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“Roman, of course not.” The horror in Theodora’s voice tells me she’s not lying. “I’m just as disgusted by this entire thing as you are. Not to mention, beyond disappointed in Margaux. She was one of my shining stars. I took her under my wing and sang her praises, and she turned around and lied to my face. There goes her promotion. I should have known there was something off about her. I always thought she was charming and social, maybe a tad bit on the narcissistic side. Usually I can see through that sort of thing but—”
“—wait, wait, wait. Back up. What did you say?”
“I said usually I can see through that sort of thing.”
“No,” I say. “Before that. You said something about a promotion.”
“Right. She and Franklin are up for a new executive position we’re adding.” Theodora chuffs. “Needless to say, Franklin’s a shoo-in now. And it’s a shame. Margaux would’ve been a perfect vice president of Client Relations. She was looking at a huge raise, extra time off, a corner office . . . was just about to have HR write up the offer too. Such a shame.”
“How long has Margaux known about this promotion?”
“We announced the position back in May, but we’re not filling it until August. What are you getting at?”
“Margaux wanted that promotion . . . you wanted to set her up with your nephew . . .” Everything’s piecing together in real time. “Sloane kept going on dates with me so I’d think things were going well with Margaux . . . so Margaux could stay in your good graces . . .”
Theodora sniffs. “That’s almost diabolical. Who would do such a thing? I’m just . . . I can’t wrap my head around any of it. I mean, I believe it. Clearly. I’m just having a hard time reconciling that Margaux would go to such lengths.”
Theodora rambles on, dropping names of people I’ve never heard and waxing on about all the high-profile clients and seven-figure contracts Margaux has landed over the years.
“I’m calling her into my office first thing tomorrow and letting her go. This sort of thing is not rewarded, nor is it tolerated,” Theodora says. “I’ll have to make sure she receives a copy of the noncompete contract she signed when she first started working for me. She’s prohibited from working for any of our direct competitors for the next five years. I hope this was all worth it. Anyway, I’ve got to go, darling. I’m going to take an Ambien and attempt to get a solid night’s rest. Tomorrow’s going to be one of those days.”
“You can’t fire Margaux,” I say.
“And why not?” Theodora releases a sharp exhalation.
“I’m pretty sure she’s pregnant.”
Theodora is silent on the other end.
“I mean, I did think she was looking a little curvier these days . . . I suppose I . . . well . . . huh,” she says before she stops mumbling altogether. “I never want to assume something like that about a woman. I certainly would never ask her about it. Do you know for sure?”
“No. But there was definitely something there . . .” I think of that day in her office, the way her lower belly was soft and round beneath her dress. I know from experience exactly what a pregnant woman looks like.
“Well, isn’t this just lovely,” she says with a sigh.
“How much were you pressuring Margaux to date me?” I ask. I would never dream of asking any of my employees to date someone I knew, let alone a close relative, but Theodora is a different breed.
“I probably emphasized it more than I should have . . .”
“Probably?”
“You know how I get about things. Once I get an idea in my head, I hold on to it for dear life.”
“That you do.”
“You know, I always looked at Margaux like she was the daughter I never had. I guess my intentions of fixing her up with someone were coming from a noble place. I thought she’d be the right person to bring you out of your shell, and I thought you’d be a stable person in her life. She was always talking about these disastrous dates and pseudorelationships . . . What did she call them? Oh, yes. Situationships. Anyway, my intentions were pure. I hope you know that.”
“I do.”
With a final exasperated sigh, Theodora adds, “Looks like I’ve got a bit of a mess to clean up now. Wish me luck.”
We end our call, and I sink back into my chair, staring at the lifeless fireplace on the other side of the room as my mind replays the events of the day for the dozenth time. Earlier, when the real Margaux dropped that earth-shattering bombshell—not once did she show an ounce of accountability, humility, or apology. In fact, she made it a point to mention—on several occasions—that Sloane was supposed to be boring, that Sloane got carried away, that she warned Sloane not to play with fire . . .
