Page 2 of Puck Yes

“So when heinfamouslytold you he was upgrading,” Aubrey spits out, “he meant to the woman who signs your paychecks.”

I nod, slow-mo, then turn to Jackson. “Simone always updates her look books on Sunday night. Can you drive me to the office?”

“Say less.”

We’re out of there in seconds.

* * *

I fume as I thrust framed photos of my family into the standardI’m quittingbox, then stuff in my collection ofKindly Fuck OffandEat a Bag of Dicksmugs I won at book club. Finally, I drop my hot pink New Day planner on top. This planner is too good to have even visited this office. I add my favorite pens with a loud huff.

Oblivious to my ire, Simone sings under her breath at her nearby desk. Pretty sure that tune is Tiffany’s “I Think We’re Alone Now,” and what used to be quirky and fun to me—Simone’s love of eighties tunes—is beyond cloying in this moment.

“Hey, girl,” she calls out. She’s one of thosehey girlpeople. Every woman beneath her is ahey girl. “Can you grab those samples from Charlotte Everly? I want to do a whole vid on retro meets chic.”

“Oh, so sorry. I’m fresh out of fucks,” I say dryly as I jam a succulent in the box.

Missing the sarcasm, she says, “Okey-dokey. I’ll do it myself.”

What the hell is wrong with her? Does she think it’s okay to diddle my ex-boyfriend while telling me what a social-climbing jackass he was for leaving me on account of his “girlfriend upgrade?” What happened to thesister solidarityshe espoused? Thewe girls have to stick togethermantra she spewed when Xander said he wouldn’t settle for me?

I stuff another plant in the box then scan my workspace. There’s nothing left to pack, so I march to Simone’s desk, where she’s twirling a strand of her bright blonde hair that’s held back in a Rosie the Riveter-style bandana.

“Hey, girl,” I say, faux upbeat.

She looks up with a grin, still clueless to my mood, and wiggles her fingers at me. “Hey, girl to you too.”

She is too much. They both are too much. A blowout bash?Please.

But when her big, Barbie-blue eyes linger on me, I see her put two and two together. Her smile falters and she points to the box. “What’s going on?”

I don’t have a job, don’t have a plan, and don’t have a parachute. But I still have one thing—my pride. “I have exciting news, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“It is?”

“Absolutely. You’ve been such a great mentor. I’ve looked up to you so much and truly relished the chance to write for your social channels,” I say, winging it. “And since you were always so encouraging of my work, I finally decided to start my own channel and newsletter.”

I mean, technically I’m rage-quitting, but I don’t need to spell out everything for her.

“Oh, is it fashion for average girls?” she asks, like that’s not fucking insulting. She’s five ten to my…well,notfive ten at all.

“It’s everything,” I say. I have no clue what my schtick will be, but I know this—regular girls rock.

“And you’re doing it so soon?” She sounds devastated.

“Well, the timing seemed…fortuitous,” I say, swallowing all thehow could yousthat I want to unleash.

But I won’t. My deadbeat father was wrong about most things, but he imparted one useful life lesson—don’t let anyone know they hurt you. If I tell Simone why I’m really leaving, she’ll think I’m a wounded little bird. She doesn’t get to enjoy that privilege.

Her lips part in an O, followed by a long, “Oops.”

This is anoopssituation? Like oops, she just accidentally sat on his dick for three months while commiserating with me over the most insulting breakup ever?

I can’t even speak, but I don’t need to. Simone grabs her phone. Her fingers scroll-fly over the screen, then she winces. “Shoot. I’m so bad with social, Ivy, and you’re so good with it. I meant to post that engagement shot tomorrow morning at six a.m., not at six tonight.”

“AM and PM can be hard,” I say with fake sympathy.

“Right?” She pops up from her chair, smoothing a hand over her rockabilly dress patterned with red roses that match the tattoos snaking down her bare arms. “And listen, I planned to tell you at breakfast tomorrow. I figured I’d soften the blow with avocado toast.” She grins sheepishly. “Your fave, right?”

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