Page 86 of Wildly Inappropriate

“What do you mean? You were supposed to give me the final version yesterday. You’ve been here late working on it for weeks. It should have taken you two weeks tops. How are you not done?”

“Well, we’re just going to go get some coffee,” Izzy says as she and Becca both hastily grab their cell phones and head toward the door.

I feel my face turn red, unsure if I’m more mortified by my inability to do my job or my friends seeing me chastised by my boss.

“I’m sorry,” I say as the door swings shut behind Izzy.

“I don’t need you to be sorry, I need you to explain how it’s taking you this long,” Kelsey says as she crosses her arms.

“I…”—I feel the tears start to build in my eyes, a curse I have any time I feel like I’m getting in trouble—“I don’t know how to do most of the things in it.”Shit.I can’t believe I just admitted that to my boss. Now I’m going to be heartbroken and unemployed.

“Why didn’t you ask?”

“You hired me to do this job. I wanted to prove to you I could do it.”

Kelsey sighs, her arms still crossed, but there’s something softer in her expression now. “Look, I get that you want to prove yourself, but struggling alone doesn’t help anyone—not you, not me, and certainly not the client. Everyone needs support at some point. I understand wanting to do things right. I’m a bit of a perfectionist myself,” she admits, her voice losing its edge.

I look down, unable to meet her eyes. “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it. You hired me to do this job, and I wanted to prove I could do it perfectly, without needing anyone else.”

“Perfectly?” Kelsey echoes, one eyebrow raised. “If I expected perfection from everyone, nothing would ever get done. Besides, no one does this work alone. I have mentors, I ask for input. We all need help to grow.”

Her words sink in, settling in a way that feels almost painful. The need to be perfect, to prove I don’t need anyone else—it’s more than just this job. It’s why I didn’t call him after he left. Why I pretend I’m fine, that I can handle the breakup on my own, even though it feels like I’m barely holding myself together. I’ve spent my whole life being the smart, strong, overachiever. It’s how I managed to have my own identity when competing against a sports phenom for a brother. And now, as an adult, I don’t want people to see me when I’m not put together and strong. I don’t want people to see my weakness.

I look up at her, suddenly seeing Kelsey as more than just my demanding boss. She’s someone who has had to ask for help too, who’s needed support at times. “So…you don’t think less of me for not knowing everything?”

She chuckles, her tone lighter. “Of course not. If anything, I’d think less of you for pretending you didn’t need help. You’re still learning, and that’s okay. Don’t be afraid to reach out when you need someone.”

I nod slowly, feeling a weight shift inside me. Her words are like a soft nudge, something that hits deeper than the immediate problem at hand. Maybe it’s time to let go of my need to appear flawless, to prove I don’t need anyone—even if that someone is the person who left.

Kelsey gestures toward my laptop. “Show me what you’re stuck on. Let’s work through it together and maybe we can get it done in time.”

As we go over the project, she’s patient and encouraging, helping me realize that my mistakes aren’t the end of the world. Izzy and Becca return later, both of them jumping in to help proofread and review the proposal. Bryn stops by a couple of hours later with pizza, and it turns into an all-hands-on-deck situation.

Strangely, when Kelsey finally hits submit on our proposal, I feel more at ease than I have in weeks. I realize that if it’s okay to admit I need help here, maybe it’s also okay to reach out in other parts of my life, too.

After everyone heads home for the night, I sit quietly, staring at the blank message screen on my phone. I’ve been holding on to my pride, my need to show him that I’m perfectly fine on my own. But maybe—just maybe—I don’t have to do everything alone. And maybe reaching out to him doesn’t mean I’m any less strong.

I take a deep breath and start typing.Hey, I know it’s been a while, but…do you want to talk?

Kelsey’s words echo in my mind, reminding me that sometimes, strength comes from knowing when you don’t have to be perfect—or alone.

I delete my message, knowing JT wouldn’t read it anyway. Plus, I have a much better plan for how to get throughhisdefenses.

Chapter forty-one

JT

There is a phonevibrating somewhere near my head, but I can’t be bothered to answer it. Jameo stopped calling a week ago, so I’m not even tempted to communicate with the outside world at this point. I bury my head under my pillow, simultaneously blocking out both the noise and the overly bright sunshine. I need gloom. I feel like I’m hungover, but I’m not. I haven’t allowed myself to drink even one sip of alcohol since I ended things with Lila. Alcohol would numb this pain, and I deserve to feel every memory like the hits to the heart they are.

My phone stops buzzing, and I consider pulling myself out of bed and getting dressed, but I just can’t be fucked. As if the person on the other end of the line can sense my decision to stay in bed all day, the phone starts vibrating again. I’m almost certain I’m not supposed to be playing anywhere today, though, upon further reflection, I don’t know what day it is, so it’s hard to say if I have somewhere to be.

Snaking my hand out from under the sheets of my bed, I blindly reach around until I find my phone and, with a flick of my hand, send it crashing to the ground. I grab the pillow that’s next to me—the one that has been filling in for Lila as I attempt to fall asleep each night—and drop it on top of the phone. I can still hear a faint buzzing sound, but it’s not loud enough to bother me anymore. I’ve been getting really good at shutting things out these past few weeks.

Sometime later, I can’t really say how long it has been since the phone forced me to recognize the existence of a world outside of my memories, I hear “JT Johnson!” bellowed from somewhere in the house. Huh. That’s unexpected.

Unfortunately, that small spark that I felt at the sound of the unknown voice is now gone, and I can feel myself sinking back down into the thick fog that has clouded my mind and my senses since I left Lila in Vegas. I sat through meeting after meeting with my parents, my body on autopilot, Sam on the phone, providing the collateral and signatory power they needed to extend or pay their loans. Sam hates that everything is mortgaged through the roof to get them the cash they need, but oh well. What do I need equity or cash for? I spend every drop of my willpower making sure I’m focused when I’m at the tournaments—making sure I win enough money to continue to pay the people who rely on me—I can’t be expected to interact with the world when I’m at home.

“Um, no,” I hear from somewhere much closer to me. “This is completely unacceptable. What is that smell?” The man must be in my room with me, but I cannot summon the energy to lift my head. It sounds like Sam, but he lives across the country. Unless, I’m at home, right? I blink open my left eye, but—

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