“I need a minute. Or an hour. However long it takes for you to stop being insufferable.”
The door slams behind her.
I sit alone in the silence, replaying every word of our conversation. Where did I go wrong? Why did watching her laugh with another man make me feel like something was being stolen from me?
I don’t have answers.
I’m not sure I want them.
Chapter 11 - Kirsten
I would rather chew glass than ask Menlow for help.
It’s been twenty-four hours since our fight, and I’m still furious. He had no right to act that way. No right to drag me out of the break room like I was a misbehaving child or to dictate who I can and cannot talk to.
Derek was just being friendly. That’s it. Nothing more.
And even if it was more—which it wasn’t—that’s none of Menlow’s business. Our marriage is a piece of paper. A legal formality supposedly designed to keep me safe. It doesn’t give him ownership over my social interactions.
I glare at my computer screen and try to focus on the contract in front of me. The numbers swim together. I’ve been working on this new assignment all morning, and I’m no closer to understanding it than when I started.
This task landed on my desk at 9:00 a.m. courtesy of Marcus. Something about supplier liability clauses and indemnification language. It’s not data analysis. It’s legal jargon wrapped in corporate speak, and I have no framework for evaluating it.
Menlow would know exactly what to do.
I shove that thought aside and keep reading.
The morning crawls by. Every time I think I’ve figured something out, I discover another layer of complexity that sends me back to square one. My notes are a mess of crossed-out lines and question marks. My coffee has gone cold. My head is pounding.
Menlow works silently at his desk. We haven’t spoken since I stormed out yesterday. When I came in this morning, hegave me a curt nod and nothing else. Fine by me. I don’t need his conversation. I don’t need his help.
I don’t need anything from him.
By noon, I’m ready to scream. The deadline for this assignment is five o’clock today. Marcus made that very clear when he dropped it on my desk and made a point of stating there would be no extensions. Because the universe apparently delights in my suffering.
I take a deep breath and read the same paragraph for the fifteenth time. Something about consequential damages and limitation of liability. The words might as well be in ancient Greek.
The clock on my computer reads 2:47 PM.
Two hours and thirteen minutes until the deadline.
I am so screwed.
I read the paragraph again. Consequential damages. Limitation of liability. Indemnification provisions. Each term sends me down a rabbit hole of legal definitions that only raise more questions. Without understanding how these clauses interact with our existing contracts, I can’t assess whether they’re acceptable or not.
The smart thing to do would be to ask for help.
The stubborn thing to do would be to keep suffering in silence.
I’ve always been stubborn. It’s gotten me through a lot in life. But stubbornness won’t save me from missing this deadline. Stubbornness won’t impress the board. Stubbornness won’t prove that I deserve this promotion on my own merits.
I swallow hard and stand up from my desk.
Walking over to Menlow feels like a march to the guillotine. Every step is an admission of defeat. Every inch brings me closer to acknowledging that I need him.
I hate this. I hate all of this.
I clear my throat before I say, “Menlow.”
