Chapter 29

Isla Davenport may have been a stone-cold bitch, but at least she’d let me travel in style—first class all the way. This meant that over the impromptu eight-hour flight that ensued, I:

Bawled my eyes out quietly.

Headed for the bathroom when I was finished to pee only to end up suffering a panic attack that only let up when a flight attendant knocked to ask if everything was okay.

Drank every last flute of champagne I was offered and ordered as much food as I could stuff down my gullet before falling into a fitful sleep.

By the time we touched down in JFK I was a train wreck and could barely muster up the energy to look over the NDA that Isla had had arranged for me. I wasn’t a lawyer, but to the best of my knowledge everything appeared to be in order and by the time I got dropped off in front of my apartment building I’d scribbled down my signature in all the required fields.

It was almost eleven, and after a series of perfunctory knocks I let myself into the apartment, pausing at the threshold to take in a deep whiff of air as I took in this place—so different from all of the luxury I’d surrounded myself with over the past three weeks.

I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until now.

It looked small than I’d remembered, and my heart squeezed in remembered pain as Elijah’s face flashed through my mind.

Shaking my head slightly, I shut the door softly behind me, collapsing into the sofa as a feeling of utmost security wrapped me up. Paula was not at home, which meant that she was probably off somewhere submitting the project she’d been working on yesterday.

It was early afternoon, which meant that she could be back at any point in time.

Thoughts ran through my mind at the speed of light—how I had three months of job searching to look forward to, and something which felt eerily like heartbreak except I wasn’t sure since Elijah and I had been a situationship if anything.

There would be time to sort through all of that later, I surmised, but right now I was home, alive, and that had to count for something.

•

Sidd let out a squeal of delight as soon as I stepped into the office, slipping out of his chair to pull me into a hug that I sank into gratefully. Over his shoulder Markus flashed me a warm smile that I found myself returning.

They looked the same, but different somehow, I noted, chalking it up to the fact that I’d been away for so long. We exchanged pleasantries as I pulled out two boxes of macaroons I’d purchased off a small pastry shop just off Wall Street.

“You got these from Paris?” Sidd asked before I could speak, eyes shining as he moved to hand Markus’s box to him. He pulled out a green macaroon out of the carton, bit into it, and an expression of utter bliss settled over his face. “Ugh, I can taste France in this.”

“Yes, I bet you can. Very French,” I agreed, sliding into my office chair, because what else was there to do.

Just at that moment Rita appeared by the doorpost, smiling. I moved to stand up from my chair, but she waved me off dismissively, and after a moment’s indecision I sank back into it, surprised by the fact that the sight of her no longer caused a slight wave of trepidation to come over me.

I guessed that that was what happened when you spent close to a month with Elijah Wilder.

She asked how my trip had gone; looking marvelous in a blazer that she’d thrown over an asymmetrical black dress, and I cleared my throat, telling her it’d been great. Sometimes, situations called for embellishment of the truth, and this was one of those.

“Great,” Rita said, straightening from her slightly slouched position. “You’ll debrief me, but for now just settle in and get to work. Is that okay?”

I gave an eager nod, thinking three months even as the smile on my face remained firmly fixed in place, and with a final nod she turned on her heels and left, just in time too, as Sidd battered me with questions off all kinds on my time in Paris.

He ended up sorely disappointed, frowning as I tried to explain to him that it’d been work for the most part, and that even if I did go to a museum once it’d been empty.

“Three weeks in Paris with Elijah Wilder and nothing happened?” Sidd tsked, shaking his head at me as I tried to keep my expression as neutral as possible.

“All that love,” he continued, ticking off his fingers. “And hot chocolate, and fashion, and history—and you just worked? You should get a raise.”

“Not everyone is like you, Sidd,” Markus cut in, not looking away from his laptop screen, earning a look of spite for his efforts.

It felt good to be back to their bantering, and I slid open my MacBook, letting it boot as they bickered before delving straight into work when it finally came on as everything around me turned into indistinguishable white noise.

I’d learned early on the wonders that single-minded focus could do, and since the alternative was a date with the bathroom where I’d cry over Elijah, who I hadn’t even received a text from since I arrived in New York, consoling myself with the fact that flowcharts and consumer projections did not a heart break.

Hours flew past as I double and triple checked the numbers displayed on my screen, scribbling into a piece of paper each time I came upon something I felt I would need to return to later, and when lunch finally came around only a quick glance at the time on my laptop alerted me to it.

I looked up to see that, like me, both of my colleagues had their attentions fully turned on the jobs set out for them, and I cleared my throat, getting up.

“Would you guys like anything from the break room?” I asked, and distractedly they murmured their requests, not looking up to see if I’d even caught any of what they said.

Shaking my head fondly and smiling, I cut a path straight towards the break room, a large, well-lit room not at all like what Hollywood portrayed break rooms to look like—just another detail they got wrong, then.

I was stills smiling by the time I arrived at the room, and as I pulled out a couple of dollars from my wallet I noticed that virtually everyone there had their eyes on me, wearing expressions that ran from pure amusement to distaste, and at first I assumed that once again my anxiety had distorted reality, making me perceive things differently from how they actually were.

But no, I realized. Everyone was looking at me, and as if that wasn’t enough I realized that all conversation had halted abruptly around the time I arrived, which meant that as I received the beverage I’d ordered, balancing them precariously on my arms, only the sound of my heels as I retreated could be heard in the entire room.

It was much of the same thing on my way back, coworkers that I’d never met suddenly stopping in their tracks as soon as they saw me to point, and by the time I arrived at my shared office a sense of heavy foreboding hung over me.

Sidd and Markus’s heads snapped simultaneously upward, and I forced a smile on my face as I dropped my coffee and donut on my table before moving to hand them theirs.

“Not you guys too,” I joked into the strained atmosphere. “On my way here everyone was staring—and like, I know I look good, but, Jesus, people, get a grip.”

When this attempt at humor failed to even receive the hint of a smile from Sidd I knew somehow that in the time between getting up for snacks and coming back something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

“What’s happening?” I asked, still smiling even as I felt my palms begin to sweat. My heart had resumed up its signature drumbeat pounding, the kind that usually started up in matters that involved Elijah, and when my colleagues shifted uncomfortably in their seats I repeated my question again, sounding even to my own ears a little bit unhinged.

Wordlessly, Sidd handed me his phone, and for a few split seconds I looked at it, confused by the blurrily stilled shot. Then I realized it was a video he’d paused and hit play, not comprehending what I was looking at until it hit me all at once.

It was footage from the elevator at Du Pont, of Elijah and me kissing just a few moments before we stepped into the apartment, where we were interrupted by Isla. Sixteen seconds of it with our faces clearly visible, though Elijah’s stayed dipped into the crook of my neck for most of it.

It felt like watching actors play out a scene as I watched the heavily pixilated version of myself open her mouth in silent pleasure, eyes rolling as I pressed my body flush up against his in wanton abandon. The clip finished, and I ran it from the beginning again, feeling a sense of sick volition creep over me with each rewatch.

“Don’t worry,” Sidd said, snapping me out of my reverie. I looked up to meet his eyes, and he smiled reassuringly at me. “It’s edited footage—look, even the quality is poor. I’m sure this will all blow over before you even know it. Just tell them that it’s one big misunderstanding and—”

My stomach heaved violently, and I clapped a hand over my lips as bile and vomit from the meager breakfast I’d had rushed up my throat, rushing to the ladies where I emptied out the contents of my stomach.

When I was finished, I sat back on my haunches, dipping my head down into my thighs as the apprehension stole through me for the first time in months. The worst that could happen had happened, and I welcomed this disaster with open arms, knowing that if it came down to it I wouldn’t be able to deny what’d gone down.

A moment passed and then I realized that somewhere in the middle of puking I’d started crying, and where usually I would’ve made an effort to at least dash them away this time I let it all out, crying as I felt my world crumble around me until the tears no longer flowed and I was emptied out.

The sound of footsteps making their way into the restroom alerted me to the arrival of new entrees, and for a moment all was silent as the two women murmured until I realized that I was the subject of their discussion.

“Did you see the video?” the first woman asked her colleague, who clucked conspiratorially.

“At this point I think the whole internet has seen it.”

“It’s real,” the stranger pressed, “isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s real,” her friend insisted. “That whore decided that sleeping her way up the corporate ladder would be the best course of action. She’s not the first, but usually they have more class.”

My heart squeezed painfully, head pounding as I listened to these strangers that I’d never met rip my credibility to shreds—and just as I’d predicted, none of the blow back fell on Elijah, the poor man, helpless to the wiles of a Jezebel like me who was looking to spoil the good thing he had going on with Saint Isla.

At some point a third woman arrived, seamlessly joining in, and when it got too much I pushed open the door of the stall that I’d been in, effectively cutting off the conversation as the women laid eyes on me and froze in stark recognition.

Silently, I turned on the faucet to wash off every trace of tears, snot, and makeup, straightening to cry off with a paper towel. When I was finished, I dumped the wet tissues in a recycle bin, and then paused to meet all three pair of eyes with an intentional slowness.

My new found notoriety lent the small, wicked smile I let creep up my mouth the desired effect, and they stiffened as I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving them behind.

Now that I was in on the news it didn’t surprise me when necks craned to crack my every movement, and I squared my shoulders, the picture of a woman with nothing to apologize for even as everything in me begged for a chance to slip into a quiet corner and cower. Mutters started up in my wake, but surprisingly, my mind remained blissfully quiet, and I continued on until I arrived at my office and stepped in to find Rita seated in my chair.

I could feel the weight of my coworker’s eyes bore into me, but I refused to meet their gazes, too preoccupied with holding Rita’s.

Her friendly disposition from earlier had slipped off, and in its place was an icy calculation that I’d never before seen. Eerily, she reminded me of Isla in that moment, and after a few seconds of tense silence had passed she got up smoothly from my chair, skirting around the edge like I had a hundred times and coming to stand in front of me.

“My office,” she stated flatly. “Now.”