Twenty

Penelope

Pardon my French, but this morning fucking sucks.

I didn't even make it to my desk before making a pit stop for an ugly cry in the office bathroom. Shoving open the door, I barely manage to lock myself into the farthest stall before the waterworks start pouring out of me in quick, breathless sobs.

All it took was running into a coworker who asked about my boyfriend to bring on a dozen painful memories of the work retreat, back when treating Wolfie as my boyfriend was nothing more than a game of pretend. Back when all I wanted from him was a purely physical, no-strings-attached, just-for-the-night arrangement. All because I thought it would be fun.

And it was fun, but it was also so much more than that. He let me into his world, and I developed real feelings.

If only I could have stuck to my own boundaries. Maybe I wouldn't be stifling my sobs into toilet paper right now, brokenhearted and cursing whoever thought single-ply tissue was okay. I might as well be blowing my nose with sandpaper.

Happy Monday to me.

God, when was the last time I cried over a man like this? College, maybe? It's certainly been a long time since I've been this emotionally invested in someone. Not that it was ever my intention to get so wrapped up in Wolfie.

To be totally honest, it wasn't even until Friday night that I realized I wanted something serious with him. Something real and lasting. I wanted to be the only one he shared his secrets with, the only girl to cook him pasta and kiss him good night.

And then less than forty-eight hours later, he pulled the rug out from underneath me, and all those dreams came crashing down. Now I feel as broken as I used to think he was, a thought that just makes me cry even harder.

Can you work with me here, tear ducts? I do have a job to get to, you know.

Once I'm all cried out, I spend ten full minutes practicing my fake smile in the mirror and fanning my eyes to try to chase the redness away.

All right. Pep talk time.

If Wolfie could pretend to be my boyfriend for a whole weekend work retreat, I can play the role of girl who definitely didn't get dumped this weekend for the next eight hours. I am a strong, independent woman who won't let a boy breaking her heart affect her workday, especially when that promotion could be announced any day now.

I push my shoulders back, release a fluttery breath, and let my fake confidence carry me down the hall and straight into my cubicle.

And then I see it.

Spencer's desk. It's empty.

No freaking way.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them one at a time, first the left, then the right. Am I imagining things? Or could it really be true? Has my nightmare coworker finally wised up and realized he's garbage at his job and quit on principle? Or maybe David came to his senses and served his nephew his walking papers.

"Hey, Penny, check out the new digs!"

Or maybe pigs started flying and hell froze over.

I swivel around in my pumps, my head snapping in the direction of that terrible, familiar nickname.

There he is. The bane of my professional existence, sitting at a fancy corner desk, a shit-eating grin on his face and a shiny gold nameplate proudly displayed next to his monitor. It reads spencer douglass, senior consultant.

So, there's that. The corner cubicles are larger and more private, and are only doled out after a promotion.

"Congratulations." I choke out the word, dropping my purse with a thud onto my desk.

Remember my fake smile from before? Yeah, it's long gone now. How am I supposed to even pretend to be happy for him when this is how they decided to drop this bomb on me? No gentle email, no private meeting with David announcing the promotion, nothing?

"Thanks, Penny." Spencer grins and sucks on his teeth in a way that makes me equally angry and nauseated. "Bummer there weren't two open positions. You know, so you could get one too."

I bite hard on my lower lip, nodding as I collapse into my desk chair and boot up my computer, wondering how I can be so hurt and yet so unsurprised. It's not like the Wolfie situation, where he caught me entirely off guard. I should have seen this coming. In fact, I kind of did.

I was ninety-nine percent sure that Spencer would get the promotion, but part of me was still hanging on to that tiny little one percent. The sliver of hope that was certain the company would make the smart choice, not the choice wrapped up in family ties. Still, I knew the odds were high that I'd end up here, stuck as a junior consultant for yet another long, boring year.

I've hardly begun to throw my pity party when I'm interrupted by a presence looming over my cubicle like a bad omen. It's David Douglass, clutching his like a boss mug, his mouth pulled into a tight line.

"Good morning, Penelope. I'm sure you've seen Spencer has taken his spot among the senior consultants."

I dip my chin in a quick nod. "Yes, sir. I already congratulated him."

"Sure did!" Spencer pipes up from across the way, holding two thumbs up above his fancy new desk.

God, he's so immature. He may be a senior consultant now, but that's clearly in title only.

Mr. Douglass smiles at his nephew, then turns his gaze back to me. "So we ought to discuss what that means for your career trajectory, Miss Blake."

I shift in my seat, my desk chair creaking beneath me. "Yes, I guess so."

He takes a long sip of coffee, the steam billowing up from the mug. It makes me wonder how he drinks it when it's so hot. Does he burn his tongue and just not care? Or does the man just not have any feelings? Based on the next words out of his mouth, I'd say it's the latter.

"We'd like your desk to be packed up before noon."

"Are you saying . . . I'm fired?" I blink up at him, unable to fully comprehend what's going on.

"We prefer the term laid off. Fired suggests you did something wrong. The fact of the matter is it's just not profitable for us to keep junior consultants on staff long term." Mr. Douglass's eyes are apologetic, but the words coming out of his mouth are merciless. "Someone from the front desk will escort you out once you're ready."

I nod, choking back the emotion climbing up my throat. "Sounds good," I lie, and David disappears back into his office.

And just like that, bada bing, bada boom. I'm single and unemployed.

As I pile my belongings into a big cardboard box, I can't help but wish I could be more like Wolfie. Detached and emotionless. It would make all of this so much easier.

I do a quick lap around the office, saying good-bye to the few friends I have here, then circle back to grab my things. When he sees me packing up, Spencer lifts a hand to me in the most halfhearted wave I've ever witnessed.

"I'll miss ya, Penny."

"It's Penelope," I spit back. There's no point in playing polite anymore now that I'm off the payroll. "And that's funny, because I won't miss you at all."

When I get home, I'm prepared for another full-on sob fest, but to my surprise, the tears never come. Maybe I used them all up this morning. Or maybe any amount of loss I'm feeling over my job is outweighed by the relief I feel knowing that I will never have to interact with Spencer again.

I ditch my business wear for a pair of jeans and a comfy old sweatshirt, then pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts. I can't wallow in self-pity all day. I need to get out of the house, talk to someone, do something.

Landing on Connor's contact, I shoot him a text.

What are you up to?

My phone buzzes right away with his reply.

Home inspection at the new place. Can't wait for you to see it.

Can I come check it out?

Aren't you working?

A groan pours out of me. I'm so not ready to have this conversation. He must sense that through some sibling ESP, because before I can respond, my phone buzzes again.

I'll send you the address. See you soon.

• • •

Never have I ever pictured my brother living in suburbia.

A penthouse apartment near the lake, maybe. I even could have envisioned him splitting his time between Chicago and a second home on a tropical island, at some point, if Frisky Business hit it really big. But a sensible brick house in Oak Park? I would have lost money on this bet.

As I pull into the driveway, admiring the trim landscaping and tall, shady pine trees lightly dusted with frost, there's no question in my mind as to why he chose this place. With its warm gray-painted brick and sleek black shutters, it looks like a perfect little slice of the American dream. I can just picture Connor pushing a stroller down the hedge-lined walkway, toward a nearby park. It's hard to believe that reality is only three short months away.

"Welcome to the new crib, sis!"

My brother appears in the doorway, beckoning me in with the sort of proud smile only a new homeowner and soon-to-be father could boast.

He has every right to be proud. He's taken a less than-ideal-situation and spun it into gold.

I hurry up the stone walkway and join him inside, slipping out of my shoes and carefully pairing them at the door so as not to track anything onto the pristine hardwood floors.

"This place is gorgeous," I murmur, tipping my head back to admire the vaulted ceilings in the entryway. "Thanks for letting me come see it."

"Thanks for making the drive." He pulls me in for a quick hug, then holds me at arm's length, one brow slightly arched. "Are we going to talk about why you're playing hooky from work?"

"Nope. Don't want to talk about it." I duck out of his grip, shaking my head.

Before Connor can argue, we're interrupted by the sound of a faucet being flipped on and off again and again. I turn toward the kitchen, spotting a small gray-haired man with wire-frame glasses standing over the sink and scribbling onto a clipboard.

"That's the inspector," Connor says. "I basically just have to be here while he does his thing. C'mon, let me give you the grand tour."

Bubbling with new homeowner pride, he leads me down the hall, pointing out the naturally lit dining room, then the cozy den complete with built-in bookshelves and a redbrick fireplace.

Even without furniture, this place feels so homey. I can clearly picture all of us gathering here for a baby shower, spoiling Connor with all the baby gates and board books he never thought he'd need. It's a sweet thought that quickly sours when I remember that Wolfie would be among that group, standing across the room, probably acting like nothing ever happened between us. I shudder, brushing that haunting thought away.

Upstairs, my brother brags about his walk-in closet and the balcony off his bedroom, which overlooks a nearby forest preserve. I nod along with his ramblings, trying not to look distracted. This whole place would make any couple on one of those house-hunting shows drool, but I'm having trouble giving it all the excitement it deserves. My mind is anywhere but here.

"Over here, Penelope!" Connor shouts from the next room over. "This second bedroom is going to be the nursery."

I follow his voice, stepping into a small ballet-slipper-colored bedroom. Connor is standing in the center of it, beaming.

"The previous owners had a baby girl too. How perfect is that? You'll have to help me decorate, but I already have the crib picked out. You won't believe how many mommy blogs I had to scour to find the one with the highest safety reviews."

For the first time all day, I crack a genuine smile. The thought of my big brother being a mommy-blog reader is pure comedic gold. And the more he talks about his new reality, the steadier my grasp on it becomes.

"So, that concludes the tour. What do you think?" He spreads his arms wide, looking like the king of his new suburban castle. "I make moving to the suburbs look pretty damn good, huh?"

"Not good enough for me to join you," I say, planting my hands firmly on my hips. "But you're right. This place is incredible."

Victorious, he pumps his fist in the air, a wicked grin breaking over his face. "Hell yeah. Can you repeat that to Wolfie for me? He gave me so much shit for moving out here."

As if it weren't hard enough to hear Wolfie's name, the thought of talking to him vacuums the air from my lungs.

Now's your chance, Penelope. Time to be honest.

"Speaking of Wolfie." That name is hot on my tongue, warning me not to go any farther. But I'm done keeping secrets. Connor deserves to know. Especially now that it's over and it hardly matters anymore. "Do you remember when you volunteered him to go to that work retreat with me?"

Connor appraises me with a tight frown. "I thought you said you didn't want to talk about work."

"It's not really about work," I say.

"Ohhh-kay then." Both his gaze and his tone are suspicious. "Yeah, I remember. Why?"

I suck in a deep breath, hoping to gather some courage with it. I can't believe I'm really going to do this right now. But then again, I've already suffered two major losses in the last twenty-four hours. What else do I have to lose?

"Well, I, uh . . . I told everyone at work that he was my boyfriend."

Connor snorts, which jolts me. That isn't at all the response I was expecting.

"Nice. I guess that's easier than trying to explain why you're bringing your brother's roommate along."

"Sure, it was easier, at first," I say, chewing my lower lip raw. "And then, well, things started to get blurred between us."

Connor scrunches his brow. "What do you mean . . . blurred?"

Am I really going to have to spell it out for him?

"I started to, you know. Feel things."

For a long, painful moment, the only sound between us is the low hum of the heater and the distant thud of the inspector's footsteps downstairs.

When Connor finally responds, the words come out on a growl. "Do I need to knock that fucker's teeth in?"

"No. Not even close. In fact, I'm the one who initiated things. I didn't think I'd develop real feelings for him, but . . ." My voice drops to a hushed whisper, my gaze dropping to my socks. "But I did."

From the corner of my eye, I watch as Connor's jaw clenches, his pulse thrumming in his neck. "All right. Well. I didn't see that one coming."

"Honestly, neither did I," I say, barely lifting my gaze to his. "But it doesn't matter anymore. We talked about it, and Wolfie's not interested."

My brother bristles, puffing out his chest a little. "Oh, so I do have to knock his teeth in."

Despite trying to hold it back, the tiniest laugh slips from my lips. "Please, let the man keep his teeth."

"Fine, fine." He holds out his palms in surrender, the furious look on his face fading into one of curiosity. "So, what happened?"

With one last deep breath, I tell Connor everything-well, almost everything. It's only fair to leave out the not-safe-for-work parts, along with the private details about Wolfie's past. Those aren't mine to share.

My brother nods along, quietly taking in every detail.

Part of me wonders if this was really the right time to tell him. I could have waited until an easier time, like over a few beers or, you know, on my deathbed. But standing in the middle of what will soon be his daughter's room, it's never been clearer. We're adults now. It's time to act like it.

"So, in summary," I say with a sigh, "he's hot and cold. One second he's opening up to me about his past, and the next he's cutting things off between us and saying we can't be together. I can't keep up."

Connor chews the inside of his cheek, staring off into space as he mulls it all over. "You know, that sounds about right for Wolfie," he finally grumbles. "He thinks of himself as the kind of guy you quit on. I don't know all the gory details of his childhood, but from what I understand, his dad never gave a shit, and the few girls he's dated have been the same. It's always been kind of take it or leave it with him."

I nod. "That lines up with what he's told me."

"Right. So when people don't give up on him, he does it for them and gives up on himself," Connor says, frowning.

The knowledge of my brother's truth hits me squarely in the chest. "That's so sad. I know he deserves more."

Connor nods. "He's the best guy there is. Too bad he doesn't see himself that way."

"So, what do I do?" I ask on a whisper.

"Simple. Don't give up on him, and don't let him give up on you."