Mid Life Love (Mid Life Love #1)(68)
We were walking around the small pond in the outdoor greenery area, holding hands and laughing at the fish that were flopping across the surface.
“When do you want to start scanning everything?” She looked up at me.
“Never. We’re not scanning any of it. I’ll write the manager a check and cover all his inventory losses at the end of the year.”
“Okay...Well, are we going to start loading up your car? How many trips do you think it’ll—”
“It’s already been taken care of.” I pulled her into my arms. “Don’t worry about it.” I smiled as I slid a hand underneath her shirt. “You know, your creativity never ceases to amaze me...”
“What are you talking about?”
“Why do you like wearing pantsuits all of sudden? You’ve been wearing them all week.”
She smirked. “No reason. I haven’t put that much thought into it.” She tried to step away from me, but I tightened my grip around her.
“Do you honestly think wearing pantsuits will keep me from—”
“From f**king me inside of Home Depot? I hope so.”
I unsnapped her bra and kissed her neck. “It won’t.”
“Jonathan, there are cameras! I’m—”
“Corey turned them all off.” I pulled her down into a bed of grass. “My driver won’t be here with the truck for another hour. That’s plenty of time, don’t you think?” I reached down and unzipped her pants.
“Have I ever told you that you’re ridiculously insatiable?”
“Only when it comes to you.”
April 14, 2013
Dear Journal,
I wish there was a better way to screen potential employees for jobs, a better way to see through people’s bullshit.
In every interview, the candidate always says exactly what he’s supposed to say: “My biggest weakness is trying to be a perfectionist all the time.” “I truly believe I’m the best person for this job because I’m driven, I work hard, and I’m always willing to go the extra mile.” “Oh no, I’ve never been late to work. Ever.”
During his trial period, he’s the most exemplary candidate in the world—showing up early every day, offering to buy all his coworkers coffee, and staying late on every campaign assignment...But as soon as that ninety day trial period is up, he becomes an ass. A complete and total ass.
We hired a new regional director at the beginning of the year, to help us revive our city billboard operations, and once he was “officially” in the position he started acting like he was the CEO.
He took over in all the meetings—talking over anyone who disagreed with him and insisting that his ideas were “simply the best.” He began ordering my associates around—treating them like crap, and badmouthing them at all our directors’ seminars.
While he was in the middle of saying how he couldn’t believe “how dimwitted and dumb” they were—questioning how any of them had “ever managed to get through college in the first place,” I let him have it.
I told him that he was a f**king idiot and that the only reason we agreed to hire him was because our first choice failed the drug test. (By the way, when did employers start testing for opium? And where the hell do people find opium?!)
“And yeah,” I said, “my associates may be dumb as rocks and they may not know a goddamn thing about marketing, but they’re my associates and nobody can talk bad about them but me!”
People these days,
Claire
Chapter 15
Claire
It’s not real, it’s not real...Breathe, Claire...Breathe...
I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to the kitchen. I opened a cabinet and grabbed a packet of Tylenol, tossing the pills down my throat.
I flung the refrigerator door open and reached for a bottle of water, downing it in one gulp. I took out another one as soon as I finished.
This happened to me every year—every. single. year. Every time my wedding anniversary rolled around.
I shut my eyes and tried to calm myself down from the nightmare I’d just had—the one that featured my husband running off with my best friend, the one that featured her getting pregnant with his baby. But, once I opened my eyes and looked around, once I saw that my kitchen was not our kitchen, I realized that it wasn’t a nightmare after all.
I sank down to the floor and sighed, trying to make myself think of something else—anything else, but another ugly memory forced itself across my mind...
It was weeks after the hurtful revelation, and Amanda hadn’t called or texted me to say that she was sorry. She hadn’t said a word about her part in the affair to any of our mutual friends.
Nada. Zilch. Nothing.
I walked into our neighborhood grocery store—puffy eyed, drained, and ugly, and spotted her in a wrinkled red sundress. I saw her turning down the very aisle I needed: Specialty ice cream.
I knew she was going to pick out our favorite mint chocolate chip brand and cry just like I’d planned to, but we weren’t going to be crying together this time.
We were going to be crying separately, over the same situation that had broken us in two very different ways.
I followed her down the aisle and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Yes? May I—” She dropped the carton to the floor as soon as her swollen eyes met mine.