29. Natalie
NATALIE
Ihuff up the last few stairs, sweat prickling at the back of my neck.
When I tried the elevator, my access card didn’t work.
I scanned it, hit my floor and the light blinked red.
It must be because it’s Saturday, I told myself.
I’ve worked plenty of Saturdays though, and my access has always been fine.
I took the stairs instead. I don’t want to push my luck with Cosmo right now.
I managed a couple of hours of sleep beside Rebecca before his message came through and jolted me awake.
I went home and changed into something sensible: a plain shirt, trousers, hair pulled back, no makeup. I even practiced what I’d say in the mirror. Something like, I deeply regret my actions. However, it’s not illegal to date someone. The words sound right, but they still make my stomach twist.
At least it’s happening now. I’d rather face it while the office is quiet, before the week starts and everyone has an opinion. If I can just talk to Cosmo, explain, he’ll understand.
The floor feels unnaturally still as I walk down the corridor, my footsteps echoing. His door is open. No need to close it when there’s no one else here, I suppose.
“Hi,” I say, tentative.
Cosmo looks up from his desk. He doesn’t greet me, just gestures to the chair across from him. I sit.
“I know how this looks,” I start. “I can explain.”
He shakes his head slightly. “I’ve been thinking about how to handle this.
” He pauses, choosing his words. “You’ve been the best thing that’s happened to Vue in a long time.
You pulled us back from the edge. The campaigns, the new voice.
That was you. And yes, maybe I liked the idea that people thought it was me. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay—” I start, relieved to hear him sound almost kind.
“But the thing is,” he continues, “it’s not the relationship. I mean, sure, I can question your judgment but dating our competition is not against company policy, apparently.”
I feel my shoulders loosen. Good. Maybe I don’t have to argue after all.
“What is against company policy is the sabotage.”
“What?”
“I asked you to write an article on Henry.” He lifts a folder from his desk. “I thought it was weak. I figured you were busy, distracted. Then I asked for another, and you talked me out of it.”
I swallow, already knowing where this is going.
“You were protecting him.”
“Yes,” I admit.
The word hangs there. The moment it leaves my mouth, I know I’m finished. Dating Henry isn’t a fireable offense. But protecting him—putting Carter’s interests over ours—is.
Cosmo studies me for a long moment, then exhales. “You should have told me.”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. He keeps talking.
Something about appreciating my work, about wanting to do this with dignity, about letting me resign and HR following up on logistics.
His voice starts to blur, like I’m hearing him from underwater.
I nod when it feels right. My body’s on autopilot.
The next thing I know, I’m in my office with a cardboard box, dropping my things into it one by one. When I step outside, I stop on the pavement, clutching the box like it’s the last proof I existed here. The street feels too ordinary for what just happened.
It happened so fast. I expected a fight. I thought I’d walk out of his office with my head high, ready to come back Monday and prove that nothing has changed. If only I’d written that stupid article. It wouldn’t have hurt Henry anyway. And now my job is gone.
For a while, I just stand there, staring at nothing, people passing around me like I’m invisible. I tell myself to go home. To just go home. Then it hits me that home costs money. Rent. Bills. I can’t afford any of it now.
I picture Henry, sitting somewhere comfortable, drinking coffee, maybe scrolling through the same articles that just ended my career.
The thought of him being completely untouched by this makes something inside me tighten, then snap.
He got to stand on that stage and confess us to the world and now I’m the one standing on the street with my life in a cardboard box.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I step off the curb and wave down a cab. I give the driver Henry’s address before I can second-guess it.
Henry’s at the elevator as the doors open. His hair is damp, like he just showered and the apartment smells of coffee. He looks tired, but not destroyed. Not like me.
“Baby, I’ve been calling. What’s this?” he asks, reaching for the box in my arms.
“What does it look like?”
He studies it for a beat, then gives a small, uneasy smile. “Junk, mostly.”
“It’s my work things.”
The smile fades. He looks from the box to me, and I see the moment he pieces it together.
“Cosmo didn’t—” he starts.
“He did.”
“He can’t do that,” he says sharply, already pulling his phone from his pocket like he’s about to call someone.
“Don’t,” I say quickly. “He’s right to. I did things to protect you. He knows I did things for you.”
Henry’s brow furrows. “What things?”
“I don’t know,” I say, frustrated. “Little things.”
He frowns, confused. “I didn’t mean for this. He was taking all the credit,” he says, as if that somehow explains everything.
“That wasn’t any of your business.”
“You are my business,” he says. “Look, we’re going to be fine. Forget everyone else.”
“How can you say that?” My voice breaks. I shake my head, half laughing, half choking on it. “Of course you can say that. You’re not the one being called names all over the internet. You’re not the one who’s unemployable now.”
He opens his mouth, but I keep going. “You get to stand up there, make a scene while I’m the one who loses everything. Then you tell me to forget it.”
“You’re not unemployable. You’ll come to Carter. You should be with us anyway.”
He reaches for me, and I pull back.
“I don’t get a choice now, Henry.” I meet his eyes. “That’s the point.”
His expression doesn’t change at first. Then he says quietly, “You were going to tell him. You told me you would.”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s the same outcome.”
“It’s not.” The words come out fast, sharper than I mean. “Cosmo made up his mind before I could even set the tone—”
“Like that would have changed anything.”
“It changes things for me.”
He looks at me like I’m speaking a language he doesn’t understand. The silence stretches.
Then he says, “I got a ring.”
For a second, I think I misheard him. The words don’t fit this moment; they land wrong, like a punchline in the middle of a tragedy. My throat goes dry. Heat rushes to my face, then drains just as quickly. A ring. Marriage.
“Don’t tell me that,” I manage. My voice comes out hoarse. “That’s not fair.”
“How’s it not fair? I love you. We can be together now. Properly.”
“You don’t get it.” My voice cracks. “You took away my choice. I was choosing you, Henry. I was. I just needed time. And now you want to tell me you got a ring, when I’ve lost everything?
If I say yes now, it looks like I’m drowning and you threw me a rope.
That’s not a proposal. It’s a rescue mission. ”
“Who cares what it looks like? You love me. I love you. Isn’t that enough?”
“No.”
He flinches, barely, but I see it.
“Right now,” I say, “I’m no one. I have no job, no power, nothing. I’m going to have to give up my apartment. There’s no version of my life that I’m in control of.” I move toward the elevator, my pulse loud in my ears. “Let’s just pause things for now. Until I’m back on my feet.”
“No.” His voice hardens. “You’re not doing this. You can pick me now. There’s nothing stopping you but your pride.”
My pride? He says it like it’s a flaw, like it’s something I should be ashamed of. He has no idea what it took to build that pride. The years of holding myself together, the work, the composure, the constant effort to be taken seriously. I look at him, and the words come before I can stop them.
“I’d choose my pride over you any day.”