Chapter 2 #3
She wore a cream blouse and small gold hoops, her smile direct and polished beneath the words Senior Account Manager.
There was no interim. Beneath her biography, the site listed two of Miranda’s largest clients and described Willa as a strategic lead with a talent for building long-term partnerships.
Miranda looked for her own name.
It was not on the page.
She told herself that made sense. Companies did not advertise employees who were unavailable for a year, and maternity leave was not an accomplishment suitable for a biography. Her page had probably been hidden temporarily so clients would not attempt to contact her.
Still, she searched the site.
Nothing appeared.
Owen stirred against her and made a small protesting sound. Miranda locked the phone and stood, bouncing him gently as she crossed the living room.
“You’re awake,” she whispered. “That was quick.”
He opened his eyes without lifting his head. For several seconds he stared at the wall behind her, dazed and heavy with sleep, before his mouth softened into a smile.
Miranda smiled back automatically. “There’s my boy.”
The front door opened at three forty-eight.
Garrett entered carrying two extension cords, his jacket over one shoulder, and the paper plate with the brownies balanced carefully in one hand. His face was flushed from the heat, and he looked tired but pleased with himself, the way he always did after spending a day being useful.
“I’m sorry,” he said before the door had fully closed. “It turned into a whole thing.”
Miranda looked first at the brownies. One had shifted beneath the napkin and left a dark streak across the edge of the plate, but both were intact.
“You said two,” she said.
“I know.” Garrett lowered the cords beside the coat rack and nudged the door shut with his heel.
“Dennis couldn’t find the raffle tickets, then someone’s truck wouldn’t start, and Willa had to stay because the caterer charged us for twelve extra meals.
Apparently that becomes a hostage negotiation when there are sandwiches involved. ”
He crossed the room and kissed Owen’s head, then Miranda’s temple. He smelled faintly of sun, coffee, and the lemony industrial soap from the office restrooms.
“You were supposed to be home almost two hours ago,” Miranda said.
“I know.” He rested one hand against the small of her back for a moment, the apology arriving through touch before he attempted it aloud. “I should have left earlier.”
Owen turned toward him, mouth opening in recognition. Garrett smiled and held out both hands.
“Come here, buddy. Save me from your mother’s completely justified anger.”
Miranda transferred the baby carefully. Garrett settled Owen against his chest with practiced ease, and their son immediately grabbed the collar of the blue shirt and tried to pull it into his mouth.
“You’re sweaty,” Miranda said.
“He doesn’t mind.” Garrett kissed Owen’s cheek and winced when the baby caught a small handful of chest hair through the open collar.
Miranda carried the brownies into the kitchen. The plate felt absurdly light after waiting for it all afternoon.
“Did you eat?” Garrett asked as he followed her.
“Claire brought something.”
“Good.” He shifted Owen onto one shoulder and reached for the refrigerator with his free hand. “I figured she would.”
Miranda looked at him. “You figured she would bring food?”
“I asked her to check on you. Claire doesn’t know how to visit without feeding people.”
The answer should have softened her more than it did. Garrett had thought ahead, recognized that she might need help, and arranged it without expecting praise, but he had also recognized those things and still chosen to stay.
She unwrapped one brownie and broke off a corner. It had dried slightly at the edges, though the center remained soft.
“What did you win?” she asked.
Garrett opened a bottle of water and drank half of it before answering. “Nothing.”
“I thought the company posted a raffle.”
“It did.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. “Well, I actually won the big beauty basket, but I gave it to Willa.”
The brownie stopped halfway to Miranda’s mouth.
“You gave it to Willa?”
Garrett nodded, still watching Owen attempt to eat his shirt. “It was all Yves Saint Laurent makeup and skincare stuff. I wasn’t going to use any of it.”
Miranda lowered the brownie. “You could have brought it home.”
The suggestion seemed to surprise him. Not alarm him or make him defensive, only surprise him in the mild way people reacted when shown an option that had genuinely never occurred to them.
“I guess I could have,” he said. “But Willa had been talking about that brand all morning, and she did most of the work for the event. It made sense.”
Miranda looked down at the plate. Chocolate had melted onto her fingertip, leaving a soft brown mark near the nail.
“What was in it?” she asked.
“I don’t know exactly.” Garrett leaned against the counter and adjusted Owen when he began to slide. “There was perfume, lipstick, a bunch of jars. Willa said it was probably worth eight or nine hundred dollars, which is insane.”
Eight or nine hundred dollars.
Miranda glanced at the drugstore moisturizer beside the sink, the one she had bought after standing in the aisle for ten minutes comparing prices.
She had not considered YSL skincare, not seriously, and the two things did not belong in the same category except that one was something she used and the other was something her husband had carried across a room and placed in another woman’s hands.
“You didn’t think I might like it?” she asked.
Garrett frowned slightly, as though searching for the correct answer beneath the obvious one. “You don’t really wear makeup anymore.”
The words landed quietly.
Miranda looked at him, and Garrett seemed to hear them only after they had left his mouth. His expression changed, not into understanding exactly, but into awareness that he had stepped somewhere unstable.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he said. “I just meant you’ve never cared about designer stuff.”
“I used to wear makeup every day.”
“For work.”
“And dinners. Weddings. Christmas. Sometimes because I felt like it.”
“Okay.” Garrett shifted his weight and gave a small, conciliatory nod. “You’re right.”
The quick agreement irritated her more than resistance might have. He was trying to end the problem before he had understood what it was.
“What did Willa say?” Miranda asked.
“When?”
“When you gave it to her.”
Garrett’s mouth curved despite the caution in his face. “She thought I was joking at first. Then she got embarrassed because everyone was watching.”
“Everyone was watching?”
“The photographer was right there.” He looked at Miranda more closely. “They probably posted it already. Dennis loves that kind of thing.”
Miranda set the brownie down.
Garrett straightened. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, that wasn’t nothing.”
She turned toward the sink and washed the chocolate from her finger. The water ran too cold at first, then too hot when she adjusted it.
“The company posted photographs all day,” she said. “I saw some of them.”
“Okay.”
“I saw Willa’s biography on the website too.”
Garrett was quiet for a moment. Owen made a soft humming noise against his chest and began rubbing one eye.
“What about it?” he asked.
“She’s listed as senior account manager.”
“That’s your title, isn’t it?”
“It was.”
“It still is.” Garrett’s tone became careful, almost puzzled. “You’re on leave.”
“Then why isn’t my name on the site?”
He glanced toward the hallway as though the answer might be waiting there. “They probably took it down because clients kept contacting you.”
“No clients contacted me.”
“Maybe they were trying to avoid that.”
“Did you know they changed her title?”
Garrett hesitated long enough to become an answer.
“Dennis mentioned something,” he said. “Not a promotion exactly. More like cleaning up the wording.”
“Cleaning up the wording.”
“That was how he described it.” Garrett looked uncomfortable now, which made Miranda feel both vindicated and cruel. “He said ‘interim’ confused clients because it sounded temporary.”
“It is temporary.”
“I know.”
“Does Dennis?”
“Of course he does.”
Garrett’s certainty came too quickly. Miranda dried her hands on the dish towel and turned to face him.
“When did he mention it?”
“A few weeks ago, maybe.” He rubbed Owen’s back in slow circles while the baby’s eyes drifted closed. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“You didn’t think to tell me.”
“It wasn’t a real change.” Garrett kept his voice low because Owen was nearly asleep, but the restraint made the conversation feel even more intimate and contained. “Your job is waiting for you.”
“According to who?”
“According to everyone.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“According to Dennis. According to HR. According to the agreement you signed.” Garrett’s forehead tightened. “Miranda, no one is taking your job.”
She looked at him and felt foolish almost immediately. The paperwork existed. Her leave had an end date. She had spent months preparing Willa to cover the accounts because the position needed to be filled while she was gone.
Still, Willa’s face occupied Miranda’s place on the website. Willa’s title no longer admitted she was temporary. Willa’s biography referred to Miranda’s clients as though she had built those relationships herself.
“You could have told me,” Miranda said.
Garrett let out a breath. “You’re right.”
Again, the easy answer. Again, the sense that he was trying to locate the least painful exit.
Owen began to stir, disturbed by the tension or the silence that followed it. Garrett bounced him gently and looked down until the baby settled.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I honestly didn’t think it mattered.”
Miranda turned back to the brownies and broke the second one in half without eating it. “That seems to be happening a lot today.”
Garrett’s expression hardened slightly, not with anger yet, but with the first instinct to defend himself. “I brought the brownies.”
“I know.”
“I asked Claire to come.”
“I know that too.”