Noelle August - Boomerang

She steps into the office and closes the door behind her. Immediately, it feels like she’s sealed off all the oxygen in the place. My throat tightens, and every part of me goes clammy.

“Cookie,” I start to say, but she’s riveted on Ethan.

Smiling, she says, “Well, first of all, you’re fired.”

Oh, God. “No!” I exclaim. “That’s not—”

“Oh, it is,” she says, that satisfied smile glued to her face. “Fair, I mean. That’s what you were going to say, right?”

“If you want to know what she has to say, then let her talk,” Ethan says. He stands there, cool and upright. But I can feel the anger coiled in his body. And I know I’m the cause of it.

Cookie leans back against the door, folding her arms. Her expression challenges him to dig a bigger hole. I can’t let him do it.

“Listen,” I try again.

“I don’t need any explanations, Mia,” says Cookie, though her gaze barely flicks in my direction. For once, she’s not barking her anger, but the chill in her words is much, much worse. “I just need the two of you to leave. And I need not to see Mr. Vance ever again. Seems simple enough.”

“Why only Ethan? Why not—?”

“Fine,” he interrupts. “But answer something for me first.”

“You’re not really in a position to make requests.”

“How did you find out about Alison?”

My whole body heats, and my mouth goes Sahara dry. I reach out to touch his arm, but he moves it just as I make contact, thrusting his hands into the pocket of his jeans.

“You sound like a paranoid lunatic,” Cookie says. “You know that, right?”

“Right. I’m the lunatic. I’m not the one who pried into someone else’s life to try to sabotage his career.”

Cookie snorts. “What career? You’re an intern. You were never going to be anything else.”

A flush creeps up his neck, and he steps forward. Cookie shrinks into herself, like she’s scared he’ll get physical with her.

This is awful. I need to put a stop to it. “Please, listen—”

“And you made sure of that, didn’t you?” Ethan says. “You really get off on playing God, right? Once you got tired of threatening Paolo and Sadie, why not move on to me?”

“You have an exaggerated view of your own importance,” Cookie says. “And you’re lucky I’m just firing you. I should have you arrested.”

“Arrested? For what?”

She stalks over to the desk and snatches up the envelope with Rhett’s check inside. “How does embezzling seventeen thousand dollars sound to you?”

He laughs, and it’s a raw, brutal sound. “Come on. That’s weak, even for you.”

“That’s crazy,” I protest. “He wasn’t embezzling. He was trying to do a good job for Adam and the investors.”

“The investors don’t care what a couple of interns have to say about anything. Now get out.”

She crosses back to the door and whips it open.

“Wait,” I say. My pulse rushes in my ear, loud as the ocean’s roar. “Fire me if you have to fire someone. It’s not Ethan’s fault. I’m the one who messed with the Boomerang setups.”

“What?” he says. “Mia, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” I tell him, still unable to look at him but wanting to, desperately. “It’s dumb. I should have said something sooner. I was going to, but—”

“But you couldn’t know Alison was my ex. How—”

“I didn’t know,” I say. Finally, I look up at him, and his expression is as confused and deeply hurt as I feared. “I just got . . . jealous and stupid, and I tried to pick someone I thought you’d hate.”

He raises an eyebrow, and a hardness comes into his gaze, piercing me. “Really? Of all the girls in the Boomerang system, you just happened to find Alison?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but yes.”

“And then you let me make an ass of myself in front of Frosty here?” He jerks a thumb at her. “You didn’t think it’d be a good idea to tell me this before I committed career suicide?”

I can’t bear to have Cookie hear all of this, to see her angled up against the door again, an expression of amusement on her face. And Ethan and me as the source.

“Let’s go talk about this somewhere else, okay?”

“You know what?” His tone is brittle as dry leaves. “I’m good.”

“What does that mean?”

He strides up to Cookie and whips the check out of her hand. “I’m paying my vendor because he did the work. If you want to call the police, then call the goddamn police.” Gripping the doorknob, he gives her a look that dares her to keep him from leaving.

“Ethan, wait.”

“I’m going to walk home,” he says. “We’ll talk later.”

My stomach hollows at his words. I’ve ruined this evening. Maybe I’ve ruined everything.

“Ethan, it’s too far. Let me drive you.”

But he’s already out the door and doesn’t hear me. Or he does, and he ignores me. I turn back to Cookie, and she meets me with a cool, impassive gaze.

“You’re going to come to Vegas, and you’re going to set up that booth,” she tells me. “It had better be the best thing you’ve ever done.”

“Or what?” I ask. Suddenly, this job feels like nothing to me. I just want to punch Cookie in the throat and go make things right with Ethan. “You can’t fire us both.”

“Of course I can,” she says, but there’s a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

I don’t care if it costs me the job. I have to find some way to redeem this night. Not for me. I don’t give a damn at this point. But I can’t be responsible for Ethan losing this opportunity. I just can’t.

“Vegas is in five days,” I remind her. “And like it or not, Adam entrusted two interns with the most critical job of the convention.”

“A decision I’ve questioned from the start.” She sniffs. “But I’m sure we can manage just fine without you.”

“Fine. Let’s test that theory.” It literally feels like my insides are trembling. I’m terrified she’ll call my bluff. “I’m sure you have time to make a totally new custom display, right? Or maybe you can just pull the old one out of storage. I’m sure Adam would love to see that again.”

“Who do you think you are?”

But I ignore her. “And I’m sure Paolo, Sadie, and Pippa will be really happy to pitch in on the creative side, since you’re always so good to them.”

Her fists ball at her side, and she tries to eviscerate me with her eyes, but I don’t care.

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll see you in Vegas.”

That’s not good enough. That’s not the point of all this. “You’ll see us both, you mean.”

She stares at me, and I stare at her. I’m pretty sure another ice age unfolds while we stand there, eyes locked.

“Goodnight, Ms. Galliano,” she says, and I know I’ve won.

Cookie turns and flicks out the light, leaving me with only the glow of the hallway’s recessed lights. I watch her leave, her skin ghostly pale, posture erect as a rake.

In the parking lot, I run to the car and whip open the door. Getting behind the wheel makes me want to cry. What happened to this night?

I throw the car into gear and zoom out onto the main road. In no time, I spot Ethan, jogging along the shoulder.

Pulling up alongside him, I roll down the window. “Ethan, hold on,” I call, trying not to crash or run him over. “Cookie’s letting us both come to Vegas. I told her I wouldn’t go if you didn’t.”

He thrusts his hands into his pockets but doesn’t look my way. “Great.”

“It is, right?” I swerve a little and correct. “Ethan, can you please get in the car? I’m going to kill you or myself, trying to talk this way.”

Finally, he stops and turns to me, so I slam on the brakes, almost breaking my own nose on the steering wheel.

“Are you getting in?”

He hesitates for a moment but then opens the door and slips into the car.

Every part of me soars, just having him with me again. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he lets me keep it there, but his eyes stay fixed on the windshield in front of him.

“You’re not fired,” I try.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“But . . . That’s good, right?”

“Like I said, it’s great.”

This is all so screwed up and wrong that it’s all I can do not to get out of the car and walk myself. It hurts to have him sit there, all warmth and connection obliterated. And it hurts worse to know that it’s one hundred percent my fault. “I . . . I’m really so sorry, Ethan. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I was just being . . .” What, Mia? Stupid? Selfish? Words feel too small to contain everything I want to say. “You have to believe I never wanted this.”

“It’s fine, Mia,” he tells me, in a tone that suggests the very opposite. “Just take me home.”

Ethan

Q: What stays in Vegas for you?

Rhett and I check into the Mirage at 11 p.m., which is the equivalent of happy hour in Vegas time.

“Should we get some food first?” Rhett asks. “Then play some blackjack?”

This is our only night “off.” The convention floor opens to exhibitors in the morning. We have the day to set up before the show starts on Monday morning.

“I’m not hungry,” I say. “Let’s just get a drink and gamble.”

Rhett gives me a look.

I’ve been seeing it a lot this week.

We detour into a bar, and I order a Jack and Coke. Rhett gets a beer, but when our drinks arrive we don’t leave for the casino. We don’t even talk about it, we just stay in the bar.

It occurs to me that I did some gambling of my own recently. I took a risk. I trusted a girl again—and was sucker-punched again. I’m pissed at myself for making the same mistake. I hate even more that I understand Mia’s reasons for doing what she did. Just remembering Robby DTF and the other dude, Brian, makes me want to punch somebody. I didn’t want her going on those idiotic dates either.