Page 18 of The Difference Between

So Matt’s married. So Matt’s on a bowling league. He also has a wife to wipe all those little asses while he sucks his godforsaken lollipops.

I’ll do him one better—all of them.

I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and look her dead in the eyes. “Good.”

Trish’s brows raise. “Good?”

Everyone thinks I don’t have a life; I’ll show them just how much of a life I can have.

My heart thumps in my throat. “I’ve been looking into sperm donors.”

Her eyes widen. “Sperm donors?”

“Yes.” I absolutely have not, but if Trish thinks she can bully me into making life-altering decisions, she can kiss my ass. I’ll make life-altering decisions on my own, thank you very much.

I’ve always wanted kids, so I’ll have a kid. Hell, I was supposed to have a kid five years ago. Honestly, it’s about damn time I did this.

I’m glad I thought of it.

“I’m still in the research phase,” I explain, “but I’ve narrowed it down to a few clinics. The one on the twelfth floor. A few others.” Nope. “I was waiting for this pitch and my mother’s surgery to be over to make my final decision. Now that both of those are done, I’ll have no problem moving forward with selecting a donor.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” My voice stays even, but inside, I’m physically fighting my eyes to keep from crying and my throat to keep from screaming and my middle fingers to keep from waving her way.

She doesn’t believe me; I don’t care. She just single-handedly set women’s rights back to the Stone Age with this conversation, but I refuse to humiliate myself any more than I already have by begging or letting her see how devastating this is.

Maybe the last fifteen years of forgoing a personal life to be a champion of productivity was a grave mistake, but I still have my dignity, and I plan on keeping it.

“Good,” Trish says, watching me in silence as I pick up my phone off the floor and sling my purse over my shoulder. “I’m happy to hear you’re being proactive about something you want.”

My gaze catches on the windows—her billion-dollar view of the city. I need to get out of here, but the fact this is happening—the surrealness of it all—won’t let me leave. Like maybe if I stand here long enough, she’ll say, never mind, or instead of three months, let’s try a long weekend. But she doesn’t say anything. Neither of us do for the entire time it takes a plane to cut across the clear blue sky.

Finally, I look at her. “If I refuse the sabbatical, are you firing me?”

“I wouldn’t fire you, but I think you should.”

“But if I don’t?”

“You should, Reese,” she says with a firm finality. “We’ve passed up a lot of deals that would make us a lot of money because of Dad’s values—sometimes it pisses me off.” This would shock me if she wasn’t mid firing me for three months. “But when it comes to people—real people that work for us?” She gives me a long look. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I care. I won’t let you burn out. Take the damn sabbatical.”

In a controlled voice, I repeat, “But if I don’t?”

She looks at me, shakes her head, and lets out a long sigh. “Then Matt gets the account as permanent sponsor.”

My teeth grind so hard I expect to taste dust on my tongue. I turn away from her and try to focus on something out the windows, but the entire horizon is blurred by rage.

“This isn’t a punishment, Reese,” Trish says to my back. “It’s a thank you. It’s us taking care of our employees. You owe this to yourself. Take some time. Help your mom. Get to know yourself. Start the family you want.”

The world sputters to a stop as the words settle within the glass walls.

I take a three-month break or lose Fizz Co for good.

I take a three-month break or the title of biggest acquisition landed in firm history has Matt’s name.

I take a three-month break or I will forever be Reese Conway, the woman who worked harder than everyone but had no life, so her career imploded.

In my silence, she steps next to me, facing the same coveted view as me.