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DELANEY

T he call comes the next morning while I'm still in my pajamas, drinking coffee that tastes like ash and staring at my laptop screen without really seeing it.

"Delaney, we need to talk." My boss Edward’s voice is carefully neutral, which is never a good sign. "Can you come in the office this morning?"

I know what this is about. Ms. Chen called them yesterday, probably within minutes of catching me in the woods with Jagger. I've been waiting for this shoe to drop since I got home.

"Of course," I manage. "What time?"

"How about ten? Conference room B."

Conference room B. The one they use for firing people because it's tucked away from the main area. Private. Discreet. Easy to escort someone out without causing a scene.

I hang up and stare at my reflection in the black screen of my phone. Yesterday, I was on top of the world. I thought I had won the biggest account of my career, felt more confident and capable than ever before, and was falling in love with a man who made me feel like I could conquer anything.

Now I'm about to lose my job because I couldn't keep my hands off my best friend's brother.

The meeting is exactly as humiliating as I expected. My boss is there, along with Janet from HR and Ms. Chen on speakerphone, her voice crisp and professional as she recounts finding me "engaged in inappropriate sexual behavior with a park employee while representing Morrison & Associates."

"The optics are extremely concerning," Ms. Chen continues. "It calls into question Ms. Holt's professionalism and judgment, as well as her ability to represent Trailbound's values."

I sit there taking it, my hands folded in my lap like a schoolgirl being scolded.

There's no point in defending myself. No way to explain that my relationship with Jagger had nothing to do with my professional performance without sounding like exactly the kind of person who would sleep with someone for career advancement.

"We've decided to award the account to Sterling Creative," Ms. Chen concludes. "Their approach aligns better with our company culture."

Brett's approach. The shallow, exploitative marketing that Jagger called out on the first night. But at least Brett kept his dick in his pants long enough to win.

After she hangs up, my boss delivers the final blow with the kind of practiced ease that comes from years of firing people.

"I'm sorry, Delaney. We can't overlook the professional judgment issues here. We have to let you go."

Professional judgment issues. That’s what it comes down to. And they’re right.

I never should’ve given in to that wild, reckless part of me. I played with fire, and now I’m burned.

I made the choice. I crossed the line.

And now I’m paying for it.

I clean out my desk in a haze, stuffing personal items into a cardboard box while my former colleagues pretend not to stare. Sabrina from accounting gives me a sympathetic smile. Marcus from the creative team avoids eye contact completely.

By noon, I'm standing on the sidewalk outside my former office building, holding my box of belongings and wondering what the hell I'm supposed to do with the rest of my life.

The first text from Jagger comes that afternoon.

I'm sorry. I know you're hurting and it's my fault. Please call me.

I delete it without responding.

The second one comes an hour later.

I love you. That doesn't change just because everything else went to shit.

Delete.

By evening, my phone is buzzing constantly. Texts, calls, voicemails, I don't listen to. I finally turn it off and shove it in a drawer, but that doesn't stop the flowers from arriving.

Tuesday: White roses with a note that says I'm not giving up on us.

Wednesday: Pink roses. Just talk to me.

Thursday: A mixed bouquet that probably cost more than my weekly grocery budget. Let me fix this. Let me take care of you.

I throw the notes away, but not before reading every one. Not before pressing my face into the petals and breathing in the scent. Not before hating myself for the way my heart races every time he reaches out.

Maya texts me Thursday night: Haven't heard from you since you got back. Everything okay?

I stare at the message for twenty minutes before typing back: Just tired. Busy catching up at work.

The lie sits in my stomach like a stone. This is what I've become. Someone who lies to her best friend. Someone who destroys everything she touches.

Friday morning, Maya shows up at my apartment unannounced.

"I brought pumpkin lattes," she announces, pushing past me into the living room. "And I'm not leaving until you tell me why you look like someone died."

She's wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun, just like the college roommate who used to force me to eat actual food and not candy during finals week. The familiarity of it makes my chest tight with guilt.

"I'm fine," I lie, accepting the latte gratefully. "Just a rough week at work."

"Bullshit." She settles onto my couch, pulling her legs up under her. "You've been weird since you got back from that ranger program thing with my brother."

My heart stutters at the mention of him, but I keep my expression chill. "The program was intense. I'm still recovering."

"That's it? Just tired from two weeks of camping?"

I nod, not trusting my voice.

Maya studies my face with the kind of laser focus that made her a good psychology major. "Did something happen out there? With the client?"

The opening is right there. The perfect opportunity to tell her about losing the account, about getting fired, about how spectacularly I've fucked up my entire life. But I can't make the words come out.

Because telling her about the job means explaining why I lost it. And explaining why I lost it means telling her about Jagger. And telling her about Jagger means watching our friendship die in real time.

"The client went with the other agency," I say instead.

"Oh, babe." Maya's face crumples with sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

Her kindness makes everything worse. She's being the perfect friend. Supportive, caring, completely unaware that I've been lying to her.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table, lighting up with a new text message. I reach to silence it, but Maya's faster.

"Why is my brother texting you?" she asks, reading the name on the screen.

My blood turns to ice. "Maya, don't…"

But she's already reading the message, her expression shifting from curiosity to confusion to something that looks like horror.

I can't sleep without you next to me. I love you. Please don't shut me out.

The silence that follows is deafening. Maya stares at the phone like it's a snake that might bite her, then slowly looks up at me.

"This is from my brother," she says quietly.

I can't speak. Can't move. Can barely breathe.

"My brother sent you this message about..." She trails off, reading it again. "About sleeping with you."

"Maya," I try to cut in.

"How long?" Her voice is deadly calm. "How long have you been fucking my brother?"

The words knock the air out of me. I've never heard Maya use that tone before.

"It's not what you think,” I say, the lie scraping my throat on the way out.

"It's not what I think?" She stands up abruptly, pacing to the window. "What I think is that my best friend has been lying to me. What I think is that you've been sleeping with my brother behind my back after promising me you'd never even think about him that way."

Tears burn my eyes. "Maya, please let me explain."

"Explain what? How you've been playing the long game? How you pretended to be my friend just to get close to him?"

"That's not true! Our friendship isn't about him. It's never been about him."

"Really? Because right now it feels like everything has been about him.

" She turns back to face me, and I can see tears in her eyes too.

"Do you have any idea what this feels like?

Finding out that my best friend and my brother have been lying to me?

That while I was worried about you being sad about work, you were actually heartbroken over my brother? "

"I wanted to tell you."

"When? When exactly were you planning to tell me?"

Her anger crashes over me like a wave I can't fight. I swallow hard, staring at the floor. “He kissed me a year ago. I ignored it. Ignored him , until two weeks ago. And then I couldn’t anymore. It dragged up everything. Feelings he’s had for me since the first time he saw me.

Feelings I think I always had for him, but I didn’t want to admit it. ”

The admission hangs between us—a grenade with the pin pulled.

Maya stares at me for a long moment. "Jesus Christ, Delaney."

She grabs her purse and latte. "You made me a promise. You swore you'd never think about him that way, and I believed you. I trusted you."

"I tried to keep that promise. I tried so hard."

"Clearly not hard enough." She stops at the door, her hand on the knob. "You know what the worst part is? It's not even that you fell for him. It's that you lied to me about it."

"Maya, please don't leave like this. Let's talk about it."

"Talk about what? About how you chose him over me? About how our entire friendship has been built on a lie?" She shakes her head. "I need space, Delaney. I need to figure out if there's anything real left between us."

The door slams behind her, and I'm alone with her words and the devastating realization that I've lost the most important person in my life.

I sink to the floor and let myself cry. Not for the job or the account or the career that's in ruins. But for Maya. For the friendship I've destroyed with my selfishness and lies.

One of the petals slips from the flowers Jagger sent, landing on the coffee table. Just like everything else beautiful in my life, it’s dying.

And it's all my fault.