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She turns to me. “It sure as shit is. She’s sitting in HR getting reprimanded and possibly fired for 15,000 ping pong balls that say ‘I Love Dicks.’ With her name on the other side. Chet freaked out and now Eva and Rinaldi are getting into it. Sophie’s being questioned.”
“Why?”
“They think she pranked Chet. And HR is calling it a gay slur.” Oh my fucking God. This went so sideways.
I run my hands over my face and into my hair. “Why am I not being hauled to HR?”
Monica stares at me for way too long. I’m flicking my fingers at my side like I’m getting ready for a gun fight.
“Because she’s not you.”
It takes a moment for it all to sink in. Dax gives me a thumbs-up that the cleanup crew has been taken care of. It hits me as Monica slams my door. Bette didn’t tell them it was me. She took the rap. She didn’t give me up. This is a fucking mess.
Why not throw me under the bus? I tossed her under for the eggplant thing. I pace the room. I might need to fly to Chicago and apologize. No. That’s stupid. I’ve never seen the woman. What, am I going to stalk the twenty-seven Chicago Bette Millers? I could go to the office and wait for her.
She’s a better person than I am. I have to be better.
I whip open my door. “Monica!”
She doesn’t even stand up from her cubicle. “What? This bettah be good and it bettah be contrition.” Everyone’s looking at me.
“Everyone, back to work. Prank gone wrong, that’s all!” I lean over Monica’s desk and she still won’t look at me. “Are they in New York?”
“Zurich.”
“Get me on a call with them first.”
“Tell me you’re doing more. You need to do all the fucking things right.” She never swears at me. I’m a bit nauseous.
“I will. And I’m sure if I forget some of them, you’ll remind me.”
She flips me off.
I walk away and pray whatever bullshit I come up with appeases all. It certainly wasn’t meant as a gay slur, just a Bette slur. We’ve never been caught before. Even the printer thing never got any major attention. She didn’t even get dinged for it, really. Just a quick wrist slap.
The ping pong balls were retaliation for her two full days of hourly singing telegrams. She even sent one to a restaurant while I was on a date. Dax runs in with a company-wide apology memo explaining our badly timed and ill-conceived joke. It states we’ll take all the blame.
“Change it to only me and add a copy of the bill of sale with my name on it. I’m fucking serious. Don’t screw yourself over with my shit.” He shakes his head. “I’m not fucking around. You’re my boy and we don’t do each other like this. My idea all the way. I can take the fall.”
He shakes his head no, “I’m along for the ride.” I smack his shoulder and nod.
Back in my office, I slip on my shoes, hitch my bag on my shoulder and nod to Dax. He’ll send it out. We have a rhythm—sometimes even entire conversations in a nod.
I truly dislike the pinched-ass woman who runs our HR office. I breathe in and exhale loudly, and as I’m about to knock on her door she says, “Of course, Hayden Corelli is involved in the scandal that’s rocking our company.” Never fuck anyone in your office. It never goes well.
I’m afraid to talk to her. But if Bette gets fired because of this, I’ll be disappointed. I want her gone, but not like this. And then something warm and wonderful thrums through my core. Do I want her gone?
BETTE
JERKFACE: I’m so sorry. I forgot. If you don’t believe me—Dax is the responsible forthright one. And he forgot too. Please forgive me. I can’t stand you being in trouble. Hate me for my work and my devastating good looks, but don’t hate me for a prank gone wrong.
JERKFACE: We’re taking full responsibility. You will be exonerated. Exalted even. Especially when they fire my ass for this dumbass prank. I’m truly sorry.
Asshole pulled off some kind of charming sorcery, like the hot blond long haired Henry Cavill in that show that’s like a Twilight/Superman spin off or something. I don’t remember but the point is he’s Teflon.
He saved both our asses. I didn’t give him up, but it says a lot that he confessed. I wanted to protect him and live up to our truce, even if he couldn’t. But in an odd way, he did. Within an hour of my ass being scolded, the ping pong balls were cleaned up. I might have kept one.
BETTE: I hate you because the prank was so good. But sadly, whatever trust we had is gone. Your pretty words mean nothing. Now, I get to bury you without remorse. Thanks for that.
