Page 33 of Empire of Lust
Once the perky girl behind the desk announces me through her headset and offers me a seat while I wait, I take a slow look around the open, sunny reception area. People walk past, carrying folders and tablets. A couple of guys discuss last night’s baseball game while they wait for the elevator.
They’ll be my coworkers in a few days. I wonder if they ever question their choices. Everybody does, I guess, but we get through it. We honor our choices, and this was my choice. I need to follow through with it.
Twenty minutes later, sitting in Eric Adams’ office—the largest corner office on the floor, even nicer than Callum’s office at home—I have to grind my teeth together to smile through the anecdotes about recent studies and reports by the firm’s managerial team.
“You need to have a sharp eye and a quick mind,” he points out over his loaded salad. “But you’ve proven you possess both. I truly think you’re going to do great things here. And certainly, you’ll have all the support you need to fulfill your potential. That’s one thing we pride ourselves on.”
It’s when he slides a thick folder full of benefits details my way that I see he’s not kidding around. I already knew the firm had a great benefits package, or else I wouldn’t have accepted the job. That was another reason I knew I’d be an idiot not to snap up the chance.
Now, with everything in front of me in black and white, I could kick myself for the vague sense of disappointment still clinging like a cheap perfume.
“As you can see, we offer four weeks paid vacation, a minimum of one week of sick time with an additional day for every six months employment. Your medical insurance is fully covered from day one. We offer 401K matching, as well as a profit-sharing program once you’ve reached three years with us.”
“This is really impressive.” I flip through, scanning the pages, before coming to the section on maternity leave.
He notices and clears his throat. “Somewhere down the line, that might be of interest to you. Then again, what do I know?” His laughter is friendly, if awkward, as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He seems like a nice, middle-aged man, if socially clueless. But it’s not like we have to be best friends or anything like that.
“Six months paid leave?” It sounds too good to be true.
“And you can use your vacation time along with that to extend it.” He shrugs at my surprise. “We offer onsite daycare, too. We have a tuition reimbursement program if you want to continue your education. The sky’s the limit. We believe in taking care of our people.”
I’m too overwhelmed to do much more than laugh. “I can see that.”
And I’m a complete moron. I’m sitting here with a job most people would kill for. I won’t have to worry about anything. The pay is great. I could get my master’s on their dime. And when the time comes to start a family, I’ll have their support.
Do I want to sign the contract? Not really.
I’m supposed to be mature and always level-headed. But the stories he tells about analyzing numbers on a spreadsheet bore the hell out of me. If he didn’t seem so excited by them, I might not care as much. There must be something wrong with me if I can’t see what makes this job so interesting.
Maybe there’s something I’m not getting yet. Maybe I need to get started before seeing what makes it special. If not, it’ll be a matter of adjusting my attitude.
Oh, no.My heart sinks when the truth hits me in the middle of another boring anecdote. It’s like Lucas all over again. I’m talking myself into it.
But this isn’t the same as convincing myself to stay with a boyfriend who doesn’t make me happy. How many people are actually happy with their work? That’s why it’s called work and not play.
It’s childish of me to think I’m special.
When he slides the contract my way, I pick up the pen and sign my name before doubt can stop me. This is for the best. Feeling bored but secure is better than being unemployed and too stressed to enjoy my life. That’s what I need to keep in mind, and it’s what helps me smile genuinely when I stand and shake his hand. It’s a lot easier to be happy when you’ve got money in the bank, and you know you won’t lose your job if you get sick.
This is real life, not some fantasy world where everybody gets what they want.
Though I did get Callum, didn’t I? Even though it won’t last, at least one secret dream came true. I guess good things don’t have to last forever to matter. Is this a life lesson or something?
For the second time today, my phone rings at exactly the wrong time. In this case, I’m heading back to my car, goosebumps beginning to cover my arms and legs when I think about getting back to the house, back to Callum. I know he’ll be busy, but what happens tonight, when it’s just the two of us alone in that big house?
Looking at my phone, I realize it isn’t Dad calling to make sure I remembered how to spell my name when the time came. The guilt rises when I discover Tatum’s name on the screen. I should be happy to hear from her. It’s the first time she’s called since she left for France, even so, I’m afraid the slightest tremble in my voice will give me away. Who could have imagined how much would change over the course of a handful of days?
I can’t think about that now.
“Bonjour!” I chirp, forcing myself to forget my guilt for her sake. “How many pastries have you eaten so far?”
“Too many,” she confesses. “I’m going to need a juice cleanse when I get back.”
I can hardly believe how glad I am to hear her voice, even if she sounds distracted. “That sounds like a wonderful trip to me.”
Once I slide into the car, I set the phone down and turn on the speaker before starting the engine. “How is everything? You haven’t sent me any pictures. You haven’t even updated your Insta.” I thought for sure she’d be posting nonstop, but the last images date back to her sitting in the jet.
“Are you stalking me?” A laugh meets my ears, but I don’t buy it. It could be paranoia, assuming everybody has a secret to hide since my secret is big enough to consume my every thought. But I’ve known Tatum long enough to hear the difference in her voice. There’s a distinction between when she’s happy and when she’s pretending to be happy.