Rare Blend (Red Mountain #1)

1. Marisa

CHAPTER 1

Marisa

GIANT BALD SPOT. HUGE.

T here better be a damn good reason why the other woman is gracing me with her presence this early in the workday.

“Brandon wants to see you in his office at ten o’clock,” Quinn says, standing at the threshold of my cubicle with her arms crossed and nose scrunched as if she smells something unpleasant.

Curious eyes flick our way. I’m sure they’re all wondering if this will be the Jerry Springer moment everyone has been waiting for. While I could definitely take her, I would prefer to hang onto the small shred of self-respect I’ve managed to maintain.

Despite her obvious distaste and overall attitude, she’s beautiful. The kind of beauty that stops you in your tracks—head-turning gorgeous. It’s no wonder Brandon cheated on me with her. He is a man, after all.

Forcing a smile onto my face, I may or may not be imagining scenarios that could land me my own episode of Snapped ; the thought widens my smile. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

She whips back around with a huff, her blonde hair swaying and heels clacking against the tile floor. She hates that I’m nice to her. I honestly think she would prefer it if I were mean; maybe it would alleviate some of the guilt she undoubtedly feels.

“Now I know he did not have the audacity to send his side piece to come get you for a meeting,” Zoe, my cubicle neighbor, says, watching me dumbfounded.

“She’s his admin, who else is he going to send?”

She snorts. “An email, like a normal person. That man is trash. Straight, hot garbage, rotten trash. He did you a favor revealing his true colors before trapping you with a ring.”

I nod silently, because she’s absolutely right. Things are bad, but they could have been so much worse.

“What do you think he wants to meet with you about?”

I shrug. “Who knows. You never know with him.”

I can actually think of a few reasons he would want to meet with me. There have been rumors of a layoff coming for weeks now. And my direct manager is conveniently on short-term disability until he’s recovered from knee surgery, leaving no one in my corner if things go south.

Zoe’s lips purse, but I disregard her implication. I have thirty minutes to let my mind wander down the what if rabbit hole, and I’d rather stay blissfully ignorant for as long as possible.

To pass the time, I get caught up on emails and listen to Zoe as she updates me on her latest dating app match. I used to enjoy her dating stories when I was perfectly happy, in what I thought was a very secure relationship. Being on the other side, though, newly single and fast approaching my thirties, the stories sound a lot less rom-com and a lot more psychological thriller. At some point, I’m going to have to get back out there and try to land myself a fish in what is likely swampy, shallow water. Just thinking about it makes my stomach roll. I’m a relationship girl through and through, but I’m nowhere near ready to start dating again. Brandon, on the other hand, is such a relationship guy that he started an entirely new relationship while still being in one with me. Pig.

When the clock reads 9:55, I rise from my chair, every muscle feeling more tightly wound than a twisted corkscrew. My breathing turns ragged as I walk the short gauntlet to Brandon’s corner office. Ignoring the watchful eyes and questioning looks of my coworkers, I keep my gaze fixed ahead. Murmurs and mumbles burn my ears and heat my neck as I pass each desk.

Shoulders back, neutral expression, steady, deliberate steps. More importantly, never let them see you sweat. I repeat the mantra over and over in my head, hoping if I think it enough, I’ll embody it. Of all the times to try out this manifesting bullshit.

Quinn is noticeably absent from her desk outside Brandon’s office. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Feeling petty, I walk up to it and deliberately knock over the glittery, pink cup of pens. Surprisingly, it does slightly brighten my mood, only for it to darken the moment I cross through the doorway.

Ignoring the blob of a man seated at the desk, I choose to begreeted by the view of the Seattle skyline instead. It’s an unusually clear fall day, and the Olympic Mountains stand out against the light-blue sky, their crisp edges defined by snowcapped peaks.

Seconds after I walk in, Aaron from human resources is at my heels, apparently joining us. HR is never a good sign—in fact it’s just the opposite. The door closes behind him with an ominous thud. My throat tightens as I swallow down the lump threatening to rise, and my heart beats heavy in my chest.

“Thank you for coming, Marisa,” Brandon says.

Hearing him say my name stirs a storm of emotions within me. The painful clenching of my heart and the fiery anger I feel toward him collide with the utter sadness sitting deep within me. Even worse is his professional tone—no warmth, no familiarity, all business. We’ve managed to keep our interactions to a minimum since the breakup. In truth, I’ve made it my sole mission to avoid him at all costs. A lot of good it did me.

I take the chair opposite his desk.The very chair I used to sit in when we would eat our lunch together that once felt comforting and sturdy. Now, it feels shaky, rocking unevenly beneath me as I sink into it. It creaks with a loud echo as it depresses under my body weight.

Mustering all of my willpower, I try my best to avoid looking directly at Brandon, but I fail. My mind may loathe him, but my stomach still dips when I see his classically handsome face, his broad shoulders, that dimple in his chin, his slightly crooked nose that adds a subtle edge to his pretty face. I’m intimately familiar with him, yet now we exist as strangers, despite knowing everything about each other.

Brandon is wearing the tie I got him for his birthday last year, the one that brings out the blue in his eyes. I threw the majority of his clothes in the lake across from our condo, so it must be one of the survivors. Not my finest moment, but it was incredibly satisfying. I had to unleash my rage somehow. Especially after literally catching him in the act, pounding into Quinn in away he never had with me. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the relentless slapping of their skin; my stomach churns at the memory.

What better way to take out some aggression than to destroy all of his fancy clothes? He’s always been so vain and obsessed with looking the part. He wouldn’t be so obsessed with it had he actually earned his position. But when your daddy owns the company, why work your way up when you can be handed everything instead?

Brandon’s eyes won’t meet mine; they wander about the room but never land directly on me. I am definitely about to lose my job. The rumors of layoffs, talks of budget cuts, Brandon’s recent erratic behavior—he yelled at Diane, our sweet office coordinator, because she brought in homemade cookies for everyone. He called her a distraction. Then there was the company-wide email about not backfilling positions and learning to manage larger work loads with less employees. The puzzle pieces are forming a picture, and it isn’t pretty.

Brandon clears his throat. “Well, let’s go ahead and get started.”

His hands clasp together over the imposing mahogany desk. The tension in the room is so thick it feels hard to breathe.

“As you know, it’s been a difficult year. The tech industry as a whole has seen a downturn, and it’s resulted in us having to make some difficult decisions…”

He drones on for a while longer, speaking his corporate talk to me as if I don’t know how rehearsed this script is.

“Get to the point. I think we all know where this conversation is going,” I snipe.

Sighing deeply, he finally looks me in the eyes. I’m not prepared for how physically painful it is to have those piercing eyes I used to adore look at me with such indifference.

“Unfortunately, we’re going to have to let you go.”

I knew it.

I knew it was coming. All signs pointed to this conclusion. But hearing it—having it spoken into existence—nothing could have prepared me. Would I be sitting in this seat if we were still together? Would someone else be getting this speech? Of course, it makes sense to get rid of me, the ex-girlfriend who’s a constant reminder of his indiscretions.

When we started dating, Brandon made sure we filled out the appropriate paperwork with the company. He didn’t want to hide us—me. He was proud to call me his girlfriend, and while we didn’t advertise it, everyone was very aware we were together. He could have easily kept us a secret since it wasn’t the best look for our jobs, but his insistence at being out in the open made me feel special. How pathetic is that? The bar is so low, it’s in hell.

When news spread that we had broken up because he cheated on me with Quinn, sides were taken, lines were drawn. Team Marisa significantly outnumbered Team Brandon. He can’t have that—I’m the thorn in his side that keeps poking deeper the longer I stay here.

“Is this because of what happened between us?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger—his telltale sign of annoyance. “I knew you would make this personal,” he hisses under his breath.

Aaron leans forward. “Miss Castilla, I assure you this is all on the up and up. You are simply the first in a significant layoff that will be occurring throughout the day. In fact, it was Brandon’s suggestion that you be the first, because he understands how delicate the situation between you two is.”

My focus remains on Brandon. “How generous of you. Really thank you. I forgot how sweet you could be. And sending Quinn, of all people, to come get me. You’re disgusting.”

“Risy, please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Oh God, that nickname. I could gag. How hard is it to say Marisa?

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.”

“Fine. Marisa . Can you be professional about this?”

I stand from my seat. “You’ve got some nerve thinking you can fire me to make your life easier.”

He rises, leaning across the desk, his face too close. I always forget how intimidating his height is until it’s up against my short stature.

“You’re being laid off, not fired. And I’m sorry to inform you that the world does not revolve around you and your feelings. This has nothing to do with us. I don’t think about you, and I sure as shit don’t care about you anymore. This is business. Nothing more.”

My head jolts back like I’ve been slapped. His words sting to the point I can feel the swell of a wave threatening to wash over me. I will not cry. I will not cry.

Aaron stands and puts his hand on Brandon’s shoulder, steering him back. “Okay, folks, it’s getting a little heated in here. Let’s keep it civil.”

Brandon shakes out his shoulders and straightens his already straight tie. His hand glides over his perfectly coifed hair, ensuring not a single piece is out of place. “There’s no sense in arguing about this. You’re being let go, and that’s that.”

My eyes fill with tears, and I blink rapidly in an attempt to hold them back before they fall out of me like an uncontrollable stream. They’re from anger, not sadness, but I start to well up all the same.

Brandon’s jaw tightens, a hint of guilt surfacing on his face before he quickly masks it with apathy once again. He never could handle my crying.

“If you leave now, you can still walk out of here with your dignity,” he whispers, as if what he’s saying is supposed to bring me some sort of comfort.

My dignity? My fucking dignity? He’s the one who should be worried about his dignity. Cheating asshole.

“Fine,” I say, my voice a touch too high and wobbly as I try to remain collected. I walk to the door, ready to face the shame of my coworkers’ awkward glances. Through all the emotional fury burning inside of me, something finally snaps, pouring kerosene over my growing fire. Enough with being the bigger person; it’s clearly gotten me nowhere.

I yank open the door, and a ripple of heads jerk their attention back to their monitors. A slow, satisfied smile eases across my face as I wipe the moisture from my eyes.

I lean against the open door. “You know, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” I speak louder than would be considered conversational, throwing my voice so it reaches the far corners of the office suite.

Brandon freezes, his eyes widening. I see it happen in slow motion, the realization that he has no idea what I’m going to say but whatever it is, I intend to humiliate him.

“Marisa,” he drags out my name, unease dripping over each syllable.

Aaron has made himself scarce, clinging to the windows to distance himself from the situation. Such a weak little man.

“I lied.”

Brandon says nothing. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.

“That time you asked me about your hair,” I continue. “I lied. It’s thinning horribly. Especially in the back. Giant bald spot. Huge.”

The office is completely silent, save for the low hum of office equipment.

His hand instinctively rubs at the back of his head, and his face turns red hot.

With that, I march to my desk to grab my bag. My gaze lands on Zoe, whose mouth is covered as she holds back a laugh. Nobody says a word, nobody so much as moves, as I leave the office suite without looking back.

I could’ve gone much lower and made a comment about what’s lacking under the belt or criticized his abilities in bed, but I knew he’d be able to talk himself out of those claims. His ego would refute it. But his hairline—particularly that bald spot—there’s no denying that.

Aaron’s voice calls out to me as I make my way to the elevators. “Wait, we need to conduct your exit interview.”

There is an incredible amount of adrenaline pumping through my veins as I step inside the elevator. “Sounds like a personal problem, Aaron.”

The elevator doors shut before he can close the distance between us. Normally, I would feel terrible, ever the people-pleaser. But right now, I’m all out of fucks to give.