Page 16 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
Ashley shakes her head.
"She said her boss ‘didn't like it.' I mean, he could have told me that weeks ago, when I sent over design plans and pictures of the final layout for approval. They didn't say jack shit to me, so I thought it was fine. But no. They say nothing. They were just too chickenshit to tell me, and then at the last minute they had it alldismantled and replaced with the dullest, most utilitarian stage and seating imaginable, without even saying a word."
"Wow. That's pretty insane. They wasted a lot of time."
"Damn right. Thank you! That's what I'm saying. Listen, it's not even that I'm offended they didn't like it, even though I think they have terrible taste because, oh my God, you should have seen what they replaced everything with. But I get it—personal preference and all that. Not everyone is going to like everything."
"So… what did you do?"
"Well, I got angry and went to his office to confront him."
"Wait." Ashley holds up her hand. "What do you mean? Confront him how exactly?"
I shrug, a little bashfully. "Well, I didn't actually throw anything at him, or stab him in the heart or anything. I might have sworn once or twice, and I didn't yell, but okay, yes, I was a little loud. I just told him how I felt."
Her eyebrows fly up. "You did that to Grayson Wolfe? King of the Upper East Side? The most eligible bachelor in New York?"
"I don't care who he is," I say. "No one is going to disrespect my work."
"Damn. I don't know if I admire you or fear for you right now." She takes another sip of her Long Island, though a suspicious smile sits on her lips.
I shrug. "Well, the confrontation was the final nail in the coffin. I got fired…"Right after we'd had hot, furious sex on his table.But she doesn't need to know that little detail. "Well, I guess you could say I quit, but it's the same result."
"Oh no." Ashley's voice drops in genuine dismay. "That sucks."
I shrug again, trying to pretend I don't care and that it didn't sting that my first project of such a large scale has ended in dismal failure. It'll definitely be a black mark on my resumé, and he might be petty enough to try to blacklist me.
Yet I can't bring myself to regret anything. "It's whatever. We weren't working out anyway. Here's the worst part, though. After I'm fired, I go back and have our accountant draw up our expense reports so they can refund us for all the money we spent on this stupid project, because the deposit isn't enough to cover it all."
"Right."
"Well, they reply that they're not refunding all of it, because some of the stuff on the expense report they ‘didn't ask for.' So we'll have to eat the loss."
Once again, Ashley doesn't disappoint with her loud gasp.
"What the fuck?"
"Right? Like, how can a massive company like that be trying to scam little old me? And yeah, I did get approval for just about everything I did. I called most of the time because they have a thing against replying to emails, and I went over there in person to show them the progress. Not once did they say, ‘We don't want that' or ‘That's too much.'"
"Rookie mistake on your end. Always make sure there's a paper trail."
"Yeah, I know." I sigh. "It was a dumb mistake, but I didn't think a company like that would try to pull one over on me."
"Yeah, it's sometimes the most privileged people that are also the stingiest. All that privilege turns them into assholes."
"You got that right. I'm not taking it lying down, though," I tell her. "I'm going to fight it and I'm going to get paid what I'm owed. Whatever it takes."
"Atta girl." Ashley smiles a tad boozily and salutes me with her glass. "Don't let the bastards get you down."
"Hoorah." I clink her glass with mine, and we both drink.
I tell Ash about Grayson's condo and how lifeless it looks from the outside. Just one long grey slab. The type of place only a psychopath would enjoy living in. She's laughing, but I can't tellif it's because the story is funny or if it's just because she's a little drunk.
Speaking of which, after about four or five Mimosas, I'm definitely on the other side of relaxed… and horny. I catch myself staring at the bartender, who winks back. He has a cute smile, and an even cuter ass.
Not as good as Grayson, though.
No. I shake my head. Don't think about him. No one looks as good as Grayson Wolfe, so it's not even a reasonable standard to compare other men with. He's one in a million. But he's also a jackass I never should have fucked in the first place.
