Chapter 2
Looking back, college life was actually pretty okay.
The cafeteria manager would slip us free meals sometimes.
But after graduation, reality hit fast—those pathetic internship wages couldn't even get us a shoebox in Bayview City, let alone room for a bed.
So we crashed in some dirt-cheap "haunted" apartment, living on bread and water, but every night we'd lie there talking about our dreams like we'd actually make it.
But the gap between dreaming big and getting slapped by reality was a lot shorter than we thought.
About ten days into Charles' internship, he came home from a company dinner empty-handed, completely deflated.
He'd promised to bring back leftovers for us, but he had nothing.
After I kept pushing, he finally sighed, "We went for sushi. You had to take your shoes off in the private room."
He'd rushed out that morning and grabbed the pair with holes I hadn't fixed yet.
Worse still, ever since then, his supervisor had been dumping all the shit work on him and making him the fall guy for everything.
He tried standing up for himself.
But his boss shot him down, saying, "Look at the other interns in your group.
"Zoey studied abroad—her Spanish is fluent.
"John's family has government connections. He can pull strings when the company needs it.
"Sharon's local, and her uncle's a VP at one of our partner firms.
"They're all more qualified and bring more value. What do you have? And you've got the balls to complain? Look in the mirror. Know your place.
"If you don't want this job, leave. But we both know you can't afford to, country bumpkin."
My situation wasn't any better.
Somewhere along the way, things between Charles and me just... changed.
We used to sit across from each other, talking about everything. Now we just sat in silence.
That was when Rachel entered Charles' life.
She reported his boss for the bullying and fought to get Charles a permanent position.
She had that fearless warmth that only came from growing up rich.
Like a guardian angel dropping out of nowhere.
I couldn't lie to myself—love didn't grow in barren soil.
When Charles held me and whispered, "Lisa, just hang on a little longer. Things will get better," I should've walked away right then.
But I waited until nothing remained before I resolved to leave.
*****
The day after the business mixer, Charles showed up at our office.
After he left, my boss had HR send me a resignation letter.
He also texted me: [Two million.]
I'd told my boss yesterday that if Charles wanted me gone, he should just say yes—and bleed him dry.
But I never thought he'd ask for this much.
While I was still processing, my boss texted to explain.
[That investment amount wasn't my idea—he offered it himself.]
Suddenly, I got it—Charles still couldn't let go of what happened between us.
After packing up, I headed to the parking garage and found Charles leaning against my car, smoking.
The smoke burned my nose. His voice came out rough and tight.
"You made all that money off me, and this is what you drive? A shitty old Golf?" Pure venom in his tone.
I ignored him and walked straight to the driver's side.
Suddenly, Charles yanked my arm and slammed me up against the car door; my stuff went flying everywhere.
"Lisa, don't you have anything to say to me?" he demanded.
He was right in my face, leaving me nowhere to run.
I flashed him a sarcastic grin. "What, should I thank you for getting me fired, Mr. Stone?"
He looked exactly the same. His voice was steady as ever—even the cigarettes couldn't rough it up.
He said, "My secretary makes 200 grand a year. Do well, and the bonuses are unlimited.
"That enough to make it up to you?"
"You wouldn't say no, would you?" he murmured, tilting my chin up with his smoke-stained fingers. "Money's always been your thing, after all."
Right then, my phone rang, breaking the tension. I flashed the screen at him.
"Thanks for the offer, Mr. Stone, but I'll pass. I'm using this break to focus on making a baby."
I knew seeing "Honey" on my screen must have stung him.
After all those years together, we could always read each other instantly.