30. Henry
HENRY
My bourbon sweats in my hand, the glass slick against my palm.
I’m downtown, in a bar packed with the after-work crowd.
Suits hunch over laptops, ties loosened, heels kicked off under stools.
There’s too much noise to think clearly but not enough to drown anything out.
The news crawl on the TV blurs past. Rising inflation, record box office sales, nothing that matters.
I keep sipping anyway, hoping the burn will settle the mess in my head.
“What’s so important?” Will slides into the seat across from me.
He’s still in his work clothes. Navy suit, tie knotted clean, silver streaks creeping through his hair.
“She dumped me,” I say. I still can’t quite believe it. It’s been a week. I thought she just needed space, that she’d come around. But she hasn’t. Not a word.
Will glances at his watch before looking back at me.
He’s got a pregnant wife and a toddler waiting at home, probably halfway through dinner.
I didn’t know who else to call. I couldn’t admit it to Dean.
He’s the one who helped me pick out the ring.
Max wouldn’t understand. And most of my friends have drifted lately, as I’ve gone out less.
Will orders a sparkling water and leans back like he has all the time in the world. “You should slow down on those,” he says, nodding at my drink.
“I’ll do what I want.”
He gives me that calm, measured look he’s perfected since birth. I’ve only had a few. Five, maybe. I drain the rest in one go.
“Tell me what happened,” he says.
I tell him everything. Natalie, how good it was, how it fell apart, how she lost her job, how she said she chose her pride over me.
He nods, like that tracks. “No shit,” he says. “She lost her job because of you.”
That hits harder than I expect. My jaw tightens. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side,” he says evenly. “That’s why I’m telling you to get a grip. You made a decision that blew up her life. Of course she’s pissed.”
“How do I fix it?” I ask, trying not to sound pathetic. I fail.
“How about public spectacle?” Will says dryly. He’s still on about that. It was good advice. It got Abigail back, didn’t it? “You could get your design team to make a ‘sorry’ collection.”
“Hilarious,” I say. “Natalie wouldn’t go for that.”
Abigail, apparently, hadn’t been thrilled about his grand gesture either, but that’s not my fault.
Will studies me for a moment, then says, “I know someone who might have the answer.”
He means Abigail. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?
Will calls her. The corners of his mouth softening when she answers. A few months ago, I’d have rolled my eyes at that look. Now, I understand it.
He repeats most of what I told him. I can’t tell what she’s saying on the other end. He makes a few polite noises that sound like listening, then hangs up.
“She said to leave that poor woman alone.”
“No,” I say.
“She said you’d say that,” Will replies. “Then she said to give Natalie some space, let her find her footing. If it’s meant to be, she’ll come back.”
“How much space?”
Will raises an eyebrow. “She didn’t exactly give me a timetable, did she?”
“She say anything else?”
“Just that unless you get fired and feel what she’s feeling, there’s nothing you can do but wait.”
“Fired,” I repeat.
“That’s not what she meant—”
“I need a lift to Mom’s,” I say.
“This is a stupid idea,” Will says as we roll up to the gates of Mom’s estate.
Three acres of manicured lawn, perfectly trimmed hedges and a house so grand it looks imported from another century.
It’s nice, sure, but it’s perched so high up the hill the commute is a nightmare.
We grew up here, summers mostly, when we weren’t off at boarding school.
“Whitmore still hasn’t dealt with that hedge,” Will says, craning to look at the neighbor’s overgrowth.
I haven’t said a word since the freeway. Will keeps talking, filling the silence. He knows he won’t talk me out of it but he tries anyway. We idle at the intercom, then he leans over and presses the button.
“His Royal Highness requests an audience,” Will says.
I shake my head. Hilarious.
A burst of static, then the gates creak open. We wind up the drive in silence. Will pulls to a stop, tells me to order a car home and is gone before I can answer.
I take a breath and look up. Mom’s waiting at the top of the steps, framed in the open doorway like she’s been there all along. Dove-gray silk, bare feet, no makeup. Her posture flawless, her expression unreadable. Even without trying, she still looks terrifying.
We haven’t really talked since the Natalie thing. I know she’s disappointed. She has every right to be. Doesn’t mean I care.
“I need you to fire me,” I say.
She doesn’t react. Not a flicker. Just steps aside and lets me in.
The living room looks staged. Glass tables no one touches, white sofas no one sits on, a fire that burns for show, not warmth. Every surface is perfectly polished.
I drop into the nearest chair. The weight of it all finally catches up.
“Natalie dumped me,” I say. “And if I’m fired too, maybe she’ll come back.”
“I heard,” Mom says. She lowers herself into the chair opposite, smoothing her gown until it falls in perfect lines around her. “I’m not firing you, Henry. You’re going to be CEO. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
I look up at her. That’s the other thing. “You wanted it. Not me.”
“No,” she says quickly. “You wanted it.”
I shake my head. Where the hell did she get that from? I don’t have to ask.
“At your father’s funeral,” she says. “You promised him you’d take care of the business. That you’d keep Carter on top.”
My stomach lurches. I would’ve been what…ten?
“I don’t remember that,” I say.
“I do.” Her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Will was the logical choice. He had your father’s name, his composure, his sense for business. But you,” she pauses, “you didn’t wait to be asked or told. You took it. You were always the proudest to be a Carter. Just like your father.”
Silence settles between us.
“It was the right choice. Your father would think so,” Mom says.
I look away. She doesn’t talk like this. She’s never open, never unguarded. It doesn’t suit her. I’m not sure I like it.
“I don’t want it if I lose Natalie,” I say. “She’s lost everything and—”
“She’s lost nothing,” Mom cuts in. “She’ll come work for Carter.”
I shake my head. “She won’t. She wants to earn things herself.”
For a second, I think she’s going to call Natalie a fool. Instead, she studies me.
“That, I understand,” she says finally. “But this situation is untenable. Both of you unemployed? That isn’t a love story, Henry, it’s a scandal.
If she wants to rebuild her career, her best option is to legitimize things.
Once you do that, people will stop whispering and start congratulating. It’s the only way this ends cleanly.”
She has a point. I’m not saying it’s right but getting married would change everything.
It would flip the story, turn the scandal into something respectable.
People would forget the mess, start calling it fate or devotion or whatever makes them feel better about gossiping.
She’d get her reputation back, the respect she’s owed, probably even more than before.
I can see it already, the way they’d fawn over her, call her brilliant.
It’s not the reason to get married but it would make things right.
And it’s not like we hadn’t thought about it. At least I had.
“How do I get her to agree to that?” I ask.
“Time,” Mom says. “How long depends on how stubborn she is.”
I guess I’ll be waiting a while.