Page 58 of Pin-up Girl

I heard his feet on the carpet, now that he wasn’t trying to move silently, and the water running in the bathroom.

Clint returned, and was as gentle as could be cleaning me up. “You’re so fucking incredible.” His voice was another warm blanket to wrap myself up in.

When he lay next to me a moment later, I didn’t feel his normal clothes against my skin, but I was too lost in warm-fuzzies to think about it.

“Are you staying?” I asked.

“Can’t leave my princess alone after that.” He kissed the back of my neck as he pulled me into him.

Fuck this was incredible. I was so glad we’d done this.

And totally, completely grateful I told him up front that I only wanted sex. I was one-hundred percent happy about that.

17

brodie

The text I got when I was at the high school with Clint was from my company—former company. Specifically my assistant.

Assistant: The board has called a meeting in the morning. Your attendance is mandatory.

Me: Why are they having you reach out instead of contacting me themselves.

Assistant: I’m your assistant. It’s my job to manage your calendar.

Me: And you do a fantastic job. It was great working with you.

I knew what the meeting would be, or, I was ninety-nine percent certain. I was going to be fired from the only place I’d ever worked, aside from the part time gig I did for Granny’s Yarn Shop when I was in high school.

That should make me furious. Or sad. Both?

Either way, I didn’t have anything to do with my evening since Aubrey and Clint were occupied, and that gave me the freedom to ponder.

Not a good thing, because I still couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t angrier about this whole situation. Why, at two in the morning, I was outside wandering the streets, waiting for the grief to sink in. The only thing that made my insides flip on themselves was seeing Clint’s truck parked in front of Aubrey’s building on Main Street.

In my motel room, I tossed and turned for a few more hours, before finally getting up to face the phone call. Once I’d heard the board’s final decision, once everything was official, it would feel real.

While it was true that some things since I got here had been frustrating—not being able to find the farm property I was hoping to buy for example—the great thing was not putting on a show for most people I ran into. With Aubrey’s grandmother, I was expected to be the corporate executive, but with everyone else, I was me.

Preparing for the morning’s call was a stark reminder that life was typically the opposite. Thinking about who I was expected to be once I got on the phone, psyching myself up, was exhausting before things started. There was a brief interruption when the check-in desk called to say I had a package. The shirts and associated hardware to help Dee monitor her heart had shown up, and walking the short distance to grab the package was a nice, but too brief, distraction. I was surprised to see it arrive overnight. The note inside said Heard some rumors. Wanted to get you this before I couldn’t expense it back to you. These are the kid prototypes. Hope they work.

I spent the remaining time leading up to the meeting pacing. Drumming my fingers on my leg. Singing random bursts of music that popped into my head. I was walking into my execution—my job’s execution—and I should be more worried. They couldn’t take away my shares of the company, but they could kick me out of holding jobs within it.

I must be too wound up to be nervous.

Yesterday, Evie helped me throw together a makeshift background from PVC pipe and canvas, and a few minutes before the top of the hour, I set it up behind the desk in the motel room. I took my seat, slipped in my earbuds, and joined the video call.

I wasn’t surprised that a couple of the other executives were late, including the Chief Operation Officer who had been acting in my place the last couple of weeks, and we couldn’t start without them.

God forbid.

They finally showed, and Lia Barney, said COO, kicked off the meeting with a round of formalities. Reviewing high level stats from the last few quarters, covering what they had identified as core profit issues, and prefacing and concluding everything with a lot of fancy words that said we can’t blame anyone, for legal reasons.

As I listened to the same things I’d been hearing for months, and the less than subtle hints that they could push the blame on me as the face of the company, regardless of whose fault it really was, something inside me snapped. I knew what was coming—we all did—and didn’t see the reason for another fifteen or thirty or more minutes of preamble.

“Q-Four last year…” Lia took a deep breath, indicating the next recitation was on its way.

Nope. I needed to get this over with. “Let’s not do this anymore.” I talked over her.

---