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“Get the fuck off me!” he shouts, attempting to get away, but I wrap the tie around my fist tighter as several people gather in the hallway to see what the commotion is.
“Oh dear!” Marsha, Miles Davenport’s assistant, says as I walk right past her and straight into Miles’ office.
He’s on the phone, but he stops mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open as I deposit Mitchell on the floor of his office.
“What is the meaning of all this?” He stands up and looks at me, then Mitchell, his thin, sallow face growing redder by the second.
“This piece of shit is the father of your granddaughter that Venus is carrying.” I point down at a sweating, red-faced Mitchell in a crumpled mess on the floor.
“Sir, no, I can explain,” he says, scrambling to get up, but I step on the tip of his tie that’s resting on the floor and it jerks him back down.
“Your daughter made me believe the baby was mine. She told me it was mine, but now I know the truth. It’s Mitchell’s and according to Venus, he wants nothing to do with her or the baby.”
Miles’ eyes go from wide and shocked to seething slits as he turns his venom toward Mitchell.
“Is this true?” he spits out.
I don’t wait around for an answer from Mitchell. I leave him groveling on the floor and march my way back out of the office to my car where I finally breathe a sigh of relief that this is done. But the relief doesn’t last for long because I know that there’s one other thing I need to take care of and it might ruin everything but I have to take the risk.
I drive to my office, half the day already gone, but ready to get back to some sort of normalcy.
I hold my breath as the elevator doors open and I walk past Brontë’s desk, but she isn’t there. I check the time. I guess she could have taken an early lunch, but then I notice her plant is gone. Maybe she took it to the break room to water it, I think to myself as I walk into my office and sink down into my chair. That’s when I see it. A typed-out resignation letter.
Mr. Archer,
Apologies for not doing this in person but considering the circumstances, I couldn’t bring myself to face you. I also hope that due to the circumstances, you will forgive my lack of professionalism in not offering a two-week notice.
Please consider this my immediate resignation from Archer Financial. Thank you for your kindness, mentorship, and the opportunity you provided me to work here. I have greatly appreciated it and will continue to only wish you the best.
Sincerely,
Brontë
Chapter 21
Brontë
I took the coward’s way out, I know that.
My stomach is in knots as I leave Archer Financial. I know I can’t avoid seeing Beckham for the rest of my life, especially with his role in my father’s life, but right now, it’s still too raw, too fresh.
I do hope that someday we can be friends. I like having him in my life. I appreciate his honesty and guidance, his advice. I still want to volunteer at the Archer Foundation as well, but right now, I just need time to heal. Time to myself to focus on building my nonprofit and finding some small companies to invest in.
I spend the rest of the afternoon winding my way around the city. I end up at the lakefront, one of my favorite spots. I find myself walking toward the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier. I buy a ticket and get in a bucket by myself, looking out over the lake as it rises, the sun dancing like diamonds on the water.
I try not to, but I can’t keep myself from remembering the brief moments Beckham and I spent up here. I wonder if by chance, I somehow ended up in the same bucket we were in that night. I remember the way he looked at me, like his eyes were trying to warn me when he told me not to pull at that thread regarding us.
I should have listened to him. I should have realized that I was far too young, far too naive to think I could keep my feelings and emotions out of it. I sit back, my chin beginning to quiver as the floodgates open and I release all the pent-up hurt that I’ve been keeping locked away.
I allow myself to cry it out, hoping it’s the cathartic release I need to move on, but I have very little hope that’s actually the case.
By the time I leave the pier, it’s going on five p.m. I told my dad yesterday that I would come by for dinner tonight. The boys have been begging me to come over so they can show me how big Lemon and Lime, their kittens, are getting.
I see a text from Sylvia when I check the time.
Sylvia: Hey, girl. Been thinking about you. Everything okay? We haven’t heard from you in a while. Let us know if you’re down for brunch or something this weekend. Love you!
I feel guilty. I’ve completely neglected them lately. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own drama. But also, I’ve been afraid to be around them because they’ll see through me pretending I’m okay in an instant. I’m just not ready to rehash everything by telling them all the details. I type out a simple response and make my way to my parents’ house.
