Some hugged her. A few whispered, “We always hated her.” One handed her a latte and winked.
It was bittersweet. She’d been friends with many of these people for so long, and now she would have to start over somewhere.
She’d given this job everything. Years of red-eyes, endless pitch decks, bookshop tours, and hope.
Today was supposed to be her beginning.
Instead, it was her end.
But as the sun hit the marble floors and she stepped out onto the street, for the first time in a long while?—
She didn’t feel lost.
She feltfree. She feltrelief.
Time for a new beginning.
CHAPTER3
Safe in her own apartment, Aisling O’Byrne slept for five solid hours—which, after a week of cross-country flights, a corporate implosion, and a revenge stunt involving handcuffs and a permanent marker, felt practically indulgent.
Her body had finally revolted. Between LA’s time zone and New York’s chaos, her circadian rhythm had filed for divorce. Now, it was evening, judging by the lavender light bleeding through her apartment windows and the dead silence of her stomach.
There was nothing edible in the fridge. Nothing in the cabinets except tea bags, half a stale granola bar, and judgment. And she didn’t have the energy to go out. She didn’t want to see people. She didn’t want to exist in public.
Right now, she wanted wine, carbs, and silence. Maybe a good cry. Definitely not a LinkedIn update.
She reached for her phone, automatically checking for work information. That would no longer be her problem.
Five missed calls from Michael. One from HR. One from Samantha.
“Oh good,” she muttered. “The ex-fiancé and the woman who slept with him. My fan club.”
She pressed play on Michael’s voicemail first.
“You bitch. I had to go to the ER to get your damn lock removed. You have no idea what kind of humiliation it is to explain to three nurses and a urologist why there’s a lock on your—anyway, we’re done.”
She blinked. “Sweetheart, we were done the second I walked in and found you playing hide the tequila worm with my boss.”
Next.
Samantha.
“Aisling, I will never give you a positive job review after what you pulled. That photo humiliated me. And Michael. I could lose my job over this. So don’t you dare ask for a reference.”
Aisling rolled her eyes so hard they might’ve detached.
“Right,” she said to no one. “Because I’m the villain in this story.”
The third message came from a robotic-sounding HR rep:
“Miss O’Byrne, we’d like to schedule your exit interview and discuss several unresolved matters. Please return our call at your earliest convenience.”
She snorted. “Translation: are you planning to sue us, and if not, would you sign this NDA and go away quietly?”
Not tonight.
Tonight was wine and wallowing. Maybe pizza. Probably something involving chocolate and regret.
