Chapter 44

CHAPTER 44

MIRA

W hen I got back to the city, I found several messages on my machine from my new boss. I'd listed my landline at my house as my office number in order to appear more professional, but as I listened to what he had to say, there was nothing professional about my reaction.

I was horrified. Tears gathered in my eyes and quickly started leaking out. My body trembled with the shock of finding out that they were terminating my services. "We're sorry, Mira. I hope you understand, but we can't tolerate this kind of behavior on our rig. It's a distraction and distractions get people killed out there. Good luck."

The loud beep of my machine in the silence of the apartment broke my heart. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

When the guys on Logan's rig had told me about that article, I'd been shocked, sure, but it had been nothing compared to what I was feeling right now. What kind of ripple effect is this going to have on my career?

I'd never even thought about it like that. Not seriously, but here it was. Why do people even care so much?

Anger raced through me as I thought it over. I hadn't done anything wrong. Fuck those old-fashioned bastards who think a woman can't do her job well if she's also getting laid and those two worlds happen to cross paths.

What Logan and I had or had not done didn't have anything to do with either of our jobs. It hadn't had anything to do with anyone else. Men around the world fucked whoever they wanted whenever they wanted, and yet, I'd just been fired for a rumor about having kissed a guy on a rig.

What kind of bullshit is that?

Indignant rage spread through me like wildfire. I was ashamed as well, but more than anything, I was really fucking angry. For years now, I'd worked my ass off in this industry. I'd more than proven my capabilities and my worth to anyone who had been paying attention and now it was all over.

All because of fucking rumor that the supposed journalist involved hadn't even called to get a comment about. Unethical asshole.

Shaking and breathing hard, I stumbled over to my sofa and sank down on it, closing my eyes and trying to process all the jumbled emotions racing around inside me. This was terrible. It was awful. The worst thing that had ever happened to me professionally.

It hurt like a bitch, broke me apart, and tore everything I was to shreds. I belonged on those rigs. I'd proven myself over and over again and I'd done it without complaint. Without drama. Without calling out all the assholes who had doubted me.

I'd simply kept my head down and worked long grueling hours right next to all those men on every crew of every rig we'd ever been on. I hadn't asked for, nor had I received special treatment. I'd made one mistake in my entire career, and it had been with Logan.

Yet he wasn't being raked over the coals for it. No one would've fired him for reportedly making out on the rig. People probably hadn't even batted an eyelash over his side of things, while there was every possibility that my reputation was in tatters.

What did I do? What. The fuck. Did I do?

I groaned out loud, crying as it dawned on me that no one even cared if it was true. Sure, it was true, but the journalist hadn't known that. Nor had the asshole who'd just fired me. They hadn't even cared enough to ask.

All that work, all those years, and I hadn't even been worth a simple, single question to them. At least the crew on the rig had asked, but still, it was devastating to know that I meant so little even after everything I'd done that they hadn't even asked.

Not once in my entire life had I questioned my dream to work in the oil industry. I'd known it was going to be tough to make it as a woman but I hadn't let that stop me. Although a lot of people had encouraged me to consider other, easier options, I'd never done it.

Working in the industry my father had made a name for our family in had always been my only goal, but maybe I'd been too close-minded. Maybe I should've thought further. As infuriating as it was, maybe I should've just accepted that no matter what I did, I would never be taken seriously doing what I did for a living.

A sob tore out of me at the thought. It's just so fucking unfair! They have dicks. Big deal. Why do those make them so fucking special?

My phone rang and I glanced at it where it was lying on the coffee table, only taking the call because it was Anya. There wasn't another person alive I would've spoken to right now, not even Slate. No man could or would ever understand what I was going through.

No matter how well-intentioned, they just wouldn't get it. Millions of women around the globe went through similar things on a daily basis, and yet there wasn't a single man who would ever be able to grasp the utter helplessness, rage, and frustration I was feeling.

"Hey, you," I said as I picked up, my voice shaky and thick with tears.

"Thank God you picked up," she said, her concern clear as day. "I saw the article. Are you okay?"

"No," I said honestly. "This is such complete and total bullshit that I don't even know what to do with myself right now. I got my first client. My first own, real client who signed with me and not with Spiers, and before I could even tell you about it, I got fired. I just got the message. Apparently, I would cause a distraction on their rig since I can't keep my legs closed and that's just too dangerous for them. "

Anya scoffed out loud, immediately joining in my rage-fest. "What? That's ridiculous. Tell me they would've done the same to Slate if the article had been written about him."

I snorted. "They wouldn't have. You and I both know it. Hell, they probably would've even congratulated him for finding a way to get some while he was in the middle of the ocean."

"So it's true then. Good for you. I'm so glad you got some."

I sighed. "I didn't even. Not at the time they're talking about, anyway. We just made out a little bit and then went back out. I'd already gotten everyone to safety and there was no danger to the guys who had listened to me while we kissed."

"Of course, there wasn't. I know you would never have rushed off to play tonsil hockey with a pretty boy while there was any danger at all."

"Well, that's not the way that journalist told it." I lay back and rested my head on the armrest, staring up at the ceiling through blurry, teary eyes. "I'm just so freaking angry, Anya. I'm so angry. It's all so unfair that it makes me want to scream."

"So scream," she said. "That's pretty much the only thing you can do, babe. The industry isn't going to change and trying to change it is like farting to try to get rid of thunder. It's just not going to work."

"I can't accept that. I know you're right, but how am I just supposed to lie down and take it?"

She stayed quiet for a beat. "I don't know. I really don't. It's just part of life, I guess. I'm not saying it's right. It just is the way it is."

"Yeah." I breathed out a long, loud breath. "It's just so unfair. I'm good at my job, you know? I'm really fucking good. And I work as hard as anyone else. Why does it matter that I kissed him?"

"It shouldn't, but you know it does. Do you want me to come over? Maybe we can talk it out."

"No, talking isn't going to help." I sat up on the sofa and then stood, listlessly wandering over to the kitchen. "What is going to help right now is drinking until I black out."

"Agreed, but it's not the healthiest coping mechanism."

I opened my fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. "I know, but I'm so angry that I feel like I could tear a rig apart with my bare hands. I need to do something to take the edge off or I'm going to cause trouble."

"Maybe you should cause a little trouble," she suggested. "Start by reporting that journalist. There was no comment from you in that article and no mention made that you'd been contacted to provide one. Once you've done that, maybe call that client of yours and tell him you're going to sue."

"I'm not going to sue," I said angrily. "If I do, they'll just make it seem like I'm causing a scene because of my vagina."

She sighed. "True. Okay, drinking it is, then. Want some company?"

"No, I'm not going to be any fun to be around today, but thanks."

"Always. Let me know if you need me."

"I will," I said before I blew her a kiss through the phone and hung up.

I cracked open the bottle of wine and didn't bother with a glass, carrying the whole bottle back to the sofa with me. I was going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, but I didn't really care. As I took my first sip, I realized that the hangover was the only sure thing about tomorrow.

Slate wouldn't fire me from my own father's company, but he might need me to take a step back so the bad press didn't blow back on him and his reputation. I took another sip, and before I knew it, I was hammered.

Hammered and angry at Logan now. This was all his fault. Him and his stupid, full lips, and his sexy abs, and his shiny hair. If it wasn't for him, none of this would've been happening to me.

Letting the empty bottle lie on the sofa next to me, I hiccupped and reached for my phone, calling a cab to take me to his place. I owed him a piece of my damn mind after what he'd done, and he was about to get it.

One long, drunken ride later, I knocked on his front door, hoping that at least he was alone. Then again, fuck that.

If he is with another woman, let her hear how much of a pig he is . I swayed on my feet as I waited for him to answer, not even able to think about how I felt about him being with another woman. It hurt too much, and I was hurting enough as it was.

A minute later, he pulled open the door, appearing in front of me like a shirtless demi-god on a mission to test my resolve.

"Mira? What are you doing here?" He grinned, seeming happy to see me and it made me feel all kinds of things—until he suddenly lifted his brows. "Wait. Are you drunk?"

"Yep, I am, and I'm here to tell you that I hate you."

He frowned, immediately concerned as he stepped to one side. "I think you better come on in, baby. Let me take care of you, okay?"