Page 4 of No Such Thing as Serendipity

I rubbed my temple and leaned back in my home office desk chair. I’d been staring at my computer for way too long. It was late Friday afternoon, two days AF. The double meaning gave me some satisfaction. After firing or as fuck. I was still angry as fuck.

Since I’d returned home Wednesday morning, I’d spent nearly all my time here researching and weighing my options. My banker’s lamp blazed on the corner of my desk, but I’d been too busy to unpack the rest of my bag.

Right. Because retrieving the picture and notebook would take so long. I glanced at the floor where my bag lay. Nope. I wasn’t ready yet.

I’d been forced to contact Terrence to determine when he’d make the sale of Fortitude and my departure public. He’d said mid-June, though I figured speculation had already begun. The headhunters shouldn’t come knocking on my proverbial door until it was official.

Yeah, the vultures played by the rules. Still, most wouldn’t risk the legal repercussions or the risk to their reputations. At least, the semi-scrupulous ones wouldn’t. I’d already decided anyone who reached out beforehand would automatically go in my no pile.

Since I’d been with Fortitude for so long, I knew all the popular equity firms, but I’d known them as competitors, not potential employers.

I’d created a spreadsheet to help me make an informed decision.

While doing my research, I’d fallen down several rabbit holes as I dug for information.

Some of it surprised me. While Fortitude wasn’t perfect, the business practices and treatment of employees at some of the other firms shocked me.

It all resided in my spreadsheet now. With all the information I’d compiled, I could become a consultant and sell this shit.

At least I had the luxury of taking my time after Fortitude’s severance pay.

Perhaps I should thank Terrence, but he didn’t deserve my appreciation, so he wouldn’t get it.

To give myself sick satisfaction, I’d adopted the phrase you’re dead to me whenever I thought of Terrence.

Father figure and mentor one day to this. How far he’d fallen.

I was jolted out of my reverie when I heard my name being called. Shit. Who was in my apartment? I glanced at the date on my computer. Friday. Marcia cleaned on Tuesdays.

“Hey, where are you?” I heard more clearly and recognized my sister, Emma’s, voice.

Fuck. It was the last Friday of the month—our standing sister time. How had I forgotten? The last person I wanted to deal with was Emma. I glanced around the office in a panic. Before I could stand to greet her, or more accurately head her off, she burst into the room.

I didn’t see her because an enormous balloon bouquet engulfed her. A balloon, at least three feet in diameter, anchored the bunch and had congratulations scrawled across it. The word was like a flashing neon sign announcing my humiliation.

Emma peeked around the balloon and gasped when she saw me.

“Uh, hi.” It was the best I could do.

Her eyes widened. She stared at me for several seconds before she glanced around the room. Shit. I didn’t know which looked worse—me or my office. Since I hadn’t looked at myself for a couple of days, I couldn’t be certain.

Recovering from her stupor, she asked, “What the hell is going on?”

I pointed at my computer. “I’m working on a project.”

“Dressed like that?” Her gaze traveled from my head to toe and back again.

“Uh.” I looked down at my black sports bra, bare stomach, and black underwear. “What? I match.”

She glanced at my desk lamp before she said, “It’s like a dungeon in here.” She untangled herself from the balloons and set them on my low bookcase. As she moved toward the window, she shook her head and muttered. “A Bikram dungeon.”

“I doubt if they do yoga in dungeons. Besides, I was cold.”

“No shit. Dressed like that, who wouldn’t be?” She pulled the cord on the blinds, letting the waning sunlight flood in.

“Jesus.” I dramatically put my arm over my eyes. “Are you trying to blind me?”

“Eek.” She let out an exaggerated sound of horror. Apparently, melodrama ran in the family. “What is all this shit?”

I assumed it was a rhetorical question since my pile of discarded clothes lay in a pile by my desk, surrounded by two days’ worth of Grubhub offerings. She picked up the Armani blazer I’d worn for my meeting with Terrence from the floor and shook it out.

“This is your favorite suit jacket. Why is it down there?”

“Salvation Army,” I mumbled. At least that was where I planned to send the unlucky garment once I found the energy.

“Maybe you should put it on.” She thrust the offensive clothing toward me and nodded toward the open blinds. “Everyone doesn’t need to see you in your bra and underwear.”

“We’re on the thirty-eighth floor. I doubt anyone can see.”

“Except the creeper with the binoculars in the building next door.”

I raised my arms and turned slowly in a circle. “Feast your eyes on this,” I said, raising my voice.

Emma snorted. “Yes, aren’t the dark circles under your eyes and greasy hair sexy? When did you last shower, or sleep for that matter?”

Maybe I hadn’t taken a shower since I returned home on Wednesday, but I had slept—some.

As I formulated my response, Emma picked up the tiny throw pillow sitting on my desk. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping here.”

In protest, I pulled the blinds back down before I plopped into my desk chair. Emma was making me tired, and I doubted she’d let me get away with not answering her questions.

Emma’s expression softened, and she dropped the blazer back onto the pile of clothes. “Blake, what’s going on?”

How could I tell my sister that I’d failed? That this was another item I couldn’t check off my list. I glanced over at the balloons she’d set down.

“Do you have a pin?”

She crinkled her nose, the way she always did when I said something stupid. “There’s one right there on your desk.”

“Pin. P-I-N. Not pen.”

“Why do you need a pin?” She was now talking to me like I was a confused child.

Time to say something a child wouldn’t and wipe the look off her face. I swept my hand toward the balloons. “So I can pop those fucking things.”

A crease lined her forehead, and then understanding showed in her eyes. “Oh, Blake, you didn’t get the promotion?”

To show she was close, I tapped my nose.

“What the hell does that mean?” Exasperation returned to her tone.

“Charades. Remember?”

“God, we haven’t played charades for twenty years.

I walk into this dark, hot dungeon and find you half naked, looking like you’ve been on a weeklong bender.

” She glanced down at the empty sacks. “Or at least, a food binge, and now you’re responding in charade gestures.

Would you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Fine.” I glared at her, deciding not to prolong the humiliation I’d feel at her disappointment in me. “Not only didn’t I get the promotion, I was let go.” It sounded too benign, so I added, “Cut loose. Terminated. Fired.”

Her face fell, and her eyes filled with sadness. Before I had time to react, she rushed to me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “Oh, Blake, I’m so sorry. I know how important it was to you.”

I wasn’t a hugger by nature, even if my sister and her family were. On major holidays and at the end of our monthly sister meetings, I humored her. This wasn’t one of those occasions, so I stiffened and pulled back. “Jesus. That’s creepy. I’m half naked here.”

She leaned back but continued to hold on to my shoulders. “Oh, for shit’s sake.” Leave it to Emma to be unable to say, for fuck’s sake. “I’m your sister, not some stranger trying to get into your panties.”

“Eww. Touching my bare shoulders and saying panties while doing it is even creepier.”

Emma rolled her eyes and stepped back. “This is what we’re going to do!”

Uh-oh. Even though she was normally passive to my assertive, when she broke into big sister mode, I stood little chance of swaying her.

She pointed at my computer screen. “You’re going to shut that down.” Her eyes narrowed as she moved closer to the screen. “What in God’s name is that?”

“A spreadsheet.” Smartass answer, but I needed a small win.

“I know that.” She shot me a side eye. “It looks more like the Griswold’s Christmas tree with all the colors.”

“Conditional formatting.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

I changed one cell from no to yes and hit enter. “See, it turns it from red to green.” I tapped a few more keys, causing more cells to change colors, and rambled on about conditional formatting. I got a sense of satisfaction seeing Emma’s eyes cloud over.

She let me go on for a bit before she finally said, “Ya got that out of your system? Stalling won’t work.” She glanced at her watch. “You have me for the next five or six hours, so unless you plan on explaining how spreadsheets are coded, you’re gonna have to talk to me eventually.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, which felt weird while only wearing a sports bra.

Emma took it as her opening to continue. “Okay. First, you’re going to pick up this mess. Then you’ll take a shower while I make you a respectable meal.” She sneered at the fast-food wrappers.

I snorted. “Good luck with that. I think I have a half a jar of pickles, ketchup, and shredded cheese that looks more like blue cheese by now.” Even with Emma’s culinary skills, she couldn’t make a meal in my kitchen.

“Leave that to me. I know how to order delivery, too.” A glint sparkled in her eyes before she tapped me on the ass. “Get moving.”

“Gross. Would you stop touching me when I’m dressed like this?”

She laughed. “I call it an incentive for you to put on some clothes.” She walked toward the door.

“Hey,” I called.

She turned. The light hit her just right, reminding me how much we looked alike.

Only eighteen months older, Emma could pass for my twin.

Although I was more dedicated to the gym, she’d maintained her figure.

She’d just not gone for the ripped look like I did.

Our hair was the same color blond with a side part.

Hers was longer and cascaded past her shoulders in curls, while I kept mine straight and shorter.

She smiled at me, and her brown eyes twinkled. I doubted I had the same mischievous smile or the twinkle, at least I didn’t anymore.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

I nodded. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

I kneeled and began picking up my clothes, signifying the end of the conversation. She stood, not moving for several beats, but finally turned and left.