Page 58 of Left of the Slash
“Yeah, I'm fine,” I lie, then force myself to keep it real. “Actually, I'm not fine. I'm not fucking fine at all. Olivia is tripping.”
Rob frowns, confused. “Wait, is this some work shit, or about your relationship with her?”
“See, evenyouthought we had a relationship, but I'm a clingy idiot for thinking it, too.”
“What happened? She broke it off?” Rob asks.
“She may as well have,” I answer, trying to keep my voice down as my anger pushes the volume higher. “I told her I had her back and wouldn't let her be disrespected by anybody, and she took it like I was saying she needs me or some shit. Now she's acting like we’re not together and like I'm a fucking idiot for thinking we were, even though she told me she was mine. She said a lot of shit that I believed. I guess I'm a dumbass.”
Rob sighs as he puts his hand on top of the chair next to him and leans over. “Youarea dumbass, Q.”
My face contorts with bewilderment. “What?”
“We told you not to fall for that girl,” he says. “Back when you were explaining what the nature of your relationship with Olivia would be, we told you not to fall for her. I told you I didn't want to see you get hurt, and now look at you. You're clearly hurt. You should've never allowed yourself to feel anything for Olivia Lucero. She's thirty-five years old, has never been married, and dodges long-term relationships like she's afraid they'll make her physically ill. The only thing a woman like that is committed to is her work. How could you not have seen that?”
“I thought I could see it, but over time things change. I thought she was evolving with me. All of this shit about accepting who I really am and being unapologetic about it—it all started with her, and I thought she was coming with me, changing and growing for the betterwith me. I thought we were doing it together.”
“That was just you, bro,” Rob says. “You grew. She stayed the same. Sadly, the truth of the situation is that you may have outgrown her. I know that sucks to hear, but you’ve got to keepit real with yourself. You deserve better than what she's talking about. I know you like her, but you have to accept that.”
I lean against the wall behind my desk as my eyes fall from Rob to the floor. He's right. It does suck to hear, and it’s even worse that I know it’s true. I've grown over my time with Olivia, and she clearly hasn't. I hate that. I wanted her with me, but you can't force anybody to feel anything they don't feel for themselves. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make them drink. So I nod at Rob and let out a long sigh, accepting what I have no choice but to accept.
“You're right,” I say.
Rob sighs, too. “I'm sorry it didn't work out, man. You going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be good.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I'm going to keep growing,” I say, quickly finding my confidence as my anger fuels it. “I'm going to keep becoming the person I want to be. She isn't the only one who can focus on themselves. I’ll use all of this shit I'm feeling to fuel my glow-up.”
Rob smiles like the Cheshire cat. “That’s what I'm talking about. Make her regret losing you, bro.”
“Yeah,” I reply, nodding along. “She thinks she saw me grow while we were … whatever the hell we were. But she hasn't seenanythingyet. Just wait until she sees what’s next.”
UNDERSTANDING
THIRTY-FIVE - Quinn
East-World Bank isn't as big as I thought it would be. The building is only a little larger than Obsidian’s, but the parking lot is full of luxurious cars that you wouldn't see in our lot. I manage to find a space in the second row, which gives me the perfect view of the two cars resting in the spaces closest to the building. These spaces have signs in front of them to make sure no one else parks there. The first is for Richard Saul, the CFO, and the other is for the CEO, Joel Epson. Richard drives an eggshell Porsche with tinted windows, while Joel is more subdued, choosing a high-end Lexus instead of anything fast. Joel wants to stay off of the police’s radar, while Richard wants to be too fast for the police to catch. It’s funny how cars can tell you about the person driving them, but I didn't need to see their vehicles to know about the two men waiting inside. I've studied them more than I needed to, overpreparing for the test insteadof cramming at the last minute, and when I step out of my car to go inside, I'm ready for everything that’s about to happen. I take a final glance at the laptop in my passenger seat, wondering if I’ll actually need it. If it comes to that, then I’ll be back. For now, I turn around and walk in hoping we can do this the easy way.
My mood for the day can only be defined as sour. I taste it in my mouth and it makes my facial expression tight. I know what’s at stake here, and I know that one wrong move could jeopardize Obsidian’s future. No part of me wants to do that, but I’m also not in the mood to be fucked with right now. Olivia and Eden are waiting inside, and I feel like I have to close off my emotions before I see them. If I don't, then I’ll be on edge when we go in there, and that is almost never a good thing. I want Olivia to see that I'm closed off because she made me this way, and I can follow her lead for once and get into the same zone she's in. I can lock into my work, too. Once we’re done here, I’ll show no emotion and get on my work grind. If she doesn't want us to be a thing, then we won't be. Fuck it.
After a trip up an elevator, I'm greeted by a blonde receptionist in a pink blouse, who points to a group of chairs in front of her desk. I follow the direction of her finger and find Olivia and Eden already there. Eden, with her usual red aura, smiles at me like an old friend. Olivia, dressed in a conservative black pantsuit with her hair pulled into a tight ponytail, presses her lips into a thin line and nods her head. I barely nod back, batting away memories of her on her knees in front of me, gazing up at me with those beautiful eyes. I guess all of that is gone now. She severed our connection to give us space. So be it.
Damn.
The three of us sit in silence, the air thick with awkwardness until the receptionist gets a phone call that finally brings sound into the room. Her voice is high-pitched and dainty already, but she seems to elevate it even more when she speaks into thereceiver. Then she hangs up and looks at the three of us as she stands.
“Mr. Epson and Mr. Saul are ready for you now,” she says in a much lower tone than before. “Right this way, please.”
We all stand at the same time, and Olivia is at the front of the pack when we walk down a short gray hall and turn into a conference room that is very similar to ours at Obsidian. For the first time, I feel nervousness swoop into the room like a breeze. This is it—the big day we’ve been waiting for. It’s not happening the way I thought it would, but it’s here nonetheless. No turning back now.
Everything inside is gray and black, the table is a short rectangle in the middle of the room, and in the center of it sit two older men in gray suits that are nearly identical with the exception of their ties. They are all wrinkles and dismissiveness, and they wear the latter like cheap cologne—it wafts off of them and fills the room. They eye all three of us as we’re ushered in by the receptionist, who leaves as we step over to the table, and go through a series of handshakes that feel disingenuous and trivial. I don't know if Olivia can see it like I can, but these people clearly have no intention of doing business with Obsidian. My heart sinks with the realization, but my determination ticks up.
Joel Epson looks like a man who has lived his entire life in wealth and luxury. His suit is pressed, and his all-gray hair is neatly combed backward to cover the few bald spots threatening to overtake his entire scalp. The skin on his face sags like plastic bags full of groceries, especially under his eyes and around his mouth, which seems to be stuck in an upside down smile. While I would say that he's easy to make fun of, I would also suggest that mockery be done quietly and in private, because Joel Epson doesnotlook like the kind of person you make fun of to his face. If he wasn't a banker, I could see him as a mafia boss, putting outhits on people who owe him money—not too far removed from a bank CEO, I suppose.
“Good morning, Mr. Epson,” Olivia begins as the two CEOs shake hands. “I'm Olivia Lucero, and these are my colleagues—my assistant, Eden Graves, and our CISO, Mr. Quinn King.”
