31. And so it goes…
CHAPTER 31
AND SO IT GOES…
EMMA
I vy takes one look at me and freezes in place. I don’t blame her. “You look flustered. What happened?”
We’re the only ones in the cafeteria, but I still lower my voice. “Nothing.”
She drops into the seat across from me and smirks. “Make sure to say hi to nothing for me.”
“Ivy, this is serious,” I hiss. “I like Charlie.” Fuck. Who authorized this?
“Let’s pretend that wasn’t completely obvious. When did you realize?”
My stomach knotting, I bury my face in my hands. “After the incredible orgasm, but before the puppies.”
She tosses her long hair over her shoulder. “What about Logan?”
I lift my head and sigh. “Logan who?” I finally got what I’d wanted—namely, Logan asking me out—and I didn’t say yes. Instead, I wanted more time with Charlie. I still want more of him.
Ivy rocks back, her lips parted. “Oh, wow.”
“I know.”
Oh god. I like Charlie.
I like how he rolls up his sleeves when he needs to concentrate. How he’ll release a long sigh when he’s annoyed but he wants to keep his thoughts to himself. I like that I can tell when he’s joking to tease me or joking to deflect. The way he melts when I scratch the back of his neck.
“I haven’t forgotten what happened last year,” I say. “But since we’ve been working together, he’s had multiple opportunities to take credit, and not only has he not taken them, but he’s stood up for me. Charlie is not who I thought he was. I’m not excusing what he did, but he apologized, and I accepted it. And now I know him better, and…”
“And?” she asks, grinning like she already knows exactly what I’m about to say.
“And I like him.”
I should have expected the “I told you.”
Change isn’t anything like herding cats, no matter how many middle-aged white men say it is. The motto fed to us might be to do what’s right, not what’s easy , but apparently, it’s only applicable for making us accept unpaid overtime.
Not only does Roberts try to rewrite the procedure every time I have my back turned, but he’s promised Contracts an automated confidentiality policy that we have no way of implementing.
And now this.
“You can’t remove a security level without warning,” Melissa from Legal argues. At least she looks apologetic about it. “Privacy regulations demand we have a separate label to ensure that employees’ data will remain private and confidential.”
“I know,” I say, keeping my frustration to myself.
Roberts deleted the label after his morning run because of a Tech podcast he listens to. Not that I’ll tell her that. Nor will I tell her that I’ve already had this argument with him. I spent an hour working to convince him, only to be told that it wasn’t my decision. That the only way he’d be convinced would be with a written rejection from Legal.
Hence, this meeting.
“If you wouldn’t mind putting your objections in writing, I’d be happy to?—”
“I shouldn’t need to explain in writing that this company is required to follow the law,” Melissa says.
She’s right. It’s common sense. But try explaining that to Roberts. “I understand.”
I want nothing more than to throw my boss under the bus, tell her no one hates this more than I do. This meeting shouldn’t have even been an email. It should have been a brain fart quickly passed when no one was around to hear it.
I almost cry when I return to my desk to find Charlie shaking his head. So I guess his meeting didn’t go well.
I sag into my seat. “Do I want to know?”
“Not at all.”
Great. “Think we should keep going, Thelma?”
He stretches a long leg under our desks to tap his foot against mine. “Anytime you want to run away together, sweetheart, just say the word.”
The idea is heavenly—just us and the open road. No emails to answer, no destination in mind. Only the bone-deep safety of having Charlie by my side to face it all.
Please.
But I only want it if I can have all of him. It’s all I’ve been able to think about.
How much would it take to break him? Tease him until he pushes me against the wall and kisses me like he did at my doorstep months ago?
“Let’s make it plan B,” I say.
“Emma.” Roberts appears, looming over my shoulder, the final sign that today has gone to hell. “I need to talk to you in my office. Now.”
No please . No attempt at polite imposition.
There’s no way this won’t be painful for me.
Even Charlie’s reassuring look isn’t enough to stop the swirling pit of concern that’s picked up in my stomach. I touch two fingers to Nana’s watch and take a deep breath. I am strong. I am smart. And I’m afraid of worse things than my pedantic boss.
I can, I will .
Never again will I doubt my intuition.
Hell is an apt descriptor, maybe even a little generous, given that when I walk into Roberts’s office, he isn’t alone. Standing in the corner—looming is the only way to phrase it—is Helix’s CIO, Emmanuel Fletcher, and both men are wearing dissatisfied frowns.
If they think their stony expressions are going to unnerve me, I’ll be glad to disabuse them of that idea.
Disappointment is a look I’ve learned to weather well.
Get in line, gentlemen.
If anyone has earned the right to be frustrated, I can guarantee it’s me.
“Take a seat,” Roberts commands.
The last time I was in a room with Emmanuel Fletcher, Charlie was being lauded to the entire company for my work. At the time, I was a little distracted by the blood rushing in my ears to pay him any mind.
Not unlike how I feel now.
I sit as instructed, but when it becomes obvious that Roberts isn’t going to introduce me, I take matters into my own hands. “Good to meet you, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Emmanuel, please, and the pleasure is all mine, Emma. The digital signatures initiative you pioneered has saved me a lot of frustration.”
The recognition is a refreshing surprise. The project was presented as a growth opportunity, and I naively thought it would be an easy sell. Who would argue against increased efficiency?
As it turns out, a lot of people.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Emmanuel is here to get an update on the procedure,” Roberts intones in a way that sounds very similar to a threat.
“In that case, I think Charlie should be here.” I’m not letting Roberts push him out. It wasn’t that long ago that they were peas in a pod.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says, and yes, that’s definitely a threat.
Heart lurching, I straighten.
“Based on the document logs,” he says, “the only changes made to the Procedure in the last month have been from your account. In fact, I had to have the Tech Bar unlock the document for me, because I couldn’t access it. The best they could tell, that was because you changed the security on it.”
No shit. It was locked because he kept rewriting it. And the only changes are mine because I type faster than Charlie, and we work better when I take the lead while he keeps Operations happy.
But as I open my mouth, Roberts continues, like he was waiting to cut me off. “When I presented this opportunity to you both, I asked if you’d be able to work together. You assured me you could. Then I asked if there was any tension between you, and you promised things were fine. I’m sure you can understand why I’m having trouble believing that now, given the evidence.”
Again, he pauses, and again, just as I open my mouth, he speaks.
He’s baiting me, but I keep my expression calm, digging my toes into the ground while I wait him out.
“Because based on what I’m seeing and the email Emmanuel and I received this morning from Legal, it’s become clear you aren’t ready for this promotion.”
Are you done? I want to scream. Instead, I pointedly let the silence extend. Go on, interrupt me again. Make it obvious .
But Roberts seems to be done. Or maybe having his boss in the room is enough to rein in his worst instincts.
I always suspected this was coming.
I dig deep, searching for the fierce energy Charlie inspires within me, the badass office assassin who’s capable of anything. But all I feel is white-hot blinding rage and the added sting of embarrassment. This is not how I wanted my first meeting with Emmanuel to go. This man will be the deciding factor on the lead team, and it’ll be difficult to impress him after this charade.
If I was a sensible person, I’d offer an apology and quietly accept defeat.
But Conways are not sensible people.
“Respectfully,” and it pains me to say the word, “I disagree. Charlie and I have been working well together. Rather than continue to cross our wires, we decided to pool our efforts into a single version of the document. Locking it down made that easier, and,” I bite out, “you’ve been able to provide your feedback in every review, as requested.”
I chance a look at Emmanuel, and though it’s clear he’s paying very close attention, his expression is unreadable. Roberts, on the other hand, has turned red and blotchy, clearly livid.
“I’m pleased with the progress we’ve made,” I say, struggling to keep my tone clear, “despite the issue I discussed with Legal this morning. In fact, Engineering and Operations have already signed off on the changes?—”
“Yes,” Roberts interrupts. “I was disappointed to hear that I was not invited to either of those discussions.”
I’m at a loss. There’s a tremor under my skin, my composure slipping, so I clasp my hands tightly in my lap and hold on for dear life.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” I finish. Because there clearly isn’t anything I could say.
Finally, Emmanuel steps in. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t able to read the document itself prior to this meeting, but I will rectify that today. I’ll also follow up with those areas you mentioned before we move forward. No matter the outcome, I’d like to thank you and Charlie for the hard work you’ve done so far.”
My voice is smaller than I like when I say, “Thank you,” but I can read between the lines.
Emmanuel isn’t here by accident.
Charlie wasn’t excluded by accident.
My head is clearly on the chopping block, and Roberts is holding it there.
Last year, when he pushed for minimum viable product during the system upgrade, I suffered through it.
Most Digital initiatives go this way. A grand idea in the beginning, passed down with the authority of a testament. No instructions on how we would deliver it, only a deadline and the understanding that failure isn’t an option.
The real secret of tech in big business? Sunk cost fallacy is real. They’d rather spend millions of dollars to deliver a bad program and replace it later than accept defeat.
Especially if they have a fall guy.
Shit, I wish Charlie was here.
The truth is, confidence wanes. Like the tide or the moon, I’ll be on top of the world one day, then suddenly so riddled with impostor syndrome that I might as well be an NFT for how little value I have.
Right now, the tide is slowly rising, and I’m desperate to hear his voice. For him to tell me it’ll be all right. I need his steadiness, the way he looks a problem in the eye and cracks a joke.
Roberts stands, ending the conversation, and without even the lie of a thank you, he opens his office door and lifts his chin, silently signaling that it’s time for me to leave.
It’s a dismissal, swift and silent, and I bite back the curse that rises up.
Charlie is up and out of his seat as soon as Roberts closes the door behind me.
Anger storms between my ribs and batters against my shutters, ready to spill out at the first crack in my armor. I resist it, clenching and shoving it back.
It won’t hold forever, but I only need it to last a little longer.
Charlie watches me with wide eyes as I stride back to my desk and silently begin packing my bag. There’s still an hour of the workday left, but I don’t have a single care about leaving early.
Let Roberts see.
It would be all the reason I need to finally quit.
When I look up, I find Charlie packed up and at my side. Ready to follow me, with or without an explanation. I waver, the anger and hurt ready to break open within the safety of his arms.
“I can’t,” I choke out, the words catching in my throat.
I can’t think. Can’t talk. Can’t hold myself together much longer. I grab Charlie’s forearm, needing a life raft. “Can we leave? I need you.”
With a nod, he leads me out, his hand an anchor on my back, strong as steel.
I don’t care where he takes me. I just want to fall apart. I can do that if he’s there, holding me, keeping me safe.
I’ve always been too scared to show anyone this side of myself—the raw, exposed nerve of fear, anxiety, and rage that pulses underneath my careful facade.
But it’s different with Charlie.
From the beginning, he found his way under my skin, under my armor, and it never turned him off. Even when we argue, he keeps up, keeps digging deeper.
With every layer he uncovers, he leaves a mark. Time and time again, he proves with his hands and his mouth and his attention that every part of me is worth seeing.
Even the parts I hide are valuable.