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He sits back against the edge of his desk and folds his arms. “Okay. Enlighten me.”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t know what you were talking about at the wedding—the stuff about the bus crash and the money and the friend you lost. But what Elliot said about your fixation with the nonfraternization policy was right. You should rethink it.”
“Oh my God.” He covers his eyes. “Do not reopen my mental scars from the wedding.”
I shouldn’t have mentioned Elliot’s name. Damn. I dig my nails into my damp palms. “I’m not talking about that. I get the whole Dashwood subclause thing.”
I might not be able to fix this horror show for myself, but the least I can do is try my best to help all the other Harvest employees, now or in the future, who might get caught up in something similar. “It’s nothing to do with your family agreement. I’m talking about the company rules.”
“Yeah. Right. Sure.” He drops his hands and shakes his head. “Is this like Elliot’s ‘Oh, I just happened to read an article in a magazine and thought I’d casually drop by to tell you about it,’ bullshit?”
“No. This is about reality. But everything he told you is true.” And I was way too hard on him. “Do you have any idea the effect you’re having on people?”
“What are you talking about?” Clearly, he doesn’t.
I take two steps closer to him, my courage growing, and deliberately soften my voice. “You need to think about how much you interfere in people’s lives.” I raise my chin. “And you need to realize how utterly pointless it is.”
“I’m not interfering with anything.” He gets up from the desk and straightens to his full height on a sigh. “And I’m sorry, Charlotte. I truly am. I meant it when I said the thing with you and Elliot tore me in half. But I had to come down on the side of logic. On the side of business. These policies make for a better work environment.”
It’s not like I didn’t know this would be hard work. He is relentlessly stubborn. But I don’t care how regretful he is, I refuse to let him steamroll me. My heart quickens further, but not through fear—through the surety that I’m absolutely right and the perfect person to explain it to him.
“Sitting up here in your glass box, you probably don’t know what goes on out there.” I gesture in the general direction of his staff. “But I know of three couples who’ve gotten together working here and, if I know of three, there have to be more I don’t know about. And these poor bastards have to be secretive about it because of your company policy.”
He moves around his desk and grabs a pen and a sticky note. “Who? Tell me their names.”
“No. I will not.” I slam my hands onto my hips. “How would you have felt if someone had stood between you and Polly?”
“I would have crushed them to a pulp, then sloshed through the mess to get to her.”
“Exactly.”
“Not the same thing. We didn’t work together.”
“But you understand the drive to be with someone. The thing in your soul that ties you to theirs. How it feels like your life would end if you couldn’t be with them.” My voice makes an embarrassing squeaky noise.
I clear my throat. If I let the slightest bit of emotion show, he’ll see that as a reason to dismiss my point entirely. “How about if it was rules, not people, that stood between you and Polly? You would have crushed those rules to a pulp too, right?”
He drops the pen and closes his eyes for a second. “Of course I would,” he says quietly.
“So why should anyone else have to abide by rules you would never follow yourself?”
He looks at me like I’ve switched languages to one he’s never heard before.
My stomach clenches at the sense I might be getting through. “You should ask yourself how you would have felt if someone had told you that you couldn’t have your business and Polly.” I seem to be pointing at him, which is probably rude, so I fling my arm out to the side instead. “Because that’s how those three couples, and God knows how many others, feel.”
He rests his hands on his desk and leans forward, blowing out a long, slow breath, but doesn’t speak.
“All I ask, Max,” I say as calmly as I can, “is that you think about it.”
He doesn’t nod or show any sign of agreement. But for him, not disagreeing is a pretty big deal. And I’m on a roll. “If people want to be together, not even the mighty Max Dashwood would be able to stop them. They’ll always find a way. And if you make them choose between their jobs and their relationships, you’re going to lose some of your best employees.”
His lack of response is more of a victory in this conversation than I could have ever hoped for. Not wanting to push my luck further, I slowly make my way to the door, pull it open, and leave Max’s silent face behind.
As a sense of relief and accomplishment rush through me, it’s all I can do not to skip to the elevator. I’ve rarely been as proud of myself as I am at this moment. It may all come to nothing—he may have already dismissed everything I said, forgotten about it, and moved on to his next phone call. But I’ve said my piece and made my point. And that’s all I can do. I’ve done my best.
I press the call button. Probably lazy of me to not take the stairs the one floor down to my office. But, hey, I’m celebrating. The numbers over two elevators race each other to reach this floor—one counting up, the other down.
I’ll call the building management guy when I get back, and apologize for snapping at him about the blinds.
