Chương 9
Alexander laughed.
I did too.
Nancy squeezed my shoulder once and walked away.
I added sugar to the coffee.
Alexander drank his black.
“That is disgusting,” I said.
“It’s coffee.”
“It’s punishment.”
“You put enough sugar in yours to qualify as dessert.”
“Correct.”
He smiled.
My phone vibrated again.
This time it was Vanessa.
I opened the message.
Call me tomorrow.
Under it was another.
Also Mom is furious that Sophie gave away the good container.
A third appeared.
I told her this is what happens when you oppress labor.
I laughed so suddenly coffee almost went up my nose.
Alexander leaned forward.
“What?”
I showed him.
He read it.
“Vanessa may be my favorite Whitmore.”
“Do not encourage her.”
“You’re losing ground.”
I typed back, Tell Sophie I owe her.
Vanessa replied, She wants interest.
I put the phone away.
For a few minutes, we ate without talking.
The teenagers left.
A man at the counter argued gently with Nancy about whether the Jets had any chance of salvaging their season.
The kitchen bell rang every few minutes.
It felt ordinary.
Ordinary had never seemed so luxurious.
Alexander folded his napkin.
“There is something we need to discuss.”
I groaned.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Can we postpone adulthood until tomorrow?”
“Usually.”
“Excellent.”
“Not this.”
I studied his face.
The humor was gone.
“What?”
“Your position on Horizon.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about it?”
“When Bellweather assigned you to the project, we weren’t dating.”
“I know.”
“When we started dating, neither of us disclosed it immediately.”
“We were trying to decide if it was serious.”
“Yes.”
“And then it became serious inconveniently fast.”
“Also yes.”
I looked at my ring.
“We told Bellweather after three months.”
“And my general counsel.”
“So what changed?”
“Your father’s bid.”
I stopped moving.
Alexander continued carefully.
“The relationship between you and me is disclosed internally.”
“Okay.”
“The relationship between you and one of the bidders was not.”
“I didn’t know he was bidding when I joined the project.”
“I know.”
“And I have nothing to do with procurement.”
“I know that too.”
“Then what are you saying?”
He took a breath.
“I think Bellweather may move you off Horizon.”
The diner suddenly felt louder.
Plates.
Silverware.
The television.
Nancy laughing somewhere behind me.
I stared at Alexander.
“They can’t.”
“They can.”
“I’ve been on that project for eighteen months.”
“I know.”
“I designed half the residential circulation package.”
“I know.”
“We’re entering final coordination.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know.”
He went silent.
Anger arrived so quickly I could barely separate it from fear.
“Did you ask them to remove me?”
“No.”
“Did your lawyers?”
“They raised the issue.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No.”
He held my gaze.
“I did not ask anyone to remove you.”
I looked down at my coffee.
My hands had started trembling again.
“Great.”
“Emma.”
“Fantastic.”
“This isn’t final.”
“But it’s likely.”
“Yes.”
I laughed once.
The sound came out sharp.
“So Dad’s mess finally found a way to cost me something again.”
Alexander did not correct me.
That almost made it worse.
I stared through the diner window at the wet parking lot.
For years, I had imagined independence as a door I could close.
I had worked for it.
Paid for it.
Built it degree by degree, paycheck by paycheck, sleepless year by sleepless year.
Yet somehow my father’s decisions had followed me into the first professional achievement that felt entirely mine.
“I can resign from the project,” Alexander said.
I turned back so fast the table shook.
“No.”
“It would remove one conflict.”
“No.”
“I’m offering an option.”
“You’re offering to set yourself on fire so I can keep my desk.”
“That is dramatic.”
“I learned from your therapist.”
His mouth almost moved.
Mine did not.
“You are not resigning from your own development.”
“Then you understand why Bellweather may make the same calculation.”
I hated him for being reasonable.
I hated myself more for understanding.
“What happens if they move me?”
“You stay at Bellweather.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
I swallowed.
The project had been more than a promotion.
It had been proof.
Proof that the years I spent drafting bathroom layouts at midnight had mattered.
Proof that I had not traded away my education for nothing.
Proof that I could build something nobody in my family had handed me.
“I need to talk to Caroline,” I said.
“Tomorrow.”
“Tonight.”
“It’s Thanksgiving.”
“She’ll check her phone.”
“Emma.”
“What?”
“You are allowed to have one bad evening without turning it into a work emergency.”
I stared at him.
Then I reached for my phone anyway.
He did not stop me.
That was the problem with Alexander.
He respected my bad decisions enough to let me make them.
I found Caroline Bellweather’s name.
My thumb hovered over the call button.
Then I thought of my father saying thirty-seven jobs.
My mother asking why I had not spoken.
Logan hiding eighty thousand dollars from his wife.
Vanessa admitting she had felt punished by my absence.
Every person in my family seemed to have built a private room and then complained that nobody visited.
I locked the screen.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
Alexander nodded.
“Tomorrow.”
I took a drink of coffee.
It had gone cold.
For the first time that night, I let something remain unfixed.
The next morning, I woke before my alarm and lay still for several seconds wondering why my chest felt tight.
Then I saw the ring on my hand.
Memory arrived all at once.
The kitchen.
My mother.
My father’s study.
The diner.
Horizon.
Alexander was asleep beside me, one arm thrown across the pillow where my head had been.
His hair was flattened on one side.
It made him look younger and significantly less intimidating than the version of him that appeared in business magazines.
I slipped out of bed carefully.
His eyes opened anyway.
“What time is it?”
“Six twenty.”
May you like
“That is offensive.”
“Go back to sleep.”
