The Game Plan
Page 66
I used to think maybe a guy would make me whole. But that’s not really the truth. It’s up to me to figure my shit out, but Ethan makes the struggles easier to bear. He’s my reward when it’s all said and done.
And this place? I’m done with it.
There’s only one thing left to do.
“Fiona?” As if summoned, Elena walks around the corner and notices me sitting at her desk. “What are you doing here?”
Reflexively, my palm pushes against the cool leather of my portfolio. “I was waiting for you.”
Her steps slow, and I wonder if she’s on to me. I give her a bright smile, the same one she’s given me for months.
“I wanted to ask your opinion on something.” My hand is steady as I flip open the case and pull out a stack of drawings.
She hesitates, her hand hovering and a frown on her brow. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I quit this morning, and I’m thinking of using these for my resume.”
“You quit?” There’s a weird touch of panic in her voice. “But why?”
“I don’t know…” I shrug. “I’m not a good fit here. Felix has a certain vision…” I shrug again.
“Oh, but you’ll get there!” She insists. “I’ll help you.”
I want to laugh at the irony. “So help me now. Quitting is a done deal.”
And it is. My resignation letter is sitting on his desk. And I’m not about to give him two weeks notice. Shitty? Yes. But he’ll survive. Besides, I don’t need his reference; I have other plans.
I push the designs toward her.
Finally she picks them up, her eyes scanning the pages. “These are great. I love them.”
So did half of Manhattan’s elite when they admired Janice Mark’s penthouse. Do I feel guilty about showing Elena what are essentially sketches of the apartment? Maybe I should, but I don’t.
I rise and snap my case shut. “Can I leave them with you for the weekend? I don’t want to be here when Felix gets in.” I give an exaggerated pause. “He hasn’t seen these, and I don’t want him to, okay?”
There. If she steals these designs, her fall is all on her.
She doesn’t even blink when she gives me a solemn nod, her hand already spreading over the pages. “I’ll guard them well.”
I give a nod of my own. But when she begins to pull them toward her, my hand comes down on the sketches with a slap. “You know what? I can’t do this. I was going to give you these, knowing they’re bad, knowing you’d take them for your own. But I cannot walk out of here and pretend that what you did, what you’ve been doing, isn’t seriously fucked up.”
Her face pales as she gapes at me. Then she’s flushing dark red, her gaze narrowing. “This again? Jesus, Fiona, you have to stop. It’s pathetic. I didn’t copy your designs. I just did them better.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself to get through the day, Elena.” I lean forward, the urge to hit her so strong that my fingers actually curl into a fist. “That shit you pulled with the curtains? Pretending we’d talked about them? That’s not right. And it’s just one of many lies you’ve told. So don’t you dare act like what’s gone down is all in my head.”
“This is business. You do what you have to do to get ahead.”
“I don’t want to win that way.”
An ugly smile curls her lips. “News flash, Fi. You didn’t win.”
One punch. Surely one punch would be okay?
I keep it together by a thread. “I’m not the only one who knows.”
She flinches. “What?”
“Felix knows. He’s always known. He just doesn’t care because your mother has the contacts he needs.” I take a breath. “Which is why I’m quitting. I can’t work for a man who has no morals, or alongside a woman who uses people as her personal creative well.”
Elena’s hands fist as well. “I have talent—”
“That’s the tragic thing. You do. Real, honest-to-God talent. But instead of cultivating it, you waste your time stealing other people’s ideas.”
Her faces scrunches up, going bright red. “I used to think you were nice. You’re nothing but a bitter bitch.”
I have to laugh. “If being a bitter bitch means I’m no longer your stepping stone, then I gladly accept the title.” With that I stand. “Have a nice life, Elena.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” she says suddenly. “The pressure. My mom. Everyone knows who she is—”
“I don’t know what that’s like?” I gape down at her. “Are you kidding? My dad was a superstar before I was even born. My mom runs her own business. My sister is fast becoming a regular fixture on ESPN. Hell, I’m swimming in a pool of overachieving family members.”
“That’s not the same. You aren’t in those industries.” Her fist hits her chest. “I have to make my mark in this business.”
I could understand. Hell, I could almost empathize. Almost. “Our parents don’t define us, Elena. Our actions do. And yours suck.”
She goes from flushed to bone white. “Fuck you, Fiona.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling now. “You already have fucked me. And yet I’m the one walking out with my head up.”
And I do, leaving my sketches, Elena, and all her bullshit behind.
And this place? I’m done with it.
There’s only one thing left to do.
“Fiona?” As if summoned, Elena walks around the corner and notices me sitting at her desk. “What are you doing here?”
Reflexively, my palm pushes against the cool leather of my portfolio. “I was waiting for you.”
Her steps slow, and I wonder if she’s on to me. I give her a bright smile, the same one she’s given me for months.
“I wanted to ask your opinion on something.” My hand is steady as I flip open the case and pull out a stack of drawings.
She hesitates, her hand hovering and a frown on her brow. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I quit this morning, and I’m thinking of using these for my resume.”
“You quit?” There’s a weird touch of panic in her voice. “But why?”
“I don’t know…” I shrug. “I’m not a good fit here. Felix has a certain vision…” I shrug again.
“Oh, but you’ll get there!” She insists. “I’ll help you.”
I want to laugh at the irony. “So help me now. Quitting is a done deal.”
And it is. My resignation letter is sitting on his desk. And I’m not about to give him two weeks notice. Shitty? Yes. But he’ll survive. Besides, I don’t need his reference; I have other plans.
I push the designs toward her.
Finally she picks them up, her eyes scanning the pages. “These are great. I love them.”
So did half of Manhattan’s elite when they admired Janice Mark’s penthouse. Do I feel guilty about showing Elena what are essentially sketches of the apartment? Maybe I should, but I don’t.
I rise and snap my case shut. “Can I leave them with you for the weekend? I don’t want to be here when Felix gets in.” I give an exaggerated pause. “He hasn’t seen these, and I don’t want him to, okay?”
There. If she steals these designs, her fall is all on her.
She doesn’t even blink when she gives me a solemn nod, her hand already spreading over the pages. “I’ll guard them well.”
I give a nod of my own. But when she begins to pull them toward her, my hand comes down on the sketches with a slap. “You know what? I can’t do this. I was going to give you these, knowing they’re bad, knowing you’d take them for your own. But I cannot walk out of here and pretend that what you did, what you’ve been doing, isn’t seriously fucked up.”
Her face pales as she gapes at me. Then she’s flushing dark red, her gaze narrowing. “This again? Jesus, Fiona, you have to stop. It’s pathetic. I didn’t copy your designs. I just did them better.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself to get through the day, Elena.” I lean forward, the urge to hit her so strong that my fingers actually curl into a fist. “That shit you pulled with the curtains? Pretending we’d talked about them? That’s not right. And it’s just one of many lies you’ve told. So don’t you dare act like what’s gone down is all in my head.”
“This is business. You do what you have to do to get ahead.”
“I don’t want to win that way.”
An ugly smile curls her lips. “News flash, Fi. You didn’t win.”
One punch. Surely one punch would be okay?
I keep it together by a thread. “I’m not the only one who knows.”
She flinches. “What?”
“Felix knows. He’s always known. He just doesn’t care because your mother has the contacts he needs.” I take a breath. “Which is why I’m quitting. I can’t work for a man who has no morals, or alongside a woman who uses people as her personal creative well.”
Elena’s hands fist as well. “I have talent—”
“That’s the tragic thing. You do. Real, honest-to-God talent. But instead of cultivating it, you waste your time stealing other people’s ideas.”
Her faces scrunches up, going bright red. “I used to think you were nice. You’re nothing but a bitter bitch.”
I have to laugh. “If being a bitter bitch means I’m no longer your stepping stone, then I gladly accept the title.” With that I stand. “Have a nice life, Elena.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” she says suddenly. “The pressure. My mom. Everyone knows who she is—”
“I don’t know what that’s like?” I gape down at her. “Are you kidding? My dad was a superstar before I was even born. My mom runs her own business. My sister is fast becoming a regular fixture on ESPN. Hell, I’m swimming in a pool of overachieving family members.”
“That’s not the same. You aren’t in those industries.” Her fist hits her chest. “I have to make my mark in this business.”
I could understand. Hell, I could almost empathize. Almost. “Our parents don’t define us, Elena. Our actions do. And yours suck.”
She goes from flushed to bone white. “Fuck you, Fiona.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling now. “You already have fucked me. And yet I’m the one walking out with my head up.”
And I do, leaving my sketches, Elena, and all her bullshit behind.
