Page 44 of Playing Dirty
A pause. “Tucson?” she echoed. “No, he hasn’t been here. He’s been in Casper, Wyoming, filling in as the manager for that store. Casper is the regional office, you know.”
“Yes, of course.” My pen stilled in my hand.
I stared at the pad of paper in front of me like it might change what I just heard. “Oh,” I said, keeping my tone light. “So… who’s listed as the manager for Lovelace?”
More keyboard clicks.
“Well, that store’s manager position has technically been open for a couple of years now. Matt’s been covering it remotely. But… huh. Actually, as of a few days ago,you’relisted as the manager.”
I blinked. “Me?”
“Yeah. Didn’t Matt tell you?”
I swallowed. “He’s been out of town.”
“Ah, that makes sense. But no worries—we’ll send the draft letter to him, and once it’s signed, we’ll forward a copy for your records. Your salary increase will be reflected in Friday’s direct deposit.”
I stared straight ahead, watching the tiny crack in the drywall near the window. “Thanks,” I said softly.
“Oh, and let us know if you want to include anything fun about the store’s history in your draft. We love it when local teams get involved.”
“I will,” I replied. “Thanks for your help.”
“Anytime!”
I ended the call.
And just sat there.
No tears. No denial. No pleading with the universe for another explanation.
Just silence.
Then I set the phone down with deliberate care, like if I moved too fast, something in me might crack.
I stood. Started pacing—tight, sharp loops behind the desk. My boots tapped against the laminate floor like a metronome speeding up with each step.
My jaw locked.
One hand curled into a fist.
He lied. Again.
Not some slip of the tongue or omission out of guilt.
He’d told a full, practiced lie—said he was training in Tucson while living out his second life in Casper. At the same time, changing my job title permanently behind my back. And managing every detail like a man who expected not to be questioned.
By the third pass, I slammed my palm on the desk. The coffee mug jumped. The pen jar rattled. A paperclip skittered off the edge and landed at my feet.
Still no tears.
Just breathe. Shallow. Focused. Controlled.
This wasn’t heartbreak.
It was clarity.
And I had never felt colder—or more certain.
