My chest tightens.
He didn't respect me enough to let me fight my own battles. He treated my career like a charity case he could fix with a signature.
The air feels thin. I can't breathe in here.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, pushing away from my desk.
Inside the bathroom stall, I lean against cool tile, close my eyes. My breath comes in shallow gulps. I stumble to the sink, grip the porcelain, dry heaving. Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and bitter. I rinse my face with cold water, scrub until my skin stings.
My reflection is a disaster. Mascara streaked, eyes red, hair escaping its careful twist. I look like a woman falling apart.
I rinse my mouth. Smooth my hair. Try to reassemble the pieces.
The door creaks open. I stiffen, reaching for a paper towel.
Zoe steps inside, green eyes blazing. “Miles is a parasitic hack. I heard what happened. I'm already drafting a memo to HR. Do not let that man take a single second of your peace.”
“It's not just him, Zee.” I lean against the counter. “It's everyone. They all think it.”
“Then show them you're a shark.” She steps closer. “You're better than this entire firm, Emma. You have nothing to prove to people who count paperclips for a living. Do the work. Burn the gossip to the ground with results.”
“Thanks.” My voice cracks. “I mean it.”
“I'm coming over tonight,” she declares. “Expensive wine. Enough carbs to forget this day happened. No arguments.”
Hours later, I walk through my front door, kick off my heels. My toes curl against cool hardwood as I look around. This space is still mine. No one else's.
I light a few candles. Set out chocolate truffles. If the world outside is a war zone, this is my bunker.
My phone buzzes on the counter. Kai.
I don't pick it up. He's called four times today. A text follows.
Kai: Emma, please answer. I realized the timing was a bit sudden. I just wanted to give you the platform you deserve. Let me talk to Hawthorne. I can fix this.
A bit sudden. I can fix this.
He still doesn't understand. He thinks my dignity is a logistical error he can correct with another phone call. He's trying to buy his way back, and he doesn't see that every attempt makes it worse.
A knock at the door. “Emma! Open up before the pizza gets cold!”
Zoe stands in the hallway with two bottles of wine and a stack of pizza boxes. She pulls me into a crushing hug, rocking me side to side until I finally laugh.
“I come bearing alcohol and gluten!” She kicks the door shut behind her.
Within minutes, we're curled up on the couch, candles flickering as we dive into the feast. Zoe launches into a rant about the junior broker she's dating.
“He told me I was intimidating in the bedroom,” she says, rolling her eyes as she pours more wine. “I told him that was thepoint. Men like that want a companion, not a peer. They want someone to save so they can feel like the hero.”
She pauses, expression softening. “Is that what Rhodes is doing? Trying to be the hero?”
“He thinks he is.” I stare into my wine. “He thinks he's giving me a gift. He doesn't realize he's handing me a bill I never asked to pay.” I take a long sip. “James used to do the same thing, just smaller. He'd take credit for my ideas and call it mentorship.”
“You're not going to let Rhodes win, though.” Zoe clinks her glass against mine. “You're going to take that ELK account and make it the best thing GVM has ever produced. You're going to make him realize you're the asset, not the other way around.”
“I'm a badass,” I murmur.
“Damn right you are.” Zoe grins. “And if he calls again, tell him the Creative Lead is in a high-level meeting with her Chief Emotional Officer. He can leave a message.”
