Chapter 5: The Client from Hell

"Hello, would you like a standard room or a king bed?" The desk clerk was a young woman, her uniform crisp and her eyes barely masking her boredom.

"Whatever, just give me whatever’s available." My arms were shaking from carrying Fiona. I could feel her starting to stir, and panic set in—if she puked on me, I’d never forgive myself.

"Well..." The clerk glanced at Fiona on my back, eyebrows raised. "I’ll get you a king bed." She smirked just a little, but kept it professional.

"Fine, just be quick." I leaned against the counter, praying the process would go faster.

Another girl at the desk lowered her head and giggled, probably never seen anyone so desperate. I caught the look, but was too tired to care.

I couldn’t be bothered to explain. If you had to carry someone about to puke, you’d be desperate too. The smell of stale beer clung to us both.

When I finally dumped her on the bed, I was completely relieved. My back cracked, and I sat on the edge, catching my breath.

I only brought one set of clothes for this trip—if she puked on me, I’d be screwed. I checked her pulse, just to be sure she was okay, then let her be.

"Alright, just sleep here." I wasn’t about to pull some rom-com move and undress the drunk girl. This isn’t a TV show—who knows what could happen next? I tucked the blanket around her and stepped back.

I covered her with a blanket, put a bottle of water by the bed, and got ready to leave. I looked around for a trash can, just in case, and made sure her phone was within reach.

Before I left, I remembered—found some hotel stationery and a pen, and wrote her a note:

[Drinks $1,200, room $150, I covered $1,350 for you. Venmo me when you wake up. My handle is...]

After that, I quietly closed the door and left, heart still pounding, unsure if I’d ever see that money again.

Downstairs, I was still feeling down. I barely drank, spent $1,350, and had no idea if this woman would actually pay me back. I slouched against the wall, fishing in my pockets for a breath mint.

I fanned myself and wiped my sweat as I passed the front desk. The overhead fluorescent lights made my headache worse.

The young girl behind the counter muttered under her breath: "Guess someone’s in a hurry tonight." She didn’t think I heard, but I did.

Huh?

I turned around and stared at her: "What did you say?" My tone was sharper than I intended.

Another guy quickly jumped in: "She was talking about takeout. She’s hungry, said the delivery was fast." His smile was forced, and I knew he was covering.

"Bullshit." I shot him a glare, but didn’t push it. Not worth the energy.

I was annoyed, but what could I do? I shoved my hands in my pockets and trudged outside, the heat sticking to my skin.

If I really was that fast, I’d admit it—but I didn’t do anything! I huffed a bitter laugh, wondering how life got so ridiculous.

The next day, nothing hit my Venmo. I kept checking my phone, but no notification came.

The third day, still nothing. My bank balance looked sadder every time I opened the app.

The fourth day, I got a text saying my credit card payment was due. I groaned and tossed my phone onto the bed.

The fifth day, fuck, time to go back to work. I packed up my suitcase, leaving the hotel room messier than when I arrived.

Honestly, after everything with her, my depression eased up. I didn’t feel so bad anymore. At least now I had a new story to tell—one that didn’t end with me crying over Emily.

But thinking about it, it wasn’t that the depression went away—it just shifted. From being pissed about getting cheated on, to being pissed about losing over a thousand bucks. Progress, I guess.

Life goes on. After deleting and blocking all of Emily’s contacts, I told myself it was all over—time for a new start. I changed my profile pictures, wiped our photos from my phone, and dumped her clothes at the Goodwill drop-off behind the old strip mall, not even looking back.

I went back to work. The familiar hum of the office felt strange after so much chaos.

I was back to being the Logan Young who sometimes slacked off, bitched about business trips, and left work on time. My desk was still cluttered with empty coffee cups and Post-Its with half-finished ideas.

But Mr. Carter thought I was acting weird—said I was like an old pickup: sometimes working like mad, sometimes stalling out, sometimes just idling. He kept side-eyeing me during meetings, waiting for me to break down again.

But really, I was just the old me again—the me from before I met Emily. I slipped into old habits, played fantasy football during lunch, and let the world spin on without me.

I thought my days would just drift along, muddled but peaceful. The dull ache in my chest started to fade, replaced by something like acceptance.

But fate had other plans. The universe isn’t big on letting you coast.

One day, I was at my desk with my feet up, eating a breakfast sandwich from the corner deli and clacking away at code, when I saw Mr. Carter, looking like a lackey, leading Fiona into the office. She was dressed to kill, and her heels clicked across the linoleum like gunshots.

Maybe my pose was just too unique. Or maybe my luck was just that bad.

She spotted me right away, gave a faint smile, and whispered something to Mr. Carter. He flushed and nodded, glancing over at me with confusion.

Mr. Carter looked embarrassed, surprised, and walked over to me. He smoothed his tie, as if it would help.

"Come with me to the meeting room. A big client wants to talk to you." He sounded nervous, which was rare for him.

"Me?" I wiped my hands on my jeans, suddenly self-conscious.

"Yeah, quit yapping, get moving." He herded me toward the conference room, his hand on my back like he was afraid I’d bolt.

We sat down in the meeting room, and Fiona’s eyes were glued to my face, making Mr. Carter totally confused. Her lips twitched in a smile that was equal parts challenge and invitation.

"Uh... let me introduce you. This is our company’s new big client, Ms. Fiona." Mr. Carter stood up, his voice overly formal. "This is our tech guy, Logan Young."

Then Mr. Carter looked at her: "Logan just handles the technical stuff, not really familiar with the product. Not sure why you wanted him here..."

"Just wanted to chat. I like talking tech." She answered Mr. Carter, but her eyes never left me. There was a spark there, something unfinished.

"Alright, then if you have any questions, Logan and I can answer." Mr. Carter tried to smooth things over, but he was clearly out of his depth.

"Do you have time to eat together later?" Fiona asked, her tone casual but her eyes daring me to say no.

"Sure." I heard myself say, even as my brain screamed at me not to get involved.

"Are you nuts." The first line was from Mr. Carter. The second was from me. We looked at each other, equally bewildered. And just like that, the next chapter of my life began, whether I liked it or not. Fiona’s smile said she knew exactly what she was doing. And for the first time in weeks, I felt something close to alive.