He was silent, but he smiled.

“That said, I hope I don’t strike you as the stupid and gullible type either, so you need to tell me the real reason you’re not hiring me on the spot since I know you’re lying about the pay grade, and I’m more qualified than most of the people who are currently flying for you.”

“Okay...” He looked slightly uneasy. “It’s because you’re overqualified.”

“Try again.”

“Did I give you the budgeting reason yet?”

I stood up and took my paperwork. “Thank you for wasting my time.”

“Wait, wait.” He walked over to me. “Look, as much as I want to stick it to Elite and take half of their staff like they did to me ten years ago, the rules are different now.” He opened the door. “Besides, the second I had my assistant call to get your records, they sent over your employment contract.”

“I’m not following.”

“You have a five year non-compete and non-transfer clause. Every new pilot they hire does.” He shrugged. “Not only that, but I received a not-so-nice email from the director herself minutes before you arrived here today. She said that meeting with you would be a waste of my time. Something about an ‘FCE’? Whatever the hell that means. There’s nothing I can do for you, Mr. Weston. I’m sorry.”

“As am I.” I shook his hand. “Thank you.” I walked away before he could say another word, heading out to the parking lot and into my rental car.

Emirates was the final airline on my list of last-resort transfer options, the last place on my upcoming schedule of stopovers I planned to visit. There was now no one else I could call.

Refusing to think about it for the rest of the day, I pulled out my phone and noticed I had four new text messages from women on upcoming layovers. Messages that promised sex that I surprisingly didn’t feel like entertaining.

The only woman I honestly wanted to fuck right now was Gillian and that was a problem.

I’d never thought about a woman for more than a few minutes after sex. Even if I walked them back to their hotel room or saw them the next night due to an extended layover, the thoughts of our sex ended as soon as we were done.

So, I had no idea why my unwanted thief of a roommate was still on my mind days later. Regardless of the fact that she was undeniably stunning with jet black hair, almond shaped eyes, and sultry smile that sealed the deal, my current thoughts of her weren’t adding up.

Then again, maybe it had something to do with her smart ass mouth and backward logic. The way she actually believed she was doing me a favor by sneaking into my apartment.

Unable to shake the thought of her away, I scrolled down my list of contacts and called the Housekeeping Director’s direct line.

“Yes, Mr. Weston?” He answered on the first ring. “Are you calling to tell me that we need to search for ghosts in your apartment?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Have you tried Facebook?”

“It’s one of your employees.”

“Oh.” His tone immediately went soft. “Well, you know I’m not allowed to disclose names on my end, so do you already know which one it is?”

Something told me to hold back on her name. “The green-eyed girl.”

“Sir, we employ quite a few green-eyed girls.”

“This one has a smart ass mouth and a tendency to steal things.”

“One of my employees stole something from you?” He gasped. “Give me the dates and times you first realized that things were gone. I can cross check every past schedule and make sure that whoever it is, is punished severely. Can you tell me exactly what was stolen?”

“No...” I realized this wasn’t going to go anywhere. “Thank you for your time.”

“Mr. Weston, what exactly—”

I hung up and started the car. I needed to get a grip on myself. I didn’t chase women, ever. I never had a need to, and I wasn’t going to start now.

Our fucking was simply memorable, and I’d forget about her eventually.

I always did.

GILLIAN

~BLOG POST~

Two years ago...

I got fired today.

FIRED.

F.I.R.E.D.

The second I walked through the revolving glass doors, I spotted my boss standing at the main desk with his arms crossed, biting the stem of his glasses. Some of my coworkers were staring at me in disgust from the glass doors above, and a security guard was holding a box of all my belongings.

“Well, I honestly never thought I’d say these words to you, Miss Taylor,” my boss said the words slowly, as if they were causing him physical pain. “I’m going to have to let you go.”

“For what?”

“You know for what.” He shook his head. “You know exactly for what. I need you to hand over your badge, and know that, as of today, you’re no longer welcome on this property.”

I stepped back and held my hand over my laminated namesake, not willing to give it up.

“You don’t think I have a right to be pissed off about what happened?” I asked. “A right to be angry?”

“You have a right to feel however you want to feel, Gillian. You don’t have the right to react the way you did. Do you have any idea the damage you’ve caused?”

“The truth is never damage...”

“It is when the lie is more compelling.” He clenched his jaw. “And when no one asked you to insert your feelings—regardless of how you think this situation affects you.”

“It more than affects me.” My throat constricted and I tried not to cry.

Warm tears fell down my face and I begged him to reconsider. I said that I was sorry, that I didn’t mean to do what I'd done. I promised to make it up to everyone. I even offered to demote myself to the lowest of interns, but it wasn’t enough.

His mind and his boss’s boss’s mind had already been made up.

“We had to report it to other institutions,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t waste my time applying to our competitors, if I were you. At least not for the next five to ten years, okay? It takes a while for people to forget this type of thing.”

“Did you at least report the other person? The other person who’s actually at fault?” I was sniffling, trying not to cause too big of a scene.

“No, Gillian.” He gave me a short hug. “The only person in the wrong was you.” He wished me all the best, and then ordered the security guard to take my badge and escort me out of the building...

I’m currently typing this post inside of a Park Avenue Starbucks—shivering and soaking wet from a sudden summer rain, and I’m trying my best to figure out where the hell I’m going from here. What I’m going to do next.

My final paycheck has been expedited and is supposed to arrive in my mailbox tomorrow. My name will be delisted from the company’s website, and everything I contributed will be washed over and repurposed.

So, just like that, at age twenty-five, my so-called dream of a life is over.

I’ll need to find some new dream to obsess over and pursue, and maybe one day I can go back to my old dreams.

The only things I know for sure are that my days of living in an apartment on Lexington Avenue are long gone, that daily espressos and lattes are now unaffordable and absurd, and that I’m going to have to find a new job (or two) ASAP if I want to stay afloat in New York City.