“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” He holds me still; a look of genuine concern laces his confusion, his heavy brow shadowed in the lamplight. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just really busy right now so I think”—I clear the shakiness from my throat—“I think we should probably cool things off for a bit; coming here was a mistake.”
His jaw ticks as he studies my face. “If you need time, that’s okay. I wasn’t expecting anything from you coming here; we can just hang out and talk.” He lets out a nervous laugh, glancing at the ceiling, then back to me. “Maybe I was being stupid, but I thought this could, y’know, be something we could explore outside of the competition?”
“It could,” I say. Oliver relaxes at my words, taking my hands, but I draw my fingers slowly from his, the hurt permeating my chest like rotting fruit. “That’s why I can’t be here right now.”
“Violet?” he calls after me as I run out the door, slamming it shut behind me.
Chapter 23
Business Account (WYST) BALANCE: £1,062.68
Personal Account BALANCE: -£1,880.30
Recent transactions:
Office rent: £1,096.00
Transport for London: £17.40
Three days later my head is starting to loll at my desk when I finally call it a night. I’ve been putting the final touches on the Vienna presentation, and a small light of hope is cracking through my chest. There are only ten companies left. A 33 percent chance of placing in the top three doesn’t seem like much, but compared to the 0 percent chance I thought we had, it feels almost like a real possibility.
I change into my leggings, sneakers, and a running top, hoping to get in a half-hour run to clear my head before traveling back to Cecily’s house. I head out the door and shout good night to Pacha. He doesn’t hear me as he’s locked in for one of his ill-advised all-nighters. When he started working at Wyst, I questioned his bizarre working hours. Sometimes working twenty-four hours straight on the days he doesn’t have his twogirls, to solve a problem that’s bothering him, then not showing up for two days. I’m used to it now, knowing not to question the method when the work he does is invaluable.
To be fair, I don’t exactly scream work-life balance. When I get back to Cecily’s tonight, I need to finish running through the bug report Pacha sent me. Checking the small fixes he’s made to get the new access-only forums ready for their beta launch. We plan to host guest AMAs from health professionals, career advisers, and relationship coaches. As well as providing a free community hub for users to connect with others going through similar experiences. I’m so excited about this launch that I’d do a million all-nighters to make sure it goes off without a hitch. And once it’s live in a couple of days, Spencer can demonstrate it in real time to the judges during the Vienna Round Three one-to-one.
The moment I step out onto the small set of concrete stairs outside the office, the cold night air hits my face. Fresh air cuts through my thoughts as I stretch my calves on the steps.
A voice from the shadowed street makes my heart stop. “Oh, look, it’s Jess Cole, or do you just go by Violet now?”
I freeze, my body going completely numb and heavy. Eventually, I squeak out, “What are you doing here?” My voice is quiet and strained.
Malcolm steps into the lamplight, scanning me with an upturned scowl. Our first true mutual acknowledgment since that day in the conference room three years ago. The feeling hits me like a freight train, the terror and loneliness as I walked into a room full of lawyers completely alone. Realizing I was unprepared, that nobody had told me what to expect. Graystone hadits legal counsel and so did Malcolm. I had no one because in my mind I didn’t need it for something so obviously cut-and-dried. An obvious case of guilt and innocence.
Malcolm’s meager voice permeates the air, dragging me back to the present. “I wanted to come offer my personal congratulations. I saw Wyst is doingso wellat TechRumble.” He shoots me a mocking look before lifting his chin up at the white office building... “So I thought I’d come see the operation for myself. I’ve watched all sorts of people coming and going from the office, but I’ve yet to see the new CEO come out. Your brother, Spencer, right?”
The heat in my throat gutters, all the blood draining from my face as I try to appear unaffected by his insinuations. Has he been here all day?
When I don’t respond, he spits out an emotionless laugh, squinting his eyes. “You know, I swear you’d said he was an actor?”
My chest begins to heave and his eyes crease in disdain. My vision blurs at the edges.
“You’re not meant to be talking to me,” I say, reminding him of the no-contact clause in the nondisclosure agreement we signed. I wrap my arms around myself, struggling to hold his gaze without nausea creeping up my throat.
As he steps closer to the bottom of the steps, my fight-or-flight instinct starts to signal alarm bells. Thumping against my temples to warn me that he is trying to block my path. I notice his previously light blond hair is dirty and unwashed, darkening at the roots. The clean-cut face I remember is now littered with patchy brown stubble. His boyish, lighthearted, happy-go-lucky appearance that originally drew me in has allbut disappeared. Replaced by a weathered and gaunt figure holding a look of disgust like it’s a weapon. It’s someone I no longer recognize but perhaps the real him: the true dark soul underneath the pristine layer of privilege and entitlement. The facade that I inadvertently broke down, a mask I dragged off his face as he was pushing me to the ground.
“I know, but it’s my job now to follow a good story.” His voice drips in sarcasm. “And this smells just like one.” He sneers, his sharp blue eyes sending a shiver up my spine. My whole body wants to run at him, scratch at him to reveal the monster underneath, but my brain knows the less I do the better. For all I know he could be recording this conversation.
You just need to get out of here and run to the nearest Tube station.
I hate that he’s seen me naked, maybe as much as I hate him being the reason others have too. That I can never again have 100percent autonomy over my own body. By taking those pictures, he stole a part of me I’ll never get back.
Finally, blood returns to my jellied legs and I begin to move down the steps. Walk away from whatever this is, making sure the set of keys in my hand wielded in a spiky manner is ready if he tries anything. He doesn’t move, his hand remaining casually in his coat pocket like he’s just a stranger asking me for the time. He watches like he knows every inch of me. I cut a disgusted look as I take more steps down to the street and pace away. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me; my lungs let go of a long breath until I hear him speak again. This time, his voice booming.
“And when I saw you at TechRumble with someone else’s name tag on, I thought that was... odd.” He says it loudenough for me to hear him from several meters away. He pulls a hand out of his pocket and gestures around. “Does anyone else know about your fraudulent behavior?” He projects his voice even louder; the few pedestrians walking around us flick their eyes up from their phones, craning to view the street drama unfolding.
With a renewed sense of morbid amazement, I stomp back toward Malcolm, pulling on his coat sleeve into the alley next to the office. A risky move but worth it to stop passersby from recording or trying to intervene. Now I’m closer to him, I can smell alcohol on his breath; his nose is red and his eyes are glassy. I shudder, imagining him sitting in the park across the road, drinking on one of the iron benches where my team has lunch on sunny afternoons, watching us through the windows.
