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“I lied. I wanted your honest opinion, and I knew California would tip the scales. It’s not an option now though, obviously, with the baby.”
“The baby,” I repeat. “So, what? I’m worth fighting for until I’m no longer a human incubator? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I—God, no! Don’t twist what I’m saying. This is exactly what you did last night.”
“Last night. Right. When you accused me of downloading company documents for the sole purpose of blabbing about them to—”
“I didn’taccuseyou of anything!” Crew shouts. “Iasked, Scarlett. I found out who the leak was. You know him; I don’t. We’re a team. I was trying to—”
“If we’re a team, then maybe you should have trusted me. Maybe you should have believed me!”
“When did I not trust you? When did I not believe you?” Crew retorts.
My phone rings, shrill and loud. I hesitate, but I pick up the receiver. Only a few people have the direct number rather than going through Leah, suggesting it’s important. “Scarlett Kensington.”
“Hi, Scarlett. It’s Jeff. I’m looking through the proofs for the next issue, and I think that…” I tune him out. Crew leans forward and scribbles something on a pink sticky note.
He tilts the photo of us so it’s directly facing me, and then walks out of my office. Jeff,Haute’s head graphic designer,keeps talking. About image placement and positioning and presets.
I pick up the note and read what he wrote.If you decide to file, just have your attorney tell mine. I’ll be working late.
My gaze ping-pongs between the photo and the closed door.
Fuck. I fucked up.
“Jeff, I’m going to have to call you back.” Without waiting for a response, I hang up and run over to the door of my office. I scan the floor, but there’s no sign of Crew. Not in the kitchenette, not loitering by the elevators.
“Leah!” I rush over to my assistant, who’s standing by the main conference room, talking to Andrea. “Did you see Crew leave my office?”
“Um, yeah. A few minutes ago.”
“Where did he go?”
She shifts uncomfortably. “Um, he left.”
I swear. Loudly. Then keep walking until I reach the elevators. I bang on the down button a couple of times, hoping the doors will magically open. No such luck. That leaves the stairwell. I shove through the door, glad it doesn’t set off some alarm. Evacuating the whole building is not on today’s to-do list.
The long descent is spent deliberating on how far I should take this chase. If he’s not in the lobby—which I doubt, based on how many steps I still have to go—do I go to Kensington Consolidated? Barge in and do exactly what I just chastised him for? He’ll be home tonight, I assume. But then I think of the wording in his note.I’ll be working late. NotI’ll be home late. NotI’ll see you later.
Was that a deliberate phrasing?
Finally, I reach the ground floor and burst through the metal door. It takes me a minute to scan the lobby. To my surprise, he’s still here. Handing a badge back to a guard at the front desk.
And I’m hit with a whole new dilemma: what do I say? This was the furthest thing from a thought-out plan. Before I can second-guess, he spots me. Even from here, I can see his brow furrow.
I walk over, trying to get my breathing under control.
“How did you get down here so fast?”
“I ran down the stairs.” Ran sounds more impressive than panting and slipping.
“Youran? Why the fuck would you do that? You’re pregnant.”
I pin him with a flat stare. “Really? I had no idea,” I say sarcastically. “Women have runmarathonswhile pregnant, Crew.”
He shakes his head. “Well? What are you doing down here? I thought you were so busy.”
“You left.”
