Chapter 29
Twenty-nine steps. That was how many were needed to reach the elevator. Cynthia knew this because counting the clip of her high-heeled pumps against the hard floor was the only way to distract her brain from replaying the terrible, heartbreaking scene she’d just witnessed in her father’s office.
Don’t cry, don’t cry.
“Cynthia?” Jilly called as Cynthia stepped into the elevator.
With each hand clenching a to-go coffee cup, Cynthia swung her elbow to punch the button for the ground floor, barely registering how the tepid liquid sloshed onto her wrists.
She shook her head frantically at a bewildered Jilly as the doors slid closed.
Cynthia’s eyes blurred with fresh tears, and she tipped her head up to the ceiling, willing them to recede.
They didn’t—not even when she gritted her teeth and counted. Forty-two seconds. That was how long it took to ride the elevator to ground level.
When Cynthia stepped out of the elevator, she shoved the coffee cups into a nearby garbage can with shaky hands.
She’d bought the second cup on an impulse, one that felt especially stupid now.
There would be no praise from her father, no pat on her shoulder because she’d remembered he liked two creams and two sugars.
He probably would’ve assumed it was from Rohit, anyway.
“Ms.Kumar?” Malik’s voice cut in, his chair creaking loudly as he half stood in the rush of her flying by his desk.
Cynthia tried to throw him a smile— everything’s fine, just fine. In that horrible, fleeting second, she saw his mouth drop open as she beelined toward the sprawling glass doors. So close to freedom.
Freedom from this place . How come she’d never noticed how stuffy the air was in here? Would it kill them to open up the lobby doors once in a while? Actually, the whole place could use a facelift. The polished floors were ostentatious; the sun pouring through the glass walls was blinding.
I need to get out.
When she finally stepped into the fresh morning air, Cynthia broke into an uneven jog in her four-inch heels, her oversized black tote awkwardly tucked against her side.
She felt the curious stares of the vapers and smokers scattered across the front lawns as she galloped past like a sick greyhound, aware of the sound of her uneven gait and the graceless slapping of her bag.
For once, she didn’t care how she looked—escape was first and foremost in her mind, taking precedence over wiping the tears pouring down her cheeks or quelling the shuddering gasps escaping her chest. And when she finally reached her car, Cynthia refused to think about anything except finding her keys in one of the dozens of inner pockets in the large Michael Kors bag that she’d proudly bought after securing her first successful contract with a prominent restaurateur.
It didn’t matter anymore.
“Ms.Kumar?” a tentative voice asked.
Cynthia froze, her arm elbow-deep in her bag, and turned very slowly to see Jilly and Malik standing in front of her, their eyebrows furrowed and worried. Jilly was biting her lip while Malik’s quick, practiced brown eyes jumped over Cynthia’s person as if checking for injury.
Trying to regulate her harsh breathing, Cynthia swallowed and tried for a smile that, against her trembling cheek muscles, felt more like a grimace.
“You can call me Cynthia,” she replied, the last word convulsing on a mortifying hiccup.
It was as if her body was revolting against her last shreds of dignity.
Malik reached into the breast pocket of his expensive suit and proffered a blinding white handkerchief that Cynthia accepted but then held aloft in her upturned palm, as if unsure what to do with it. Jilly moved closer and, after a moment’s hesitation, placed her hand on Cynthia’s back.
It was a far cry from a hug, but Cynthia leaned into the touch as her shoulders hunched forward and she continued to sob in the parking lot in front of her assistant and the security guard.
Can it get any worse? she thought to herself before noticing the splotches of caramel coffee across the front of her dress from where she’d spilled the drinks earlier in the elevator.
When Malik sidled to her other side, his much larger hand finding her back as well, Cynthia cried harder.
It took several long, agonizing minutes for the tears to slow and for Cynthia to get hold of herself.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wept like this, was certain she’d never made such a spectacle of herself in front of other people.
The Ice Princess is melting , she thought after a loud, unladylike sniff, half expecting the skies to punctuate the moment with an epic downpour.
But no—there was nothing but a bright, cheerful sky above, as perfect as it had been when she’d dropped Rohit off at work, aching with the desire to tell him she loved him.
“What happened?” Jilly asked as Cynthia wiped her face with Malik’s soft handkerchief.
“My dad just announced his retirement.”
Jilly and Malik exchanged confused looks.
“He named Rohit as his successor,” Cynthia added.
“I guess that makes sense,” Jilly said, tilting her head to the side. “He’s kind of young, but…” She trailed off as Cynthia’s eyes dropped down to the pavement.
Cynthia willed her mouth shut, but the bitter words were too acrid to keep inside. “He was never going to pick me. He doesn’t even know I exist.”
“Rohit?” Jilly asked, perplexed.
“My father.”
Jilly’s voice was full of surprise. “I’m so sorry, Cynthia. I didn’t realize that’s what you wanted.”
“I’ve been wanting this my entire life—” Cynthia stopped. The words sounded tinny in her ears, and she raised her head to gaze at the place where she had shaped every part of herself to convince Rich Kumar that she was worthy of his legacy.
And his admiration and respect.
She’d tried so hard to mold herself after her father that she’d become something else entirely: a steely, unyielding shell of a human who relied on ice and illusion to hide the cracked, crumbling parts of her. And still, it hadn’t been enough.
“You would have made an excellent CEO,” Malik said kindly. “I’m sorry, too, Cynthia.”
Cynthia rubbed at her eyes again before attempting a small, wobbly smile at the two people who had followed her out here, hung on while she’d lost her composure, and now comforted her with awkward pats on her back that no longer felt so awkward. Maybe she wasn’t as hard as she’d thought.
“Do you…” Jilly cleared her throat. “Do you want me to get Rohit?”
“Why?” Cynthia asked sharply.
Jilly flushed. “Um…Because you two are…I mean, I thought you two were…”
Cynthia shook her head. At the mere mention of his name, fresh pain washed over her, but this time it was different, easier in a way.
This was the mild disappointment she’d felt upon stumbling into an impromptu meeting in her father’s office that, of course, had failed to include her.
The familiar irritation of hearing everyone heap praise on Rohit for his commendable work.
The absolute slap in the face when Rohit failed to credit her.
This pain burned like July wildfire, ferocious and all-consuming.
Cynthia was honest enough with herself to admit that her father’s announcement came as no surprise; a part of her had always known that he wouldn’t choose her as his replacement.
But she’d believed everything Rohit had told her. Your father knows your worth , he’d said once on bent knee, we all do . He’d called her a queen.
Malik offered her one last pat before clearing his throat. “Can I grab you anything, Ms.Kumar?”
“Cynthia,” she corrected dully.
“A bottle of water, maybe?” Malik continued.
“I’m okay,” she replied, well aware that her voice shook. “You should get back to work, Malik. You, too, Jilly.”
Malik gave her shoulder a squeeze before departing, but her assistant hesitated.
“Maybe…there’s a silver lining here,” Jilly suggested in a hopeful voice.
“Like?”
“I’m not saying you don’t deserve the role, but maybe it’s better Rohit got it. That job takes on a lot of responsibility and seems stressful. Your dad is always working, and—”
“I’m already doing all those things.” The admission felt wrenched from Cynthia’s chest as she scrubbed at her face. “And I’ve been doing them long before Rohit got here with his so-called MBA.”
Somewhere in the distance, an ambulance’s siren cried in warning as the two women stared at each other in silence.
“?‘So-called MBA’?” Jilly’s eyebrows knit together.
“I— Forget I said anything,” Cynthia said hurriedly, her heart pounding. The ambulance was long gone but the echo of its siren continued to replay in her ears. “I’m just angry.”
When Jilly slowly nodded, Cynthia gently stepped out of her reach.
“Is there anything else I can do?” Jilly asked.
“Really, Jilly, I’ll be okay.” With an overwhelming sense of chagrin, Cynthia looked into Jilly’s brown doe eyes. She’d often treated Jilly with brisk impatience, likening her vapid gaze to that of a flighty squirrel that couldn’t hold two thoughts at once to save its life.
Before, Cynthia had chalked Jilly’s decision to stay by the side of a demanding, ambitious, and impatient boss as complacency; there were worse things than getting snapped at for fifty-five thousand dollars a year and a health spending account.
But Cynthia realized now how very wrong she’d been.
There was no bonus or overtime to be had while comforting your teary-eyed superior in the parking lot.
Cynthia owed her an apology but all she could muster right now was a quiet and heartfelt “Thank you.”
Jilly squeezed her arm before she took her leave. “I got your back.”
Cynthia hugged her gym bag tightly to her side as she made her way down the sidewalk toward her condo building, where Rohit was sitting on the front steps.
She tried to ignore the lump in her throat as she took in his wrinkled suit jacket and rumpled hair, as if he’d been running his hands through it all day.