Sooo I didn't realize this chapter would be posting on Christmas but... don't worry, I will see you tomorrow! :3 Hope everyone has a lovely day! Your support has been the best gift, so thank you.
17
A towering security guard unnecessarily escorts me out, like all 5'4" of me is a threat or something.
I avoid making eye contact with anyone. I just keep my gaze focused on the items in the medium-sized box I'm holding.
I must have some deeper connection to Edward because the one time I chance looking up when I'm in the lobby is the moment I see him rushing in.
He approaches me, stopping me just before I exit.
There's bewilderment on his face and so much fucking concern. He also looks pissed. And yeah, it makes him insanely hot that he's feeling so protective over me. I'd soak up that secure feeling he's offering, but I also just got fired so my confidence is a little wobbly.
"I got here as fast as I could after I read your text. What the fuck is going on?" he asks me, soft eyes but voice harsh.
"Sir, she needs to exit the building," Security tells him.
Edward tosses him a glare and opens his mouth to speak, but I say, "Don't. It's fine."
Once we walk out the sliding glass doors and the security officer sees I'm no longer an issue, he disappears.
The street is loud and bustling and I feel very small and lost.
Edward searches my face. "Bella…"
I was trying to be brave before, not wanting everyone to see me lose it, but seeing Edward now and hearing him say my name all soft and sad, that facade breaks.
I immediately dissolve into tears and he takes the box from me, dropping it on the slushy sidewalk and crushing me in a hug.
"What the fuck happened?" he asks, still hugging me, his words breathed out into my hair.
"She fired me. Jane. She… she…" I can't even talk. More than being sad, I'm pissed, but it's coming out all wrong. It's coming out in tears and chest heaves and an overwhelming sense of what the fuck do I do with my life now?
He pulls back to stare at me.
"Just breathe," he coaxes.
I inhale and exhale a few shaky breaths. He waits for me to show signs I'm okay, picks up the box, takes my hand in his, and walks us to the Starbucks down the street.
While he stands in line and orders us coffee, I use the bathroom and splash water on my face, not caring that I look like shit.
At a small table in the back, I recall everything that happened with Jane and Sue while it's still fresh.
"It's fucking bullshit," he breathes out, hostile.
I take a bite of the croissant he sweetly bought me. No matter how sad I am, I'm never sad enough not to enjoy a buttery, flaky pastry.
"Trust me," I agree, chewing. "I know it's bullshit. She just wanted to get rid of me because I didn't give in to her demands."
"You shouldn't have signed that termination form. And you should've been documenting every bullshit task she gave you over the last year. And reported her a long fucking time ago," he says, which is true. I get it. But it also makes me a little mad.
"That's not entirely helpful," I mutter. "Sue said I can do an exit interview after Christmas but… what's done is done. For now at least."
"I get that. But I'm mad for you. I just wish—"
"Yeah, I wish, too. But there's nothing I can do about it now, Edward, so saying what I should've done just makes me feel stupid."
"You're not stupid," he disagrees. "You're just… stubborn. You had an end goal, and I feel like you were so blinded by that, you let her get away with whatever she wanted. And I fucking hate that for you."
I get what he's saying.
I do.
But being emotional and having my confidence knocked down a few pegs, what he's saying also makes me upset. And since he's the only person here right now, my annoyance is unfortunately aimed at him.
"I should've just left the stupid fucking pies for her. If you hadn't convinced me otherwise, I'd still be employed," I insist.
His eyes narrow a bit, maybe because I'm placing blame where I know it doesn't belong.
"You'd still be employed?" he echoes. "Or do you mean you'd still be her servant and being taken advantage of?"
"At least I'd still have a chance to move up and eventually not work for that witch at all. Now, I'm blacklisted from the company. You put all of these ideas in my head that I should stand up for myself, but I was fine, you know? I did my shit and didn't make waves. Now look at what happened."
He searches my face. "So, you're mad at me," he says flatly.
"I don't know what I am right now," I mumble. "I'm mad at myself and sad and I think I'd rather be alone than sitting here with my friend who's telling me all of the ways I should've, could've, would've."
Spinning his paper coffee cup on the table he says, "It's hard for me not to want to shake some sense into you, though. Because you're more than my friend, Bella," he says with so much certainty. "And you deserve so fucking much." He sighs, his face and tone so sincere it makes my eyes burn. "It sucks right now, but you need to view this as a good thing."
"A good thing?" I scoff. "Have you ever been wrongly fired before? Embarrassed in front of an entire floor of colleagues? Because it fucking stings."
"No," he admits. "I know it hurts, and I'm sorry that it does. I wish I had been there because I would've caused a scene right fucking then. But the silver lining is now you can focus on other things. Like publishing your book."
With my elbows on the table, I drop my face in my hands. "Not this again."
"Yes, this again," he says, harder, not backing down. "I'm not going to take it easy on you, Bell. If I sat here asking about your hopes and dreams you'd tell me to fuck off. You need me to be relentless because you respond to that."
Lifting my head, I stare at him in annoyance because I know he's right.
"Maybe some free time opened up for me but I still need to find another job. I need to make rent and keep myself fed because you know how hangry I get. So like… that's my number one priority right now."
"Yeah, I get that, but you can focus on more than one thing."
"Says the man who doesn't suffer from ADHD," I say dryly.
"Your book is already written. The hard part is over."
"The thing about publishing is that I have no idea where to start or how long it takes. Or if I even want to do it. Do I want to face rejection and people possibly tearing my shit apart? What I wrote about my dad means so much to me. I don't want someone coming in and saying cut this, cut that. Every word matters. So the more I think about that, the less I want to do it."
A flash of uncertainty passes over his face and it's too noticeable to be nothing.
"What?" I ask.
"I wasn't sure when I was going to tell you this, and I know now is probably not the right time but…"
"Edward, what?"
"After we got off FaceTime I stayed up until four a.m. reading the rest of your book. And then… I submitted it."
"Submitted it to what?"
He's reluctant but says, "I sent it to a friend who has some publishing connections because I figured what do you have to lose?"
I blink.
I'm at a loss for words, but not necessarily in a good way.
I feel sick. And excited. But mostly blindsided and so not ready for any of this. And I know I won't be able to articulate anything right now because the feeling in my chest is too much, so I leave.
Standing, I grab my dumb box and walk out of Starbucks. Edward calls out my name but I ignore him, walking down the street with purpose until I reach the nearest bus stop. I sit on the bench, blinking back tears.
A woman walks by and drops some cash in the box that's by my feet.
"Have a blessed day," she says kindly.
"Um… thanks, but I'm not homeless!" I call out. "I'm just jobless… and hopeless," I mutter to myself because she looks startled by my outburst and starts to walk away faster.
It's a real low for me, but I briefly contemplate how much money I could make sitting here when Edward rounds the block and walks over, looking relieved to spot me.
"Please don't be mad," he mumbles, sitting next to me. "I know I overstepped, but I also knew you'd put it off."
"And that's my choice," I insist. "What you read was private. I've never let anyone read it before, not even my family, and you just… put it out there for any ole fucker to have?"
"Bell—"
"You definitely overstepped, and I wish you would've let me sit on that idea before you took over like that. Publishing was never my intention when I wrote that, and we entertained that idea for like, a hot minute yesterday. But I was not in my right mind. You got me all caught up in your lusty voodoo and sweet praise," I mutter. "What I wrote is deeply fucking personal and sentimental and—" My throat tightens. "Email whoever you reached out to and tell them never mind. Please."
I hate how sad and deflated he looks right now. I have to turn away.
He reaches for my arm, and I don't pull out of his grip.
"I'm sorry, okay?" he whispers and I can't help but turn to look at him again. He's so fucking handsome when he's laughing and happy, but I never knew he could be this sexy when he's brooding and apologetic. "I promise I had good intentions. I got ahead of myself because what you wrote was fucking amazing. I was excited for you and proud, but I should've let you make that decision. I thought I was helping. Like, if I started to rip the bandage then you wouldn't be as hesitant to do the rest yourself."
I stay quiet, letting the passing traffic fill my silence. Hearing his reasoning softens me.
"Say something," he begs, his hand dropping from my arm.
"I don't know what to say. Like, I believe that you're sorry. I understand that and appreciate it, and hearing the why makes sense. But so much just changed in the last half hour, I just need a second for everything to sink in. To wrap my head around it all."
"What do you mean?"
"I need a little space."
His face further falls. "From me?"
"No? Yes. From everything," I say morosely, the sinking feeling of this time of the year creeping in again. "The weekend was a whirlwind with you and a nice surprise—"
"A nice surprise?" he repeats. "It was fucking amazing, Bella. That's what it was. And I don't want us to stop seeing each other. Especially now that we don't have work standing in our way."
"I promise I'm not saying I want to stop seeing you, either. I don't even know what I'm saying. Everything sucks right now. Although, I did just get some cash from a stranger because they felt sorry for me."
He peers down into the box. "Someone gave you cash?"
"Yeah. Twenty bucks."
"Nice." He holds my gaze and then softly says, "I really am sorry, okay? I just want the best for you. That's all my motivations stem from. But if you want me to leave you alone, I will."
I shrug. "For now, maybe, but not forever."
"Well, no shit, Bella. I'm not going to let this come between us, but if you want space right now, I can respect that."
"Yeah. Go. You're already late enough as it is."
He fists some hair. "I don't know. If I go to work, I'm gonna raise hell. Maybe it's better if I take the day off."
"Don't raise hell. It's no use. No need for us to both get fired today, you know? And if you do for some reason, just know I've got this corner on lockdown. You need to find somewhere else to earn cash."
He cracks a smile. "At least let me drive you home. Please."
"It's fine, really. I can take care of myself," I tell him, wanting to gain some sense of control again.
"I know you can take care of yourself. But I want you to know you can lean on me, too," he offers gently.
"Thanks." I sound unintentionally cold when I say it and instantly feel bad. "Look, I know I'm in full pout mode right now, but there's nothing I can do about it. I need to sit with this feeling of rejection and uncertainty before I can work through it and use it for anything good. It's how I operate. And if it's too much for you, then maybe it's good this is happening now and not a year from now when we're really in deep."
It's presumptuous of me to assume we'd start dating and still be together a year from now, but fuck it. I've never had a verbal filter with him, so why start now?
He doesn't look freaked out after I say it. In fact, he looks delightfully pleased and he leans closer to murmur, "We're only days into this thing, Bella, and I'm already in deep."
My chest squeezes with affection for him. "I'm in deep, too. And even if I forgive you, what you did wasn't cool and I need to be mad at you a little longer before I cave, and saying sweet shit like that is not helping," I order, crossing my arms over my chest to keep from grabbing him a planting a kiss on his handsome face.
He laughs softly as he stands, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, looking like the sexy, employed man he is.
"I know you're mad right now. And you deserve to be. What happened to you at work was really unfair and I know I overstepped. If you need me to be your punching bag I will because I can take it. You're not gonna be able to push me away," he says with soft, raw honesty. "Take your time. Reach out when you're ready. And please know I'm sorry."
He presses a chaste kiss to my cheek before walking down the block, leaving me alone with my messy feelings and the strangest sense of encouragement.