Chapter 21
Mallory
Four Weeks Before the Outing
Mallory swirled the paper straw through her cocktail, a bright violet thanks to the butterfly pea flower–infused gin. She
had no idea what butterfly pea flower was except delicious.
She sipped slowly to keep her head clear. An ambush required focus. Especially one fueled by suspicion and not proof. Fortunately,
bluffing was one of her strongest skills. She drew a figure eight with the disintegrating straw and a wad of paper floated
to the top of her drink.
Ethan had been a half block ahead of her. She’d seen him exit his building, but she hadn’t wanted to do this in the middle
of the street. So she followed him to this bar with seductive cocktails and booths with walls that extended nearly to the
ceiling. He tucked himself inside one, and she staked out a stool at the bar to fortify herself.
She hadn’t been paying close enough attention lately.
Grayson and the consistent orgasms had made her not pay close enough attention.
Yet if she were being totally honest, she’d admit that it wasn’t just him.
Mallory was on the verge of becoming a brand independent of AIM.
Designers sent her shoes and jumpsuits. She’d been a guest judge on Top Chef and Shark Tank.
All the attention made the little girl inside of her scream “fuck you” at everyone from the teachers who doubted her to
her father who left her to that ass in Straus who underestimated her. The constant shower of praise had convinced her that
everything coming to AIM had been earned.
Still, hitting two billion should have set off alarms in her head. AIM’s stock valuation had been climbing much too fast.
If Ella hadn’t come to her with those focus group results that seemed off, and if Mallory hadn’t decided to lighten the overworked
Aubrey’s load by using her own strong foundation in coding to investigate, would she have ever realized it? Ever let herself realize it? That it perhaps wasn’t all earned? That she hadn’t steered AIM to that sky-high valuation all by herself?
Grayson artificially inflating AIM’s stock value was an unnecessary risk. It wasn’t exactly the lack of ethics or the abundance
of corruption or the threat of actual jail time (well, a little of that last one) that wound Mallory up. It was that he’d
overstepped. If anyone were going to toss a grenade into her company, it was going to be her.
She turned and stared at the side of Ethan’s sandy-haired head. He wouldn’t have been her hundredth choice, let alone first.
But the tech giant he worked for also owned the analytics vendor that AIM used. Deep within its data had to be the origin
of the glitch. That was how she’d get the evidence she needed to confront Grayson. Her coding skills didn’t include hacking.
She needed access.
Ilena was insisting on coming clean. They’d lose everything: their reputation, the payday, the big-league press the publicist was on the verge of getting.
Everything Mallory had toiled and sweat and strategized and maybe schemed, yes, schemed for.
Nearly twenty years of her life wasted. She’d be a forty-year-old woman with sagging breasts forced to buy her clothes off the rack, starting over as some arrogant start-up founder’s assistant, if she could even get hired as that.
If the truth came out, AIM would be ruined and Aubrey—Ethan’s fiancée—along with it. Professionally, but also personally.
Her self-doubt and guilt over missing such an error would cripple her. Mallory hoped it’d be enough to convince Ethan to help.
But if it wasn’t, she was ready to promise him an absurd amount of shares of AIM to get that proof. Even if that proof would
confirm that the last year had been a lie. That Grayson didn’t believe in AIM. Didn’t believe in Mallory.
Ethan slid to the edge of the booth. Mallory caught a glimpse of that perpetually smug smile that Aubrey just couldn’t see.
Mallory took a fortifying sip, and when she spun to face him again, he was no longer alone. The corner of a white coat hung
down the side of the booth.
Ethan reached across the table and took the person’s hand. The woman’s hand. The woman who was most certainly not Aubrey. Aubrey never wore white because of a fear of spills and her nails were
never polished, and she had no engagement ring at all, certainly not a showy one that shined under the glow of the Edison
bulb pendant.
Ethan’s index finger curled and began stroking the woman’s hand. Bastard. And in public. Arrogant bastard. He dipped his head and his lips brushed her skin.
Shit.
Ethan and Aubrey had been engaged for five months, only now starting to plan the wedding, and this must have been why Ethan
had been dragging his feet. This would destroy Aubrey. Without thinking, Mallory extracted her phone from her sailcloth clutch
and texted Aubrey:
Drop everything! Found the signature cocktail for the reception. Quick, meet me at . . .
The point was to get Ethan away from the woman before he cheated on Aubrey. Or cheated on Aubrey again. Mallory looked across the street at a new place she’d never been.
Mallory: Better Bar.
Not best. Way to shoot for mediocrity.
Aubrey: I’m head-down in a potential algorithm issue.
Mallory: It can wait. They say this drink might go off the menu soon. Did I mention it’s purple?
Dammit, now she had to find a purple drink at Better Bar across the street.
Three little dots appeared and disappeared.
Aubrey: Okay.
Mallory: Hurry! And invite Ethan. No, insist. Insist that he come. No excuses this time!
Aubrey: I’ll try.
Mallory: Tell him I’m buying.
Little weasel was a cheapskate. Hence five months into an engagement with no ring for Aubrey.
Mallory reached inside her clutch, desperate for cash to quickly pay her bill when a booming “Bitch!” silenced everyone in
the room.
Ethan launched himself out of the booth, a deep maroon wine stain spreading across the front of his white button-down, a wineglass
falling, about to shatter. “You’ll regret that,” he growled across the booth.
The hand with the large showy ring simply gathered the white coat fully inside the booth.
Mallory ducked her head low as Ethan stormed past, cursing at his phone, which at that very moment must have been buzzing
with a text from Aubrey. He jammed his fingers so hard she thought he’d crack the screen.
Whatever Mallory had just witnessed, Aubrey deserved to know. But telling Aubrey about her likely lying, cheating parasite
of a fiancé required more support than Mallory could give. She texted Ilena to meet them at Better Bar.
Then it hit her. She needed something from Ethan. And if he was cheating, he would need Mallory to stay quiet about this. Her stomach twisted as the thought took root. Leverage. Keeping this from Aubrey gave Mallory just that. She could force Ethan to help her find evidence of the inflated numbers,
of Grayson’s involvement. She could save her company. And all it took was making the choice to betray one of her best friends.
Mallory needed to be sure. She needed proof of what she’d just seen—not from Ethan, from the woman in the booth. Mallory allowed
herself time to gather her resolve. Then she took one last sip of the purple drink and laid cash on top of the bar. But by
the time she got to the booth, it was empty of everything except the white coat.