Chapter19
The week before the festival arrived with the kind of relentless momentum Cassidy used to thrive on.Vendor confirmations poured in.Permit approvals landed in her inbox.The volunteer schedule had finally stopped resembling a jigsaw puzzle of conflicts and impossible demands.
She should have felt triumphant.She did.And proud of herself that things were finally falling into place.
Her phone buzzed.Another email notification.She’d made the mistake of using her main business email account—force of habit—for some of the festival correspondence, which meant her carefully separated worlds now bled into each other with alarming frequency.
She opened it.A tourism board confirmation.Good news.She should forward it to Bryan.
The next email made her pause.
Steve Hodges.Subject line:Quick Question.
She deleted it without reading.
Two minutes later, another one arrived.Steve again.Subject line:Following Up.
“Unbelievable.”She deleted that one too.
The third email came ten minutes later.Subject line:URGENT.
That wasn’t like Steve.He specialized in casual undermining, not genuine emergencies.His whole strategy relied on making everything look effortless while he systematically dismantled her work behind the scenes.
She stared at the subject line.She could feel the old instinct rising inside her, the one that said ignoring urgent messages was irresponsible and she needed to at least know what crisis had erupted in her absence.
But she was on sabbatical.His emergencies weren’t her problem anymore.
But her finger hovered over the email anyway.
She clicked.
Cass, I know you’re off the grid, but I really need your help on the Phillips account.There’s a situation with the demographic targeting, and I can’t find your notes on the Q3 strategy pivot.Can you call me ASAP?I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t critical.
She read it twice, searching for the trap.Steve never asked for help.He took credit, deflected blame, and occasionally lobbed passive-aggressive comments about how they had different approaches, but he didn’t admit to needing assistance.
She closed the email and set her phone face down on the table.
Whatever was happening in Chicago, it wasn’t her responsibility.
The phone rang, and she glanced at it.Unknown number, but the area code was Chicago.
Her hand reached for it automatically, years of corporate conditioning overriding common sense.She caught herself, pulled back, and let it go to voicemail.
Thirty seconds later, it rang again.Same number.
“For heaven’s sake.”She snatched it up.“Hello?”
“Cassidy.Finally.”David Wilde’s voice filled her ear with the kind of brisk authority that used to make her stand up straighter.“I’ve been trying to reach you for two days.”
Her boss.Her actual boss, not Steve.The nausea hit immediately.
“David.Hi.I’m on sabbatical.I thought?—”
“I know, I know.And normally I wouldn’t interrupt your recovery time.”He had the decency to sound slightly apologetic.“But we have a situation, and frankly, you’re the only one who can fix it.”
She walked to the window and watched Winnie move through the garden with unhurried grace.“What kind of situation?”
“The Phillips account is imploding.Steve completely misread the client’s priorities and pitched them a strategy that’s essentially the opposite of what they asked for.They’re threatening to pull the contract.”
