m. Lisa called me and Abi into her office five minutes later. With a lump in my throat, I braced myself for the worst.

Lisa sat at her desk, perfectly manicured fingers steepled. “Okay, here’s what’s happening,” she started. “Talia, you’ve been removed from Mr. English’s project effective immediately. You’re to forward all your work and notes to Abi.”

She then addressed Abi who was sitting beside me. It was like I could feel her ego inflate with each passing second. “Abi, it’s vital we finish the book on schedule. I’m not looking for you to reinvent the wheel, but if you see room for improvement in Talia’s work, you have my permission to go ahead.”

“Thank you so much,” Abi gushed. “I won’t let you down!”

Lisa pursed her lips and refocused on me. Her silent stare made my stomach quiver with nerves.
She’s going to fire me. I’m fired. Clint called and told her what happened Friday, the scene I made, and now I’m going to lose everything.

“Abi, could you give us a minute please?”

“Of course!” She turned her back to Lisa as she slipped from her chair, shooting me a smug grin as she walked to the door.

“Ms. Greene,” a voice buzzed through on the intercom. “It’s St. Richard’s on the line for you. They say it’s urgent.”

Lisa rolled her eyes and groaned. “I have to take this. Talia, could you wait outside for me? I’ll be a minute.”

I was a death row inmate staring at the clock. I nodded tightly. “Yes ma’am.”

Abi was kind enough to hold the door open for me but rather than shuffling off down to her office to start work, she stayed behind to rub salt in my wounds.

“I do hope your handwriting is legible. You really should get with the times and start using this amazing new thing we have called a computer.”

“Abi, not now, please.”

She squared her shoulders and practically cornered me against the door. “Oh, jeez. I forgot. You
do
know how to use a computer, don’t you? You’re a writer.” She bumped her head with the heel of her hand. “Duh!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

She scuffed the carpet with the toe of her Mary Janes. “I’m just saying, you’re a writer who uses computers. Maybe you write stories, maybe you talk with friends.” Her gaze flicked up, eyes full of gleeful hatred. “Perhaps you
chronicle
your life in a blog,” she said innocently.

At first, I thought I was hearing things. There was no way in hell she could’ve found my blog, but that evil curl on her upper lip told a different story. Perhaps this meeting had nothing to do with Friday night at all. Maybe Abi had told Lisa about my blog and she pulled me from the project as a preemptive protection for the company. I wasn’t sure if that should make me feel any better.

“What are you talking about?” I asked through gritted teeth.

Her whole chubby face twisted and I swear she looked exactly like the Grinch when he ruined Christmas. “You’re a Millennial. You should know better than to share personal information online. Especially things that might jeopardize your career.”

She was quoting parts of my blog right to my face. To my freakin’ face.

“Listen, it’s okay. Some people just aren’t cut out for this kind of work. It’s a difficult business. Don’t blame yourself. Blame your upbringing,” she sneered.

The fragile support structure I’d wedged in place just to get into work crumbled. Lisa was about to fire me so what the hell did I have to lose? Abi had pushed me too far.

“I’ll show you jeopardizing my career,” I growled.

Abi let out a satisfying squeak when I grabbed her collar and twisted it tight around her neck. Using every inch I had on her, I loomed close and physically pushed her back against the wall. I’d never punched someone before in my life but it was like my fist knew exactly what to do. I raised my right hand over my shoulder and clenched my knuckles, knowing this would probably hurt me as much as it’d hurt her.

“What did you do?” I hissed. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing! I swear! Why are you acting so crazy?”

She cringed under my hand, pulling away to shield her face. Her sudden shift from aggressor to victim only made me want to thump her harder. My fist trembled above my head, pausing.

The door clicked open beside us and we both turned at the noise. Abi moaned in as if she’d been saved while I suppressed a groan of my own. Lisa looked at me then to Abi, her expression fixed and unsurprised. I dropped my grip from Abi’s throat, my hand falling to my side.

“Talia,” she said flatly, gesturing back into her office before disappearing inside.

I rounded on Abi, still hungry for blood. “Why would you do this to me? Why are you always so… so… fucking unlikeable?”

Her shoulders slumped and she refused to meet my eye. “I wish I knew.”

I considered giving her a good rap on the side of the head anyway, but decided it’d be like smacking a child who didn’t know any better.

I took my seat opposite Lisa, still trembling with adrenaline. I’d never wanted to physically hurt someone more in my entire life. I couldn’t figure out if I was happy the had been broken up before I could. On the other hand, I’d be glad to take the assault charge on my record just for the opportunity to rearrange Abi’s face, even if she didn’t have anything to do with me getting kicked off the project.

“You need to cool down,” my boss warned. I followed her gaze to my lap where my hands were clenching and unclenching.

If she wasn’t going to fire me for what happened on Friday, she’ll definitely sack me for getting into a brawl in the hallway of her business,
I thought as I steadied my breathing.

“Ms. Greene, I’m so sorry…”

She abruptly looked away, a chunk of her salt and pepper hair slipping from behind her ear. “Never apologize for something you aren’t sorry for.”

My jaw audibly clacked shut.
What does that mean?
Rather than dig myself deeper, I opted to keep my mouth shut and find out exactly what she wanted to talk to me about. It was a first for me, being able to remain quiet while my mind chattered endlessly.

Lisa took her time rifling through a stack of papers, pulling them out and reordering seemingly at random. Without another glance in my direction, she turned to her computer and squinted through a pair of reading glasses. A full two minutes of silence passed between us but I knew better than to be the first to speak. By the time I thought I might explode, she finally looked up.

“I know about your… extracurricular writing.” Her voice held no accusation or damnation. It was like she was handing me the gun and telling me to shoot myself.

“Ma’am, please let me explain.”

She held up one slender finger. “You know what the key is to successful publishing?”

I waited a few heartbeats before realizing the question wasn’t rhetorical. “Uh, good writing?” I stammered.

“Timeliness. The right book can only be successful if it’s published at the exact right moment. Otherwise, the world will brush past it as if it’s camouflaged. That’s why so many authors die penniless and alone, only to have their work
discovered
,” she said the word with disdain. “Maybe they were ahead of their time. Perhaps society wasn’t ready for them yet, but in any case, the thing it all boils down to is timeliness.”

She’d lost me completely but like a good little employee, I nodded along.

Lisa stood and slowly paced around the office, one high heel positioned in line with the other as if she was navigating a balance beam.

“What people are constantly looking for is the voice of a generation. The voice of a movement. We’re so bombarded with people and opinions telling us what to think, it’s as if we yearn for a definitive person to come out and tell us how it really is. This is how to think. This is where we’re right. This is where you’re wrong.”

She shook her head, her short bob swinging. “Timeliness,” she trailed off and remained silent. This whole morning felt so bizarre a part of me wondered if I wasn’t on some prank show.