Fucking typical of Asher to chicken out and drop news like that via text.
It’s his MO.
Every time he sleeps with a girl and doesn’t want round two, he ends it with a text.
It’s his way of dealing with it without actually feeling the fallout. He’s a coward. It’s one thing for him to pull that shit with hookups, but I’m supposed to be his best friend.
Me: Fuck this shit.
I put my phone on silent and stuff it into my purse.
What the fuck was he thinking? How could he? And to allow that to happen via text?
I trusted him, and he betrayed me.
I feel sick to my stomach because no matter what Asher’s involvement in this was, I’m the one who shared the information with him. This is just as much my fault.
I pull out my AirPods, needing to drown out my own thoughts. The last thing I need over the next few hours is distractions. Asher hurt me, but he didn’t ruin this account. We can still nail it. Make it better.
I have to concentrate. Soothing music spurs my creativity. I think best when one of my favorite singers croons in my ears.
I press play and get back to work, losing myself in the music for the next few hours and pushing thoughts of Asher and his betrayal to the back of my mind.
* * *
The meetingwith the creative team went better than I expected.
Apparently, my attention to detail and extreme OCD made their jobs easier.
Big surprise.
They asked for four days to complete everything, which would put us ahead of the original timeline.
Charles had told them that this account took priority, so they had their entire team—ten people—working solely on this campaign.
I’m relieved. Exhausted and ready for bed, but relieved nonetheless.
Despite the shit show of a day it’s been, this one thing went well, and I’m going to hold on to that.
I hit the trusty vending machine on the way back, grabbing a bag of Fritos and a Diet Coke, ready to get back to my office and dive into securing publications for Icon and AlteredX. It’s four o’clock, and the office is already thinning out for the evening.
I settle at my desk when there’s a knock on my door.
My shoulders stiffen, nervous that it’s Charles on the other side. I’ve avoided him all day, which is likely due to his own attempts to dodge me.
Good. It’s for the best.
“Come in,” I call out.
“I need help,” Shelby yells from the other side, and my brows knit together.
I head to the door and open it to find her standing there with the largest bouquet I’ve ever seen.
“Who pissed you off?” she asks, pushing past me and walking into the office to set the obscene floral arrangement on my desk.
“Is there a card?”
She blushes, giving away the fact she likely read it.