I should’ve been thankful that she believed it, and didn’t test her luck.
The third night was the worst. I couldn’t use the I-masturbated-way-too-much excuse or the limp dick excuse, so I pulled one out of my ass. I told Alison I had the worst case of diarrhea. The look she gave me was sheer repulsion. I know she’s not the type of woman who even goes to the bathroom around me. That night she booked a separate room. I think she was afraid she would have to deal with the constant smell of shit. I was beyond thankful. Having to stay up pretending to have really bad diarrhea would’ve been a test for me.
It’s good to finally be home. I pour myself a cup of coffee and grab my copy of the New York Times . I usually read my news online, but there’s something nice about reading an actual paper once in a while. It’s the same with books, except I think I prefer the paperbacks to reading it on an e-reader. It takes me a moment to realize that there’s an article for the annual Gala is in the paper.
“Finally, the publicity department gets something right.”
The words die in my throat as I read over the date of the annual Gala. January 31st. What the fuck? I grab my tablet from my briefcase and scroll through my calendar. I specifically told Gellar the 30th. The publicity department didn’t even know about the old date. I pull up the week Emily and I are supposed to be gone and my vacation entry isn’t there. It was, but now it’s not. I scroll through the recent changes, and lo and behold, the most recent change is a deletion. Under “user” it shows her name: Gellar.
Son of a bitch . I scroll through my phone to the e-mail notification that pops up at the top. My jaw drops at the realization that it’s from him . Nicholas StoneHaven. For the past three days, I’ve been blissfully, irrevocably ignorant of his whereabouts. No, that’s a lie. I knew he was with her. I just haven’t seen or heard from him, but I knew a shit storm was coming.
To: Rebecca Gellar
From: Nicholas F. StoneHaven
Subject: WE NEED TO TALK
Gellar,
My office. Now.
Nicholas F. StoneHaven
Fuck that. I quickly reply to his e-mail, trying to keep my simmering anger to a minimum.
To: Nicholas F. StoneHaven
From: Rebecca Gellar
Reply: WE NEED TO TALK
Good morning,
I am in an important phone conference. I will check in later.
Rebecca Gellar
In less than five minutes I hear him, or rather, everyone on the whole floor hears him.
"GELLAR!"
From my peripherals I spot Nicholas as he heads in a straight beeline toward my cubicle. I know just from the scowl plastered on his face that he knows what I’ve done. I push aside the documents I’ve been scanning and slip them back into my to-do pile. I’ll never be able to get any kind of work done. Somehow, the already heaping pile of busywork I’ve been given has managed to grow larger.
“What the hell did you do?” he asks.
The one thing keeping me going today is my little slice of heaven – my revenge. I knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time until he figured it out. Not only did I “accidentally” book the company’s upcoming Gala the same night he’s planning to leave for his trip, but I cancelled his airline tickets.
Oops.
Score: Rebecca 1, Nicholas 0.
I think some people forget how much power one little digital calendar can hold. I have access to his schedule. A year’s worth in advance.
“Gellar, what the hell is this?” Nicholas asks.
I didn’t think this space could get any smaller, but his frame nearly takes up half of it. He waves a copy of today’s New York Times a mere inch from my face before flinging it angrily on my desk. I almost flinch at the inaudible gasps that are surely travelling down the aisle at this very moment. I’m definitely on his shit list.
I bite back a smile threatening to erupt as he passes one long, manicured hand through his slicked-back mane. The sight of him bubbling with frustration gives me pure
The third night was the worst. I couldn’t use the I-masturbated-way-too-much excuse or the limp dick excuse, so I pulled one out of my ass. I told Alison I had the worst case of diarrhea. The look she gave me was sheer repulsion. I know she’s not the type of woman who even goes to the bathroom around me. That night she booked a separate room. I think she was afraid she would have to deal with the constant smell of shit. I was beyond thankful. Having to stay up pretending to have really bad diarrhea would’ve been a test for me.
It’s good to finally be home. I pour myself a cup of coffee and grab my copy of the New York Times . I usually read my news online, but there’s something nice about reading an actual paper once in a while. It’s the same with books, except I think I prefer the paperbacks to reading it on an e-reader. It takes me a moment to realize that there’s an article for the annual Gala is in the paper.
“Finally, the publicity department gets something right.”
The words die in my throat as I read over the date of the annual Gala. January 31st. What the fuck? I grab my tablet from my briefcase and scroll through my calendar. I specifically told Gellar the 30th. The publicity department didn’t even know about the old date. I pull up the week Emily and I are supposed to be gone and my vacation entry isn’t there. It was, but now it’s not. I scroll through the recent changes, and lo and behold, the most recent change is a deletion. Under “user” it shows her name: Gellar.
Son of a bitch . I scroll through my phone to the e-mail notification that pops up at the top. My jaw drops at the realization that it’s from him . Nicholas StoneHaven. For the past three days, I’ve been blissfully, irrevocably ignorant of his whereabouts. No, that’s a lie. I knew he was with her. I just haven’t seen or heard from him, but I knew a shit storm was coming.
To: Rebecca Gellar
From: Nicholas F. StoneHaven
Subject: WE NEED TO TALK
Gellar,
My office. Now.
Nicholas F. StoneHaven
Fuck that. I quickly reply to his e-mail, trying to keep my simmering anger to a minimum.
To: Nicholas F. StoneHaven
From: Rebecca Gellar
Reply: WE NEED TO TALK
Good morning,
I am in an important phone conference. I will check in later.
Rebecca Gellar
In less than five minutes I hear him, or rather, everyone on the whole floor hears him.
"GELLAR!"
From my peripherals I spot Nicholas as he heads in a straight beeline toward my cubicle. I know just from the scowl plastered on his face that he knows what I’ve done. I push aside the documents I’ve been scanning and slip them back into my to-do pile. I’ll never be able to get any kind of work done. Somehow, the already heaping pile of busywork I’ve been given has managed to grow larger.
“What the hell did you do?” he asks.
The one thing keeping me going today is my little slice of heaven – my revenge. I knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time until he figured it out. Not only did I “accidentally” book the company’s upcoming Gala the same night he’s planning to leave for his trip, but I cancelled his airline tickets.
Oops.
Score: Rebecca 1, Nicholas 0.
I think some people forget how much power one little digital calendar can hold. I have access to his schedule. A year’s worth in advance.
“Gellar, what the hell is this?” Nicholas asks.
I didn’t think this space could get any smaller, but his frame nearly takes up half of it. He waves a copy of today’s New York Times a mere inch from my face before flinging it angrily on my desk. I almost flinch at the inaudible gasps that are surely travelling down the aisle at this very moment. I’m definitely on his shit list.
I bite back a smile threatening to erupt as he passes one long, manicured hand through his slicked-back mane. The sight of him bubbling with frustration gives me pure
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