Page 110 of Not Safe for Work

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I lie on the couch holding a giant gin and tonic with my head in Molly’s lap while she smooths back my hair. It’s been three days since I left Hawaii, and I’ve heard nothing from Rafe. Not a text. Not a phone call. Not an email.

“He’s still in Hawaii with Hannah,” I repeat for the millionth time. I told him not to contact me until he’d sorted out his mess, so what other reason could there be?

Molly makes a noncommittal sound. She isn’t sure what to say anymore, either.

After the first day, she told me not to worry. He needed time to finish with her and then make his way home. But after three days, it’s getting harder and harder to believe that he’s ever coming back to me.

“Or he saw the email, and he hates me.”

This, too, I’ve said a million times.

Molly snorts. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“I dive-bombed his dad and his cousin.”

“Both of whom he hates. And they deserved it.”

I hope she’s right. But where is he?

My phone buzzes, and I sit up so fast that my head spins. I’ve maybe had more than one or two of these drinks. I snatch it from the coffee table, hoping it’s Rafe, but it’s an email from my bank.

I open it to discover a significant sum has been deposited into my account from WMC. I show Molly, and she cackles.

“Blackmail looks good on you, Tris.”

I am getting rather good at it. I allow myself a small, triumphant smile.

“It’s all anyone can talk about,” she tells me again, because this is now my favorite story. She told me everyone lost their minds when they showed up to work and read my email. It’s the most reckless thing I’ve ever done, but I regret nothing. It had to be this way, and I hope it makes a difference.

“When’s your interview with EnviroTech?” Molly asks.

“Day after tomorrow,” I reply. “But what’s the point?”

For a brief moment, I wondered if I’d made myself completely unemployable yet again.

But after I staked my career through the heart for the second time, I responded to the email from EnviroTech explaining that I’d reconsidered the interview. I knew it was a long shot, but they replied immediately, saying they’d be delighted to include me in the selection process.

“Trishara Malik, you will not throw your life away over a man.”

I rub my eyes and then take a long sip of my gin.

“I know,” I moan. “But Molly, I—”

The words stick in my throat, so I drink more, draining the glass.

“I know,” she says softly, rubbing my back. I don’t know what I would have done without her this week. “Who would’ve guessed you’d come home with a broken heart over Rafe Gallagher?”

“You’re the one who was rooting for us.”

“I know—but I thought we’d be celebrating.”

A fresh wave of tears tracks down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the sleeve of the oversized sweatshirt that I’ve been wearing for the past three days. I grimace at the stained cuff. I’m disgusting.

“Maybe you should take a shower and change?” Molly gently suggests. “You can wallow again after. I’ll order sushi, and we can watch a movie.”

I lift my armpit to sniff myself. “As long as it’s something with a lot of blood and killing and people dying.”