Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I force myself to laugh along with them, pretending to move on as I resume my place at the table, but inside I’m spiraling as every success of the last week rearranges itself in my mind:
Belinda suddenly being willing to see me again after I turned her baby Jesus into petal confetti?
Oliver’s doing.
The meeting slots with those “impossible to get” caterers that miraculously opened like the Red Sea?
Oliver again.
The way Christoph brushed aside the scandal as soon as I explained that Oliver and I were dating?
Well, that was all Oliver’s idea, too.
And yes, my PowerPoint is perfect, and they all seem genuinely impressed with my work, but would that have mattered if I didn’t have the fifth in the throne pulling strings for me in the background? Would I still be on the verge of landing this job if it were just me, Emily Darling, the American party planner, being judged on my own merit?
Or does this win really belong to my fake boyfriend?
The fake boyfriend who lied to me—again—and made mortifying phone calls behind my back.
Why did he do this?
I thought he believed in me?
But maybe all that’s a lie, too…
James returns with an update on his daughter—ready to take the stage like a champ—Christoph dims the lights once more, and I pick up where I left off.
But the magical flow state is gone. I feel outside myself, like I’m watching the woman in the red sweater present from the ceiling along with the ghost of my professional dignity.
I fumble the remote, nearly dropping it, and click too fast through the budget breakdown. And then, there goes slide twenty-eight without its carefully planned transition or my joke about accountants. My voice sounds thinner than it did before, like someone let half the air out of a balloon.
But they don’t seem to notice the change in my energy.
Why would they? This isn’t a real evaluation. It’s theater, and everyone knows their lines but me.
Finally, it’s time for slide thirty-seven—my big finish, the final rendering of the transformed space. James actually applauds. Applauds.
I just wish I could believe his enthusiasm was real.
“Brilliant,” he says, exchanging a pleased glance with Christoph and the others. “Absolutely brilliant. I think I speak for the committee at large when I say we’re thrilled to offer you the contract.”
The others murmur agreement like a Greek chorus, and Christoph assures his boss that he’ll have the contract drawn up immediately. We briefly discuss timeline concerns, and the date I’ll need to submit my budget for approval—things that should have me doing an inner victory dance.
But it all feels hollow.
Embarrassing, even.
More handshakes. More congratulations, and Christoph walks me to the door with a final assurance that he’ll be in touch before I fly out, so we can finalize the contract in person before I leave.
I wave, keeping my smile firmly fixed until I’m down the hallway.
And all five flights of stairs.
I make it to the lobby, through revolving doors that feel like they’re trying to trip me, and around the corner to where a row of black cabs wait like patient beetles.
Then, I run.
My sensible heels click against pavement, probably destroying the leather— definitely destroying my ankles—but I don’t care. I need to move, to put distance between me and that boardroom, between me and the truth that’s burning a shameful hole in my stomach.
Two blocks. Three, and then a small park appears. I try the gate, breathing a sigh of relief when it opens beneath my hand. I close it, wrapping my coat tighter around me as I find a brown bench hidden behind the hedge.
I sink down on it with a sigh, fighting tears as I pull my cell from my briefcase.
I’m supposed to text Oliver, but I have no idea what to say—
I got the job…but only because you rigged it without telling me
How could you embarrass me like this, Olly? How could you go behind my back that way? When you know how much I hate lies?
Do you really think I’m THAT inadequate?
How can I ever trust you again?
I turn the phone off instead.
And sit.
And shiver.
And do my best not to sniffle.
After a while, a mother pushing a stroller passes by on her way to the gate, shooting me a very British look of concern—worry mixed with a strong desire not to get involved.
But I can’t blame her.
I probably look like I’m on the verge of a breakdown. I feel like I am, but I don’t know what’s making me more upset. Losing the satisfaction of a job well done…
Or losing my trust in Olly.
“Congratulations, darling Darling, you did it,” I whisper to the empty park, mimicking his posh, lying voice.
The words taste sour in my mouth.
I close my eyes, and for the first time since I landed in London, I admit the truth…
I don’t belong here.