40. Alex

Chapter 40

Alex

"This is serious bullshit," Victoria slurred over her third glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Or was it her fourth? I'd recounted the partner meeting over the initial glass, and she'd dropped her head into her hands and moaned, "Shit, what am I going to tell my dad?"

When the server asked about a refill, she grabbed his arm and demanded, "Bring the whole damn bottle."

We needed to appear celebratory to keep the Assistant Gossip Network at bay, and I'd wanted a secluded place to drop this bomb. At my desk, I'd covertly winked at Connor then used my cockiest voice to demand he ideally reserve the private room at Boulevard to celebrate without interruption. After that, he could go home since there was no way in hell we'd be back tonight. Then I'd shut my office door, dropped to my knees, and emptied my stomach into the trash can.

Thus, here we were, nine drinks deep between us.

"I gave them eight fucking years, and how do they repay me? By giving the crown to you." Her hand swept sloppily towards my face.

I raised my MacAllen, offering a wry smile. "If it makes you feel better, they're only giving it to me because of my brother."

Her glare was so withering, my balls retracted. "Why would that help?"

"We can commiserate about our efforts being undermined." Pretty impressed I could still say all those long words after all this liquor.

"Yeah, but at least when they fuck you, they buy you dinner first."

Oooh, angry drunk Victoria was spicy.

"That explains Houghton's joke that redheads need more sunscreen," Victoria muttered darkly. "since they expect me to mindlessly follow you to LA. Fuck my ambitions, time to slip into a slinky dress and be your pretty little trophy wife." She made cutesie hand gestures. "Little do they know, you don't want me either."

Ooof, that one hurt. It was true, but it hurt. "He said you didn't come back after the negotiations. Did you go home for the holidays?"

"Can you imagine that chaos, showing up without you?" She mimicked her grandfather's wife Beverly's high-pitched voice. "Oh, Vickie, how did you lose Alexander? There must be something wrong with you since he hasn't proposed yet."

"You haven't told them we broke up?"

"I told my dad," she said, her tone defeated. "But Spencer got divorced, and if Richard found out I'm single …" Her mouth tightened, then she waved to the waiter for another bottle.

"Remember when we got promoted to Senior Associate? Beverly had the nerve to say, ‘Guess they're handing out promotions like candy.' She's never worked a day in her life, born rich and married richer." She let out a deep sigh like it was pulling from the oxygen in cells in her toes. "Your parents sent flowers and champagne then flew out to take you to a celebratory dinner."

"They took us both to dinner," I corrected quietly.

"Right, like they care about me."

"They asked why you didn't come home with me." In a moment of vulnerability, I added, "I didn't know what to tell them."

"You didn't ask me," she mumbled as she slumped back in her chair. I'd never seen Victoria slump before.

I opened my mouth to explain, ‘Of course I wanted you to come,' but before the words emerged, reality slammed into me. I hadn't wanted Victoria, I simply didn't want to be alone.

Had Grace believed that's why I asked her to move to San Francisco?

The whiskey blurred my thoughts as my jaw hung open like a broken hinge. Victoria filled her glass, the liquid swaying in her trembling hand, feeling the weight of my stinging silence like a secondary rejection.

For a decade, Victoria had been a Redwood, defying her petite stature to command respect, unflinching against strong winds. But now she was a willow tree, her once hopeful branches drooping with shattered dreams.

I hated seeing her defeated. It made me want to storm back into the partner's offices and tell them to shove their partnership up their asses. I wanted to burn down the building in vengeance.

My sister's voice sprang into my mind: Grace would burn down the world for me, and I don't know what I did to deserve that.

Holy shit. Victoria had held a lot of roles over the last decade — study partner, girlfriend, roommate, colleague — but there's one she'd fulfilled I'd never named: Best friend.

That's what we'd become. No more romantic feelings, but a deep bond based on wanting what was best for her, as much or more as I wanted it for myself. I'd been jealous when Mallory claimed Grace as her best friend, because I hadn't recognized mine.

A question I never would have considered until last month popped into my mind: ‘What would Mallory do?'

My sister would storm in with a sugary bribe. She'd rant about patriarchy, capitalism, and misogyny, plus sprinkle in transphobia and antiracism for flavor. She'd drop brutally honest truths about the brevity of life, drink me under the table, dance to lighten the mood, flirt shamelessly with the bartender … ok, I didn't have to go that far.

Though I couldn't summon Grace's peppermint bark — a craving that hit hard — it was time to get irresponsible.

I caught the waiter's attention. "I'll take a crème brulee, she'll have the chocolate mousse. And let's swap that Sauvignon Blanc for champagne."

"What the fuck could we possibly celebrate?"

"Freedom from the late capitalist notion that our self-worth is tied to our billable hours."