Page 19 of Love & Other Disasters

Nine

Violet stared at the ceiling and mentally screamed while lying on the couch in Elle’s office waiting on her to finish a conference call. There was nowhere else to go, no one else to talk to. She couldn’t very well tell Jill any of it. They didn’t have that relationship. Jill would tell Mom so fast Violet’s head would spin, then Mom would ramble on about how she’d warned Violet not to “act like a slut.” And this situation is what she gets for behaving like one.

It would be nice to have a supportive sister; one that didn’t want her to get into trouble with Mom as an adult. But that wasn’t the lot dealt to her in the family shuffle. From the floor-to-ceiling windows of Elle’s corner office, cars rolled by in the city of downtown Franklin.

“That bad, huh?” Elle asked, after her call ended.

“He fired half the department. And they let half of the entire company go today.”

“I heard.” She typed away on her keyboard.

She groaned. “I spent half an hour across from him in a meeting. Good news is, I don’t think he recognizes me.”

“What?” she stopped typing. “He sees you naked and forgets what your face looks like? I don’t think so.”

“You had me all made up that night.”

“You don’t look like a completely different person.”

“He said nothing.”

“If he sat across from you today for any length of time, he’s figured it out or he will. J.P.’s not an idiot by any stretch of the imagination. He’s fantastic at helping turn companies around, I found out.”

“No,” Violet whined. She didn’t want the truth, only to stay in a bubble and pretend her entire life wasn’t crashing down around her ankles.

“Stop it with the pity party and just go talk to him, in private. Honesty is your only option at this point. Well, that and a well-timed blow job.”

Violet sat up. “How about instead, if he brings it up, I pretend I have no idea what he’s talking about? Who is Elle? I don’t know anyone named Elle or Brent. Never even been to the Rabbit. What’s that?”

“That’s insane, Vi.”

“So is your bj suggestion.”

“You’re not a liar, and you’re not good at it. Go with your strength, confess what happened, and live with the consequences. Or stay a miserable, nervous wreck.”

Violet closed her eyes, hating that Elle was right. There wasn’t any other way. But as long as he was avoiding the conversation, then she’d ignore it too. And there was a small chance he didn’t recognize her. Why ruin it for him?

“Stop rationalizing,” she said and started typing.

“They say practice makes perfect, so I can practice lying by keeping up the charade, and then I’ll be good at it.”

“Or get an ulcer,” Elle didn’t stop working.

“Medication exists for ulcers. But not for the complete humiliation I’m feeling.”

“It’s called alcohol.”

“Alcohol’s why I’m in this mess to begin with. I should never lower my inhibitions.”

“On an occasion, that’s good for you.”

“Sneaking out of a hotel at six a.m. with a hangover and missing my panties is not good for me.”

Elle laughed. “What happened to your panties?”

“I don’t know. Couldn’t find them.” She covered her face with a hand. “What if my boss has my underwear?”

The black heavy bag bounced off J.P.’s gloved fists as he slammed a random combo of jabs, crosses, uppercuts, hooks, and kicks into it. Throwing all of his anger into the workout. Her name was Violet Murphy, and she’d lied to him. It was her. He might get called an asshole, but he knew who all he’d gone to bed with, who he’d been with on a couch, and pressed against an elevator wall. And the little lady sitting across his desk was the same one talking Neil Simon plays, and enchanting him with delightful conversation and her overall hotness.

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