Operation One Night Stand Read online

  “You want me to what?” I reached forward and tried to pour the empty bottle into my glass. Melody hopped up and ran to the kitchen. I held my finger to my lips until my glass was filled. I needed the silence to process this plan.

  “We’ll go to a bar—” Sarah began.

  “Someplace new,” Melody interrupted.

  “Yes. And we’ll scan the crowd. Look for someone take-home worthy. When you find him, nominate him as the target.”

  “And do what again?”

  “Flirt. Pick him up. Do what you need to do.” Sarah was way too into this.

  “So what you’re saying is, I walk into a bar, point at a hot guy, and declare that I am bringing him home.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why can’t I just get his number?”

  “Because this is Operation One Night Stand, not Operation Get His Number.”

  “What if I can’t find anyone take-home worthy?”

  “Then you don’t. That’s the point. There is no timeline.”

  “Right. We just go out and watch you troll for the one.”

  “I’m supposed to marry ‘the one.’”

  “Not this one.” Melody high-fived Sarah.

  I rolled my eyes, stood, and paced the room. “Let’s leave that alone for a bit. Tell me about the plan. There has to be more to this plan than me getting it on with a hottie stranger guy.” I needed the subject to change, even if only for a minute. I wasn’t that girl. I didn’t sleep around. But, holy hell, I really wanted to be.

  “Right. More about the plan.” Sarah refilled her glass before handing Mel the bottle. “We need to rip this Band-Aid off. We need to get free and clear of all this”—she waved her arms around, sloshing the red liquid onto the hardwood—“shit.”

  “Shit.” I nodded my head and continued to pace. “Remove the shit.” I was pretty sure I needed more wine. “Pour me.” I held out my glass and Melody poured.

  “Are you ready to hear this part?”

  “Rip off the Band-Aid.” It was my turn to slosh.

  “You need to”—Sarah paused—“why don’t you sit down for this?”

  “Sit down?” I pointed to the couch.

  “Yeah. That would be good.” Melody agreed. “Drink.”

  The three of us drank deeply before Sarah continued.

  “Youneedtoquityourjob.”

  “I’m sorry—what? It sounded like you said I need to quit my job.” I laughed and took a sip.

  When neither one of them corrected me and, instead, averted their eyes and busied themselves with refilling their wineglasses, I nearly choked.

  “You can’t be serious? I can’t quit my job! How would I pay for anything? How the hell would I make rent, Sarah? You gonna foot the bill on your teacher’s salary?”

  “Wait, wait. Settle your tits, doll,” Melody reasoned. “Are you really going to subject yourself to working alongside Steven and his fuck toy? Around all those miserable people? When was the last time you didn’t dread going to work? All the Steven business aside, when?”

  “That isn’t the point.”

  “It is the point. There is no way you are going to get past this unless you make a clean break,” Sarah said.

  “How am I going to find a new job?”

  “The same way everyone else finds a new job. You look for one. You use your network. Mel and I will help you, and I am sure your parents will help you, until you get on your feet.”

  “My mom never liked Steven,” I mumbled and chewed on a fingernail.

  “Neither did I,” Melody blurted. “What? I thought we were being honest.”

  “We are.” Sarah pointed between herself and Melody. “We need Caroline to be honest.”

  “Me? About what?”

  “What you want. Do you want to stay in Steven’s shadow? Do you want to stare at Betsy the Intern all day long? Do you want to work someplace that chews away everything great about you until you become an empty shell? Or do you want to take life by the balls and live a little?”

  “It’s a lot to take in so fast.”

  “So fast? You’ve become part of the decor, darling. Get your sweet ass off my couch before I remove you from it myself.” Sarah smiled.

  “And you think I need to have sex with a stranger?”

  “I think you’re looking too much into it.”

  “I don’t know. I need time to think.”

  And I did think. And partake in numerous talks about the ins and outs of dating and one night stands—I mean, I had been out of the game for five years. We took a trip the next day to a hair salon and Fred Burke’s, a high-end boutique store, and even squeezed in some much needed fat burning with spin class on Sunday. In between all of it, my ice cream was thrown out, Ice Cream Dreams was asked not to sell my ice cream to me anymore, and my résumé and cover letters were revamped. All I needed to do was rip off the Band-Aid. Easier said than done.

  Chapter Two

  After a short train ride from New Jersey to New York, I walked into work the following Monday completely unsure about what I was going to do.

  I managed to avoid both Steven and Betsy for most of the morning. Mostly because I hid from them. I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Even after a long phone conversation with my dad I didn’t feel any better and my dad always made me feel better; the only advice he had for me was to make a list of all the reasons I should stay at my job and a list of the reasons I should leave. It was good advice but I’d been at work for two hours and only succeeded in drawing a line down the middle of a piece of paper. I hadn’t even started on the files sitting on my desk nor had I opened one e-mail.

  I shook my head and tossed my pen on the desk. Picking up my coffee cup, I made my way to the break room, intending to caffeinate my way through the next hour, when I walked into Betsy. I dropped my mug and she dropped a stack of papers. I stood staring as she knelt down and scrambled to clean up the mess. I wondered how she was able to do so without exposing at least some part of her body. It appeared her idea of business casual differed greatly from mine.

  She must’ve realized I was just standing there because she looked up, annoyance smeared all over her heavily made-up face. “You think you could help me since it was your fault?”

  “My fault?” She really was not a good person.

  “Yeah. Your head’s been up your own ass for weeks. And don’t think I’m the only one who’s noticed.”

  “Up my own ass.” I counted backward from ten.

  “What’s going on, ladies?” Steven looked entirely too uncomfortable as he approached.

  “Nothing, baby.” Betsy side-eyed me. “Can you help me pick these up?” She arched her back and looked up at him with big, blinky doe eyes.

  “Uh, sure.” Steven glanced in my direction before squatting down and quickly shuffling the papers into her hands.

  “Up. My. Own. Ass,” I repeated.

  “What was that?” Steven asked.

  “Are you kidding me?” I lowered my voice to a fierce whisper and stepped toward Betsy. She stepped back and into a desk. “My head has been up my own ass for exactly how long? It couldn’t be six weeks, could it? It could not be since I found you fucking my fiancé in my bed, could it?”

  Steven placed his hand on the small of my back. “Care—”

  “Don’t touch me. Do you have any idea what you did? Do you take any responsibility for what happened?” I felt the gravity of the past six weeks begin to crumble. “For weeks I’ve been blaming Betsy the Wonderslut—”

  “Hey!” She interrupted and I snapped my head in her direction.

  “Really? Don’t talk.” I held my hand up toward her before returning my attention to the real issue. “You asked me to marry you. Do you know what that means? That means you only want to be with me. That means you don’t go around sticking your dick in the office floozy.”

  “Betsy didn’t mean anything. She was a mistake!”

  “Steven!” The tears in Betsy’s eyes proved that she was unawa
re of his lack of feelings toward her.

  “I don’t believe you. I was supposed to be able to trust you. I mean, what else have you been hiding over the past five years? How many times did you do this?”

  Steven leaned in. “Can we talk about this in private?”

  I looked around at the small group of people listening in on our conversation. “No. I’m done, Steven. I hope you and Betsy are very happy together. The rest of you”—I waved my arms—“find something else to talk about. I’m done.”

  “Listen to me, Care. She did not mean anything to me.”

  Betsy sobbed into her hands, turned, and quickly made for the bathroom. How she managed to stay upright on those heels was amazing.

  “Looks like your girl needs some consoling. You might want to go take care of that.” I tilted my head, picked up my mug, and headed to the break room to get my coffee.

  A few hours later, I was sitting in my office, cold pad Thai sitting on my desk from lunch. I’d just finished running through my backlog of e-mails and putting the finishing touches on a few of the files that needed my attention. Underneath one of the folders was the legal pad that held the beginnings of my list.

  I shoved everything else to the side and centered the pad on the desk in front of me. Taking out my favorite pencil from my drawer, I leaned back, observed the teeth marks I’d placed in the never-sharpened pencil, and popped it between my teeth.

  It wasn’t long before I had both lists filled with reasons. And the more I looked through and thought about it, the more I knew what I needed to do.

  At three o’clock I knocked on the office door of the human resources manager, resignation letter in hand. She was kind enough to sit with me while I explained that I was leaving the firm. Band-Aid ripped. I was pleasantly surprised that it didn’t hurt as much as I expected it to. Especially since I was about to be out of a job with nothing else lined up.

  I hadn’t yet locked down a job, hadn’t secured an interview, hadn’t even had a chance to look, but I knew for certain that I couldn’t work there anymore. To my surprise, it was a wonderful conversation and by the end of an hour, she had made a few phone calls, setting me up with interviews.

  As I walked back to my office, I found Steven standing at my desk, legal pad full of reasons in hand.

  “Excuse me. That’s mine.” I snatched the pad from his hand.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Is that what you got out of that?” I smirked.

  “You don’t have to leave.”

  “Sweetie, you think I want to leave? You think I want to start over? Of course I don’t. But I have to. I can’t keep sitting here wondering why you did what you did, wondering what I did to cause it—”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I know, Steven. Look. I have to do this for me.”

  “You hate change.”

  “Yeah. I do. But right now, Steven, I hate the way I feel when I’m around you even more.”

  I knew I didn’t owe him any explanation but the dejected look on his face was all the fuel I needed to cement the fact that moving on was by far a better choice than subjecting myself to working side by side with such an ass.

  I was on cloud nine, contemplating all the newness about to befall me, as I watched Steven stand in my office without speaking. I glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see Betsy walk slowly to her desk, empty box in hand. I viewed the event with an unusual amount of glee as she packed up her belongings. It truly was a popcorn moment.

  I looked away for a few seconds. I felt bad for my obvious schadenfreudean thoughts. The feeling was short lived.

  I plopped in my chair and spun as she walked, head down, with a tiny box in her hands, to the elevator. I knew I should be more mature about the situation, but from what I could figure, she left on her own accord. For the same reason I decided to leave.

  And of course I thought she deserved a bout of unhappiness. Not as much as Steven, but she knew he was my fiancé and, as much as we should all direct our anger toward the person in our lives committing the indiscretion, she absolutely, one hundred percent, knew Steven and I were engaged.

  I could not have cared less if she was good at her job, if she was a nice person, or if she was dying a slow death from a severe case of genital warts. It didn’t even matter that I had only two weeks left. Two weeks was a slow torturous lifetime in hell if she was within a hundred yards of me. And I wished her nothing but herpes and a bad case of diarrhea. And I sincerely hoped Steven suffered the same.

  However, I had to keep myself from squealing with glee as I watched Steven freeze and stare as his piece of ass made her way out the door. He turned to look at me and I painted on the best “who me?” face I could muster. Inside I was doing back flips.

  None of it mattered. As soon as I gave notice, the great weight of sadness lifted off my shoulders and my attitude changed. In that moment, I decided that “poor me” was no longer my battle cry. Melody and Sarah were right. I was twenty-eight, with my whole life ahead of me. Who was I to ignore that?

  “Did you have to get her fired?” Steven interrupted my silent hear-me-roar mantra.

  “I didn’t do anything. I just quit my job. Looks like she had the same idea. End of story.”

  “Care—”

  “Steven.” I glared at him, wishing actual daggers would shoot from my eyes and hit him in the face.

  “Hey!” Bobby popped his head in my door and frowned when he saw Steven. “Did you hear? Betsy quit!”

  “There you go.” I waved my hand toward Bobby to show Steven that I didn’t, in fact, have Betsy fired. Not that banging my fiancé is any sort of grounds for termination. “Thanks, Bobby. You can leave my door open.”

  Dropping his shoulders, Steven looked at me one last time. “It didn’t have to be this way.”

  “There is no other way for it to be. You made sure of that when you fucked the intern in our bed while I walked around oblivious with a two-carat engagement ring on my finger. Who does that? A douche bag, that’s who. Now, please, close the door on your way out. I have work to do.”

  “Who are you? My Caroline doesn’t talk like that.”

  “Your Caroline doesn’t exist anymore. Read the obituary. It reads: ‘Here lies Steven’s Caroline. Fucked over by a pretentious douche bag and his plastic intern.’”

  I was a bit alarmed at how good it felt to tell Steven what was on my mind. His gaze fell to the floor and his shoulders sagged. He opened his mouth to speak again but must have thought better of it.

  It felt even better when I watched him close the door.

  As soon as he left, I picked up the phone and dialed Sarah, knowing she was on her way home.

  “Did you do it?” Sarah asked in reference to part one of the plan.

  “I did. And Betsy the Wonder Slut quit, too.”

  “A nice extension of the plan. I wasn’t expecting that.” I heard her chewing.

  “Neither was I. And I told off Steven. I am so amped.”

  “Excellent. Adrenaline is a beautiful thing.”

  “What are you eating? It’s awfully loud.”

  “Carrots. Not everyone can eat six million gallons of ice cream in a six-week period and still have a great ass.”

  “True. So listen, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought and I think part two of the plan would be good for me.”

  “So you’re in?”

  “I’m in.”

  “Excellent.”

  All weekend, I had been inundated with a three-part plan. Melody and Sarah had done quite a bit of thinking and come up with what they deemed to be a fool-proof method for helping me move on. Part one was complete. I quit my job. I’ll find a new one. Especially with help from the very kind human resources manager.

  “Just so you know,” Sarah continued, “there is an addendum to the plan. Chapter one point five, if you will. You gave two weeks’ notice? You don’t have to stay longer than that, right?”

  “No. I’m done the
Friday before Thanksgiving.”

  “Good, because the three of us are spending Thanksgiving in Jamaica.”

  “What?”

  “We all need to decompress, Care. I need to get away from school, Mel needs to back away from her job for a bit, and you need, well, you need this, too. I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m booking the second I get off the phone with you.”

  I guess spontaneity was the lesson for chapter one point five of the plan. “Book it.”

  Part two was a little dicier, a little less old me and a lot more new me. But then again, Operation One Night Stand was a go and I had two weeks to get up the nerve to go through with it. At least I’d be on a plane out of town soon after, so I’d be able to obsess about it in a different country.

  I was going to step out into the sun and live my life. And I’d spend a week in Jamaica with my two best friends doing just that.

  Chapter Three

  Nothing like bar hopping in late November snow. My cute beige heels already had salt scuffing the toes and my brand-new Sevens were wet at the cuff and we’d hit only two bars. Thankfully I knew the second we walked into Murphy’s I’d make good on my bet.

  Operation One Night Stand was on. Melody and Sarah thought it would be fun to turn the whole thing into an actual bet. Since I had control over the who and the when, the bet was against the fact that I’d find someone on the first night. Sarah and Mel, knowing that I wasn’t the most adventurous of our group, bet me fifty bucks that I’d back out and try again another night. Unfortunately for them, I hadn’t had sex in two months and I was hurting for a good romp. Of course, I let them think they had me. Two bars down and not a single prospect? Not likely for most. Especially in a college town. Then again, I wasn’t a college girl. Four years after I finished grad school and I was still trolling the local scene for the one-nighter I’d never experienced. My life apparently sucked. That, or I was still reeling over my breakup with Steven. Or the fact that I’d just completed my last day at the firm. Whatever. Not the thing to focus on. I was on the prowl, much to the chagrin of my small, tight group of friends. Maybe Melody, who I met the first day of freshman bio, was right: maybe I was going off the deep end.