Chapter 2 Indie

Chapter 2

Indie

Jay Christopher should thank the god of whatever underworld he crawled out of that there’s a conference room table between us.

The logistics of crawling across it in my skirt and heels are the only thing holding me back from strangling him.

When I was awarded this project, the previous chief human resources officer had told me it was the key to my promotion. Instead, my boss has taken a day that I’ve been looking forward to for the last year and ruined it.

This afternoon, I went in front of the board to talk about the early success we’ve seen since implementing the new succession planning model I developed for the company earlier this spring.

“Indie, you can’t expect that someone with your attitude would be selected for a promotion. We need team players. Sure, your work is top-notch, but you’re snarky, closed-off, and don’t trust people to work alongside you.”

“I don’t trust you , JC,” I hiss, my professional composure fucking off, just like I wish this asshat in front of me would. If I’m being honest, I’ve questioned my resolve to stay here every day since the retirement of my mentor, the woman who gave me the opportunity we are currently discussing. “But why would I when you’ve been peddling my work as yours for the last three years? If I was a man, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d pat me on the back while laughing at my sarcasm .”

“We’ve talked about this before, Indie. And yet, I’ve never once seen you at happy hour, getting to know your colleagues outside of the office. You need to build rapport with them, make them like you.”

First, ouch. Second, I think the fuck not. “I do that every single day with the ten plus hours I spend here. What they need is to see me doing my job; to trust that I know what I’m talking about. Not insight into my drink order at Willy’s.”

JC checks his watch for the dozenth time since we sat down. “Sorry, Indie, a promotion is not in the cards for you. Leadership is taking things in a new direction since Maggie’s retirement.”

Meaning the promotion I’ve been promised for the last three years is going to someone else. I’ve done everything he’s asked, except the happy hour thing, because that’s just plain stupid. I already give every ounce of myself while I’m here, and now they want my evenings too.

The slimy smirk that tilts up his lips makes my stomach lurch. Pushing back I rise, palms flat on the table, leaning over it so he can see the fire in my eyes. “Good luck taking credit for my work when I’m not there to explain the data and logic behind it.” I smile and give him my pièce de résistance—flipping him off over my shoulder and walking out of this godforsaken conference room, heels clacking angrily until I drop into an empty bench outside the downtown Chicago office.

Holy fuck, I just quit my job. Walked out, with no notice, and burned my career to the ground. Swiping the hot angry tears from my eyes I order an Uber. No way in hell am I riding the L home in heels after today.

The anger coursing through my body has me on edge the entire ride, and when I finally get home, I know there’s only one thing that will help.

The polished black skirt and off-white blouse I painstakingly picked this morning are crumpled in a pile on the bedroom floor, and are quickly replaced by a pair of bike shorts and a long sleeve shirt .

I can feel the rage and agitation crawling under my skin like hot snakes, ready to sear my skin from my bones if I let it.

On the way out the door, I snag a water bottle and a few other pieces of gear. With an unexpected afternoon off—or, more accurately, the foreseeable future off—I hoist my bike over my shoulder and maneuver it out of the building.

It takes some finagling, especially with the slight tremble of my hand, but after wrestling with my bike for a minute, I get it in the back of my small SUV. And as I pull out of the parking ramp and let the city fade away in my rear-view mirror, I can feel that uncomfortable fluttering in my chest easing.

Heading southwest, I crank the music for my forty-minute drive, letting it drown out the angry pulse still pounding behind my ears at the unfairness of it all. No, not unfairness; this was a choice, maybe not a super calculated one, but I was in control.

True unfairness is being diagnosed with cancer at forty. Or not having control over being sick as hell from the treatments. And then fighting with everything in you to overcome it, only for it to come back. Unfairness is having your life cut short and being taken from your family, from your daughter, when she needs you.

What JC did was bullshit, which is why I don’t regret my decision, fair or not.

Quitting my job with no plan won’t be the hardest thing I’ve overcome in my thirty years.

Besides, just because I don’t know what comes next doesn’t mean I won’t figure it out. That’s one reason my bike is shoved into the back of the car.

I think better out here, away from the city, with the trees flying by as I ride until my legs want to give out and I can feel every beat of my heart inside my chest.

Although, coming out here alone—knowing that I’ll ride until dusk or beyond—is probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. I should text Brianna and let her know where I am. She’s working tonight anyway, so she can’t give me too much hell.

Not like my friends would.

She’ll just want to know if I’m okay.

We’ve only been dating for two months and it’s not serious, but she’s unlike anyone I’ve dated. She actually cares, probably more than she should. Still, texting her is my best bet—safety and all that.

Poppy, my childhood best friend, gets my need to be a little reckless from time to time. But she would just tell me it’s another reason I should be closer to her in Denver—that she would be here right alongside me.

Mia would scold me before offering to write JC into one of her books as an act of vengeance. But she wasn’t there like Poppy was when my mom was sick. So I’ve sheltered her from this part of me, afraid that it’ll scare her away.

Although, without Mia, I wouldn’t have Brianna to text. Mia was in town for an event a few months ago when her own relationship was falling apart, and Brianna was a waitress at the Indian restaurant we went to. My observant friend caught me watching the redhead waiting tables and encouraged me to get her number.

For the first time since I hooked up with Dom, I felt a pull to someone new. One-night stands have never been a hang-up for me before, but I couldn’t shake this one.

A week after seeing Brianna, I found myself back in the same place picking up an order of Murgh Tikka Masala. She happened to be working and saw me first, snagging my order from the hostess and bringing it over herself, along with her number. Unfortunately, our schedules make it hard to see each other as often as we’d like. Between waitressing and grad school, she might be busier than me.

Now that I’m unemployed, she definitely is. My hands twist on the wheel as I turn the car into the Palo Forest Preserve. Fresh air fills my lungs, and the events of this morning fade to nothing more than background noise as I unload my bike and strap on my helmet.

Before I start down the trail, I shoot off the text I’ve been procrastinating sending to Brianna, who I’ve decided is least likely to yell at me or judge me .

Me:

Pin sent: Palo Forest Preserve - North

Me:

My afternoon freed up unexpectedly. Out riding. Call me after your shift?

Brianna:

Have fun! How’d the presentation go?

Me:

I’ll fill you in later.

Brianna:

Is everything okay?

Me:

It will be. I just needed to get

out of the city.

Brianna:

Who are you riding with?

I know she means well, but each response has my nerves ratcheting back up. My whole body is buzzing with the discomfort I had shed by simply being out here. I want to lie; tell her I’m with one of the guys from the crew I sometimes bike with. Her worry will only make this awful feeling of disappointment that I’m trying to get rid of worse. But she’s too sweet to lie to, so I stick with the truth.

Me:

I’m solo. It was a last-minute decision.

Brianna:

Tell me you at least have your watch.

I look down at my bare wrist. Shit.

Several weeks ago, when I was in the heat of preparing for today’s meeting, I took off after a particularly long workday for a solo hike. My phone had died, and I came home to find Brianna waiting for me by my door, wrecked with worry. After a hug that stretched on, she marched me inside and made me set up the emergency feature that would call my dad if I were to fall or crash my bike.

Me:

I didn’t wear it today because of the meeting and I forgot to grab it on my way out.

Brianna:

I don’t like this. Text me when you’re done.

Me:

I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry

about me during your shift.

Brianna:

Not possible. Stay safe, babe.

Me:

I will. Talk tonight.

With my feet on my pedals and my tires in the dirt, I feel grounded in a way that can’t be replicated. Nothing else makes me feel this alive. Expect maybe really great sex. The pulsing, pounding feeling deep in my soul that reminds me I’ve survived everything life has thrown at me.

The future may be uncertain right now, but being out here feels right, and I want more of this. Less city, less corporate bullshit, less work that doesn’t matter. More adventure, more meaning. Wherever I land will be my choice, not something I do because it’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m done doing what’s expected.

Dusk creeps in around me and my legs burn as I pedal the last few miles of the sixteen mile loop. Pushing harder, my light illuminates the narrow trail in front of me. It’s been almost an hour since I’ve seen another rider and I know I’ll find the parking lot empty when I get back to my car.

For most people, it would probably be nerve-wracking, but for the first time today, my mind is clear, and pieces of my plan coming together with each heart pounding climb. The picture of what’s next crystallizes with every quick and twisty downhill section filled with berms and jumps. My fear over the unknown of it all left behind like the ground under my tires as I launch my bike over the small tabletop. I do everything right, sending my bike sailing through the air over the flat mound of dirt until I land on the other side.

This is what it feels like to be alive.