Chapter 46

When I make my way to my desk, the entire cubicle pit is buzzing about the new rumors. Miles agreeing to an interview with a competitor has the entire office in an uproar. Most people are excitedly sharing the news and their opinions. Many are stressed or annoyed. Only Amber looks actively depressed.

She must see this as a rejection. No doubt she’s been persistent in trying to get an interview with Miles. For him to say yes to someone else and not her has got to sting.

From her dejected posture, she’s clearly given up.

I haven’t. I’m getting closer to something in my research. Soon, I’ll be able to approach Miles with my own proposal. As long as I can manage before he actually has that other interview, I might have a shot.

Granted, it’s just as possible that Miles will reject me. In which case, I’m sure I’ll feel just like Amber is now. But I can’t get upset until if and when that actually happens. I need to hold my head up high and keep trying.

It isn’t over until it’s over.

By midmorning, most of the gossip has died down. Amber slinks into my cubicle.

“I assume you’ve heard the news,” she says to me.

“I have.”

She looks at me with narrow eyes. “You should give up.”

“No,” I say, simple as that.

Amber lingers a while, watching me like she can’t believe I’m genuine. Eventually she must figure it out because she leaves my cubicle with a shake of her head.

In addition to my own personal research to convince Miles, Lila hands me many other topics to look into, to help feel out if they have enough meat to be full fledged articles. If they do, Lila gives the assignment to someone else, which doesn’t feel great, but it’s nice to actually be a part of something, rather than just making coffee or delivering messages.

All things considered, even with the terrible news, I keep my head high and have a decent day of hard work.

At the end of the day, I receive a text from Garnar.

Thea agrees. You can move into the guest room whenever.

Excellent!

With a spring in my step, I rush back to Cynthia’s to collect my things. She watches me from the doorway. Leaning on the doorframe, she has her arms crossed.

“This is a terrible idea, and it’s going to end badly for everyone,” she says, not for the first time. Not even for the tenth time.

“I don’t care. I’ll do whatever I need to for my kids,” I tell her, the same response I always give.

“Mark my words, Esther. Garnar’s going to try to fuck with you.”

“I know that. That’s why I bought a door lock. Once I’m there, I’ll set up the lock and it will be fine.”

“Check the bed,” Cynthia says. “If he’s made up the sheets, don’t you dare trust it.”

I stand up fully to face her. “You’re paranoid,” I say. Garnar is an ass, but he wouldn’t be so petty as to do something weird to the bed, would he?

“They probably put a dead animal under the sheets or something,” Cynthia says. “My ex was into messed up stuff like that. Don’t you dare relax. Also check in the closet. They’ll put a dead fish or something somewhere that isn’t obvious, so the smell will get to you.”

Cynthia has told me a lot about her ex-husband, but these are stories even I don’t know. “We’re going to talk about this later,” I tell her.

“Just be careful,” Cynthia says, coming into the room. She unhooks her arms and helps me pack. “Garnar is a sleazebag. You never really know what they are capable of.”

“I’ll be careful,” I promise, and finally Cynthia seems satisfied.

When I get to the house with my suitcases, I’m surprised to find that the girls are staying at a friend’s house again. “On a Monday?” I ask Garnar, who is ignoring me in favor of kissing Thea’s cheek.

“They asked,” Thea answers. “Who are we to say no?”

Thea’s already stepping into the step-mother role, it seems. I wonder how the girls feel about that and resolve to ask them in our next quiet moment.

As I head into the guest room, I keep my eyes – and nose – out for anything suspicious, remembering Cynthia’s warnings. For the most part, the room looks fine. Though, as Cynthia predicted, the bed is already made.

To be fair, we always made up the guest room in case of company, but these sheets are not the same ones that I remember making the bed with the last time I was in this room.

It could mean nothing. Garnar wouldn’t freshen them to be nice to me, but maybe someone visited and they had to change the sheets.

Yet Cynthia’s warnings whispered in the back of my mind.

Leaving my suitcases, I approach the bed, cautiously, as one would a cornered animal.

I grab the comforter and pull it back. There’s nothing between the comforter and the blanket. Grabbing the blanket next, I pull it back, revealing the sheet. Nothing is there either, and I’m starting to feel like a fool.

With more abandon, I grab the sheet and yank it back, expecting to find nothing.

Instead, right there in the center of the bed is a used condom.

Bile rises in my throat. There’s no question in my mind who left this here. Or whose… spend is there inside of it. I’m going to be sick.

Leaving the scene, I storm out into the living room, where Garnar and Thea continue to paw at each other.

“What the hell is in my bed?” I demand.

“What are you talking about?” Garnar says. He has a dull smile on his face, but a spark in his eye. The bastard knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“The goddamn used condom, Garnar. That’s what.” My rage makes my blood pulse with force. I feel like I could run a marathon right now. Or have a heart attack.

Thea laughs, and Garnar quickly joins.

“You can’t blame us,” Thea says, her voice a sing-song. “We have sex so many places. How can we keep track?”

No. I refuse to believe that. Garnar wouldn’t leave something like that around for his daughters to accidentally stumble upon. This is entirely deliberate.

This was a show for me.

“You’re disgusting,” I snap. “Clean it up.”

“It’s your room,” Garnar says with a vicious smirk. “You clean it up.”

The first thing I do is add the lock to the door. Then, donning rubber cleaning gloves, I dispose of the used condom. Touching it, even with the gloves, makes me gag. I wish I had a hazmat suit. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel clean again.

By the time that’s done, the clock strikes ten. I’d love to go to sleep and prepare for tomorrow, but I’m not touching these dirty sheets as they are. Ripping the sheets and blankets off the bed, I carry them to the garage and stuff them in the washing machine.

As the wash starts, I sit down on the step beside the door and wait.

I pull my phone from my pocket, then jump when it starts to vibrate in my hand. A text? From who?

I open the phone.

Cynthia.

The message is only one word.

Sorry.

Sorry for what? I’m about to reply when my phone buzzes again. A different text from a different number.

Miles?

Backing out of my text chain with Cynthia, I open the one with Miles instead.

Why the hell did you move back in with that asshole?