Page 4 of The Fall Affair

The So Kate black patent-leather pumps with shiny red bottoms.

Chapter 2

Allegra

UGH. WAS I in some sort of an accident?

The next morning, I attempted to lift my head from the pillow, but the pounding in my skull wouldn’t let me raise it more than an inch. My eyes burned, and my tongue felt thick and useless. I managed to roll over onto my back but winced when light shining through the blinds stabbed at my face. Grabbing the pillow next to me, I yanked it over my head.

What the hell did I drink last night? The throb inside my brain worsened as I tried to recall. I hadn’t wanted to go to the partner reception—that much I remembered. But Cassie had made me. “One drink to show face and we’ll ditch,” she’d said. Apparently, that hadn’t happened.

The entire night was fuzzy. I remembered the feeling in my chest when they’d announced the name Sierra Wells instead of mine. Even now, who knows how many hours later, it felt like my rib cage was being crushed when I thought about it. I remembered standing at the bar at Ophelia and ordering a dirty martini. I remembered Malik coming over to try to cheer me up. He’d said he was more shocked when my name wasn’t called than he’d been when his hadn’t been called last year. I remembered doing a consolation shot with Ken Bauman, who was a year ahead of me and hadn’t made partner again. And then a shot with Cassie. And then my dirty martini glass was empty. The three bleu cheese olives on that second one were the only thing I’d eaten all day. I’m sure that didn’t help the situation.

Things got a lot more fuzzy after that second cocktail. I think I might’ve had a drink with Tom Walker and Evelyn Parsons. They, too, had expressed how shocked they were that my name hadn’t been called. And I remembered Rich Moore coming over to talk to me. He’d basically given me some crap about it being the most competitive year ever, and told me what a valued employee I was. At least I’d managed to bite my tongue.

I kept trying to recall what happened after that, but all I could gather was bits and pieces, flashes of random moments from the evening. Inside the ladies’ room, Cassie’s shirt stuck in her pants zipper, a really loud, obnoxious laugh coming from the far end of the bar—I think it might’ve been mine—and then…then just a feeling of doom.

As much as I didn’t want to get out of bed, I really needed Motrin and something to drink. So I dragged my body to the kitchen. Halfway through chugging a full glass of water, the reason for that feeling of doom came back to me, and I choked mid-swallow.

Harry!

Oh my God, Harry!

How could I forget following him into the men’s room?

My face heated as I coughed and sputtered water all over the floor.

What the hell did I do?

I wanted to climb back into bed, go back to sleep, and wake up not remembering that part of the night again. But of course, I wasn’t that lucky. Instead, more and more solidified in my memory.

Finding him standing at the urinal.

Peeking over the side and telling him his dick would need to be bigger if I was going to suck it for a partnership.

The vein bulging in his forehead.

A man bolting from the bathroom… I wasn’t even sure who had been in there.

And then two words I can’t believe I said.

“I quit.”

Oh.

My.

God.

I quit my freaking job! In the men’s room after telling the senior partner he had a shriveled-up little dick.

And I’d thought my head was pounding already!

A rush of nausea came over me. I slapped my hand over my mouth, sprinted to the bathroom, and violently vomited until every ounce of fluid I’d put into my body had been evacuated.

After, I sat with my back against the cold tile, my hands and face clammy.

I quit my job.