Chapter 34
34
Eric’s presentation is scheduled straight after mine. It was a small miracle I didn’t see him as soon as I left the meeting room. When I arrive at my desk my whole body starts to sweat. I should get out of here, and go get some air before I end up bumping into him somewhere in the building.
The consequences of my actions slowly dawn on me. Did I seriously just give up my dream job for a guy? Am I going to be shunned from the gates of feminist heaven for this bullshit? I swallow the dryness in my throat.
Maybe I should go back and rescind my statement. Beg them to give me a second chance. We all make mistakes! Spur-of-the-moment gut decisions that end up being completely idiotic, right?
The elevator flows with people heading out as if it’s a normal day. It probably is for them. Their agenda so far includes “go to work,” “catch up on emails,” “attend a meeting” and “go grab an overpriced sandwich.” Not “pour your blood, sweat and tears into a fucking good job presentation then self-sabotage so hard your nervous system feels like loose change clanging around in a pocket.” As others start to occupy the lift, I pull out my phone and begin to type out a message. Something casual like How did it go? or So how did they tell you you’re the new Marketing Lead of Ditto? In skywriting or one of those giant novelty checks?
I press delete and watch the letters evaporate into the humid, breathy air of the elevator.
More and more Catch Group employees filter in: some I recognize, giving them a polite smile as though I didn’t just blow up my life. The doors slide closed, inches from touching as a hand slams around one of the metal slabs, triggering the doors to reopen with a cheerful ding. I look up and lock eyes with Eric and his unreadable face. His jaw goes taut as his eyes latch on to mine. He must have been in his interview for maybe ten minutes tops. Did they just offer him the job on the spot?
Eric turns around to face the front like everyone else, something I’ve never thought of as unusual until right now. The lift bundles down a couple of floors, stopping to add even more sardines to our tin. Whoever thought of the stuck-in-an-elevator trope in romance novels must be rolling in their literary grave right now.
The mass exodus of bodies into the lobby moving in the same direction lulls me into a false sense of security until Eric turns around and spots me at the back of the crowd. I veer right and keep moving over the main lobby floor. I can’t stop. Interacting with him before we’re officially told he has the job will just be too hard, and trying to predict his reaction to what I’ve done leaves the plains of my imagination completely barren.
He catches up to me, placing a warm palm on my back and gently steering me away from the flow of the crowd. Eventually, we stop, his hands on my arms. Up close, the shadows under his bright eyes are more pronounced than I’ve ever seen them. His face twists as though he can’t quite get the words out.
A lance of unease pierces my chest. OK, this seems bigger than the interview.
“What’s going on? Is Iris OK?” I ask, having only ever seen this look of concern once before, at Matilda’s Bar.
“Yeah, she’s fine.” He shakes his head, looking confused, and lets out a curt breath, lips relaxing into something resembling relief. He steps closer to face me as his hand subtly rests on my waist, a magnet finding its opposite.
With a jolt, I realize I’ve seen this look of concern more than once before. Once when Iris was slumped across the table, and once when I lay on the ground beside the hiking trail. I place a reassuring hand over his.
He clears his throat. “I had to tell you before they do. I know I—”
“Grace!” A booming voice cuts across the marble expanse, traveling along the stone veins and slicing into me. Eric’s hand tenses, matching my body. My face feels as if it’s trying to escape straight off my skull as I watch his soft lines go rigid with understanding.
I spin to face William, my hand slipping from Eric’s. For a moment I just stare at the former man of my dreams; there is a sheepish smile on his face, partially hidden by a massive bouquet of flowers held over one arm, and a small velvet box in his other hand. My mind returns to the room, and I cautiously walk over to him. The warmth of Eric’s hand melts from my side but I feel his presence remaining close behind me as I approach William.
“What are you doing here?” The question comes out more feebly than I had anticipated.
“You weren’t replying to any of my texts or calls and I was so worried about you, Gracie. I needed to make sure you were OK.” He almost looks confused, as if he expects me to have dropped everything to call him back. “I called you—I needed to see you,” he repeats.
“I told you I’ve been too busy—that I was up for a promotion.” I narrow my eyes, shooting the same confused look right back.
“Oh,” he says, looking hurt.
I wait for a question; some interest in how it went, how I feel, if I got the job, but instead he awkwardly scans the linear patterns on the wall.
I look at the flowers and sigh at his dull brown eyes. “Why are you here?”
William clears his throat and looks up, wide-eyed, like a terrible actor waiting for his big monologue moment.
He takes a deep breath. “I’ve been looking at your social media. Seeing you thriving and looking amazing proved something to me: I can’t and don’t want to live without you. We belong together.”
A few “awwww”s spring forth from the growing crowd. My mind slips to their perspective: a man has come to win a woman’s heart with a dramatic, romantic confession. Not long ago I would have gobbled up this scene too. This is the thing love stories are made of. Instead, I cringe as what he’s doing fully dawns on me.
I know this is nothing but a play: deliver public displays of affection, adoration and loyalty; perform said display in front of people whose opinions I value, making me feel obliged or too embarrassed to protest; then act the exact opposite in private. He’s not even offering a rebuttal of his ultimatum. Maybe he thinks time apart from him was “punishment” for not giving him what he wants. For not giving up my entire life to him in exchange for his performative love.
My body trembles with frustration, confusion and exhaustion as I ask a little louder than necessary: “And what about all the women you were messaging while we were together? Can you live without them?”
I used to think people knowing what happened would make me look stupid and weak—as if it was my choices that led him to make those decisions. The last few weeks have shown me you can’t control how people perceive you; the only important thing is how you perceive yourself.
“What?” His face reddens with either embarrassment or anger as he splutters, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His brow knits, eyes flicking between me and the crowd as though he’s watching the Wimbledon final. He grabs my hand. “Gracie, come on. If it means that much to you, you can keep your little job.”
“Don’t call me that.” I make an attempt to yank my arm free, but his grip remains tight as he ignores me.
“Was it him, Gracie?” His lips twist into disgust. “Did he tell you these lies?”
He gestures at Eric, who is moving toward us, jaw clenched like a panther ready to finally take its kill. The crowd must read the tension on his face as they quickly begin to act preoccupied as if they weren’t just gawping at us.
“What the fuck have you said to her?” William leans around me to shout at Eric, his words bouncing off the marble and turning more heads toward us.
“I didn’t have to say anything. You managed to fuck it up all on your own.” Eric’s voice is smooth and sly compared to William’s flustered tone, I’ve never seen his face look this deadly.
To stop this from escalating into a full-blown Bridget Jones–style fight, I interrupt the fast-growing tension, turning first to William. “This has nothing to do with him.” Then I place my hand on Eric’s toned chest, the cotton brushing my clammy palm. “Eric, just give us a minute.”
Reluctantly, Eric takes a few steps back. Giving me space to take the reins on the conversation but staying near to support me if I need. Guilt twangs in my chest; even after I couldn’t promise him a future, his instinct is still to protect me.
I turn back to William, still standing in the middle of the lobby, the center of attention. My guilt subsides as I look at his pathetic face. “I know the truth so there’s no point in lying. I’ve seen the messages and the pictures. You’re just embarrassing yourself.”
William lowers the bouquet to his side, petals dropping out as the flowers hang upside down. The look of desperation, shame and annoyance on his face just makes me hate him even more. He lets out a nervous laugh and scratches the back of his neck.
“It’s not like we were engaged or anything. I would have stopped once we were married,” he pleads, as though this would be a sacrifice he would make in exchange for mine. My face creases as bile creeps up my throat. Sensing my outrage, he gently takes my hand for emphasis and tilts his head. “I will stop, I promise.”
I suck in my cheeks, looking at the floor and pleading with my eyes to stop burning.
“Why?” My voice comes out thin and quiet. “Why did you do it?”
“You were so busy with your job. I needed more. It’s why I wanted you to marry me and quit.” His lips curl into a tight smile. “That’s what you want too, deep down. It’s the best thing for both of us, Gracie.”
I rip my hand from him. “God, do you even know me at all?”
“Listen, just...” He wipes a hand over his mouth as frustration flashes across his dark eyes. “... just come with me so we can talk about this.”
He grabs my arm and tries to pull me through the automatic glass doors out toward the street. There he goes again, dragging me wherever he wants to go, expecting me to silently, dutifully follow. Before I know what I’m doing my hand is up in a fist, flying toward his face. A blast of sharp heat runs through my whole arm and my knuckles bark in pain. William stumbles back, dropping the bouquet of roses so forcefully dark pink petals scatter all over the beige floor like an exploded flamingo, matching the color of his face as blood begins to trickle in a steady stream from his nose down his crisp white shirt.
He holds his bloodied hands out, shocked by what just happened. He takes in the damage, pinching his nose gingerly and then he lunges at me, mouth snarling as the blood lines his teeth.
I jolt back as a hand grabs William’s shoulder, balling his shirt into a fist. “I wouldn’t do that, mate,” a calm but firm voice comes from behind him. My shoulders lower at the sight of Dave the security guard, cool as can be.
“She attacked me! The bitch broke my nose!” William spits, nose still spewing thick red.
“No. You grabbed the nice lady and she defended herself,” Dave replies serenely.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” William stumbles, eyes jarringly wide as he tries to release himself from Dave’s grip.
“I suggest you leave now, sir, or I’ll have no choice but to call the police.” Dave guides him like a leashed toddler at Disneyland toward the glass doors.
My heart pounds as I watch William shrink away into the busy London street. The hate and shame and pity swell in my chest like a waterlogged drain as my brain tries to grasp his true nature. He so desperately needed to look like the knight in shining armor when all he really wanted to do was keep me locked up, where he could always find me, my only care to keep him happy. My happiness was only important when he deemed it so. People murmur around me and adrenaline races around my body, shaking my limbs like a wild animal slamming against the bars of its cage.
“Grace?” Eric’s smooth voice is a balm on my frazzled senses. “We should get you out of here.”
Eric looks around at the people lingering in the lobby and then holds a palm out for me. With my still functioning hand, I take it. My eyes are heavy as he carefully guides me past the last audience members into the lift.
A man in a suit strides up to the elevator doors, takes one look at our faces and says, “I’ll wait.”
The doors slide shut with a clang, followed by a quiet but oddly soothing whirring of the pulleys. We remain in silence until I lean against the support bar and examine my hand, hissing at the bruise already forming. The moment air escapes my mouth he is there, studying the marks, gently caressing my fingers resting on top of his. He brings my hand to his mouth and places a delicate kiss on the knuckle, then blinks his thoughts away.
“Sorry,” he half whispers when I blush. “Probably a stupid question but... are you OK?”
Everything that’s happened between us in the past few days flashes through my mind, and I’m back in the hotel room as he tenderly catalogs each part of me. He straightens his shoulders.
“I think so. It’ll heal,” I reply, studying the state of my dominant writing (and apparently punching) hand.
“Good.” He smiles softly. “But I meant are you OK?”
Oh, he means am I going to transform into the shell of a person I was when I was with William? A cracked egg with no pan—broken, messy and useless. I gaze into his eyes, recognizing a depth of care and kindness in them I’ve never truly grasped before. If I was still a broken, messy, useless person, he would be here. He would wait for me to heal because that’s what he has been doing this whole time.
The words come out before I have a chance to catch them between my teeth. “I told them to choose you.”
My tone conveys a casualness more in the realm of “I told them you’ll have a Diet Coke,” not “I told them to give you the job we’ve both been fighting over for weeks.”
“What?” He blinks at me, mouth agape.
I nod. “I told them you were the right choice for the job.”
He puts both sets of fingers on his temples and rubs them in tiny circles. “Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know,” I say, but I do know. My foggy mind can’t compute why he wouldn’t be happy about getting the job of his dreams.
He sighs. “ I told them to choose you .”
“What? Why did you do that?” It turns out getting the shock of your life is a great way to alleviate pain from your recently injured hand.
He rolls his lips together and shakes his head, then turns to the metal sheet of glowing buttons on the wall and slams his palm against the big shiny red one. The quiet whirring ceases and I clutch the railing as we jolt to a stop.
Eric paces the short length of the lift until he’s inches from me. “You said at the hotel there was no point in this thing between us continuing because whoever lost out on the job wouldn’t be able to stand the other person winning.” He looks at me wide-eyed, waiting for confirmation.
“Yes!” My eyebrows almost hit the ceiling as I completely agree with him in the most disagreeable voice I can muster.
His head tilts upward as he shoots me a sidelong glance. “Well, you were wrong. I could. I wouldn’t just be fine with it. I’d be fucking ecstatic.”
I stutter, “B-but you want this just as much as I do.”
He takes a step toward me and shakes his head. My chin lifts to meet his gaze.
“I want you more. Us being on each other’s team, waking up next to you every day, taking you on real dates, watching you realize you deserve the fucking world and being the one who is allowed to give it to you. Being able to tell you every day that I’m in love with you. That’s me winning, Grace. I don’t need anything else.”
I take a shuddering breath. “Well... fuck. I love you too.”
It comes out so matter-of-factly that “obviously I love you, duh” would have been more appropriate. So brutally honest I don’t even stop to think about it.
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me softly, thumb delicately stroking my cheek until he pulls away to look at me. “And you probably would have beaten me anyway. Better to end with some dignity.”
He winks at me and I let out a teary laugh, pressing my forehead against his. He holds my jaw in his palms, stroking away an escaped tear from my cheek like a windshield wiper in a rainstorm.
A man’s crackling voice bursts from the lift’s speaker. “Everything OK in there, guys?”
Eric presses the call intercom button. “Yeah. But can you give us like two minutes, please? Just baring my soul to someone.”
The gruff voice stays quiet for a few moments then states, “I can give you one minute.”
“Thanks, man.” Eric tugs me by my waist toward him. “Where was I?” he teases.
“Confessing your love for me.” I nod, trying to keep my beaming smile from blinding him.
“Ah, right.” He kisses my lips—“I love you”—my cheek—“I love you”—my neck—“I love you.”
We barely have our hands off each other as the doors glide open on Catcher’s floor, revealing Harriet standing with her arms out in frustration. “I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes! Mr. Catcher wants to see you immediately.”
“What about?” Eric asks, hand out of sight stroking the small of my back as if he’ll never fully let me go.
“I have no idea.” Harriet runs a hand through her honey-blonde hair. “Have either of you seen Grace Hastings? I’m meant to fetch her too.”
Eric shoots me a look of amusement as we step out onto the office floor with bated breath.