The Trouble with Love and Ink

1. Chapter 1

The day my promotion was stolen, I was supposed to be on vacation. I spent the morning decorating my cubicle as if sprucing up my workspace would compensate for losing the trip.

I replaced my mousepad, which looked to have survived Y2K, with a fresh find patterned in vibrant green banana leaves and dropped a collection of pens into a new holder—this one a golden pineapple.

I’d just finished hanging a group of hexagon tiles decorated with water-colored hibiscus when Anna waddled by my cubicle. She stopped to sniff audibly.

“What’s that smell?” she asked. “It’s so tropical.”

I inhaled deeply but couldn’t pick up the scent yet. “You and your superhuman pregnancy nose.” I gestured toward the parrot-shaped wallflower. “It’s coconut.”

“Wow. And I thought I was nesting.” She reached to examine my new dollar store pineapple pen holder, and her round-tight stomach brushed past me. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the vacation you should be taking right now, would it?”

My eyes flicked to my desk calendar. Though crossed out, the words Key West might as well have been a neon sign. I didn’t need to look at the itinerary to know that my sister and I had planned to go on a dolphin watch and snorkel cruise today. In an alternate universe, I was two pina coladas deep with Nemo and friends.

In this twisted timeline, a new company within our business went live five days ago, the swing of which hacked my trip like a guillotine. So, instead, I’d spend the day trudging through support tickets, and my sister Hailey was enjoying Florida with my replacement—a DJ she’d met at a wedding two months ago.

The timing had been romcom-level perfect for them. After I bailed on Hailey, she had the choice to cancel the trip altogether or go to Florida alone. Then she met Braxton, who was headed to Florida for a DJ gig. It was as if the universe had tilted the frame, knocking me from the picture to make room for Braxton, the DJ.

I stood so suddenly that I almost collided with Anna’s baby bump. “We’d better get going. Meeting is about to start.”

“That’s right,” Anna said as I folded my laptop. “Big announcement today. You ready to get that promotion?”

The promotion was only a slight step up. It’s not like I was going to be a supervisor or in any kind of management position. Still, I would have superiority when making decisions on projects, and, more importantly, I’d be making more money. I tamped the rising excitement.

“We don’t know if I’m getting it,” I said. “There are lots of deserving people on our team.”

Anna looked at me and snorted. “Who else on our team is senior-level material?”

“If you weren’t leaving, we wouldn’t have to worry about who will fill your position,” I deflected with a pouty lip.

I was mainly just teasing, but the pain rang true. I knew she’d make priceless memories—staying home when little Grace arrived, but a bitter taste always hit the back of my mouth when I pictured coming to the office and not having Anna to get me through the day.

“Exactly. You should be thanking me. My leaving is forcing management’s hand. Because God knows you would never risk rocking the boat by asking for something you deserve.” Anna lowered her voice as we neared the conference room, where most of our team already waited. She grabbed the box of donuts off the conference table and extended her arm. “Here, have one of these. It will make you feel better.”

I plucked a pink frosted sugar bomb from the offering and took a less-than-lady-like chunk out of it before greeting the rest of the team.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Anna reached into her cardigan and pulled out a lavender sticky note. “Can you add Georgia to the mailing list for the baby shower? She’s my cousin. And I haven’t seen her in forever, but I know there will be drama if I don’t invite her.”

I laughed, mouth still full, and took the note from her. “Can’t have that.”

“Are you sure addressing the invites isn’t too much right now? Work is crazy.”

Understatement of the century. I kept promising myself I’d start on the envelopes, but the earliest I’d left last week was seven-thirty. And I’d been so exhausted that I’d flopped down on my couch, still fully clothed, and had fallen into a light coma. I’d woken in a cotton-mouthed panic to my alarm the next day—my phone barely hanging on at seven percent battery life.

If I waited until work slowed to get started on addressing the invitations, then I might as well forget the baby shower. Instead, I’d be addressing invitations for Grace’s first birthday party.

I could admit to Anna that work had me pulled tightly in too many directions. After all, I wasn’t letting her pay me for the service. She could find someone in time to get them done if she started looking now. But I didn’t want her to.

“I’ll find time,” I said as much to myself as to her.

Calligraphy was one of the few things I looked forward to. I needed to make time for the things I enjoyed.

Not long after we joined the team at the conference table, Wesley—our supervisor—strode in. Behind him was someone I didn’t know.

He looked about my age, so he was probably in his late twenties. Everyone in the conference room dressed professionally, but this guy looked sharp. His dress shirt had to be upwards of a thousand or so thread count. However, his wind-blown curls offset the crisp look.

“Thank you for waiting,” Wesley said, taking his place at the head of the table like the good papa he was. Good at delegating. Good at leaving before four-thirty every day. Good at taking credit for things he had little to do with. Good at making more than twice what I made, all for pointing his finger and continuing the patriarchy. “Everyone say hello to Beckett At—”

“Please,” the new guy said with a wince. “It’s just Beck.”

“Beck,” Wesley corrected, “our new senior analyst.”

The room stilled. My ears felt like they’d been stuffed with cotton. I couldn’t hear anything beyond my hammering pulse.

They’d hired out.

I wasn’t getting the promotion.

Anna’s eyes cut to mine. I felt the gaze of everyone else in the room, too. I flushed, sure my pale complexion had turned the shade of a cardinal. Chin lifting, I forced myself to look at Wesley, try to smile, or at least act like I was listening instead of swirling the drain of a doom spiral.

He introduced us to Beck, giving a little backstory on each team member. “This is Emily Lane,” he stated, nodding toward me, the human turned cadaver.

I’d given up on a social life for this job.

I’d foregone dating for this job.

I canceled my vacation for this job.

“And this is Anna Nguyen,” Wesley said, having made it around the table with the introductions. “You’ll be shadowing her in the next two months to provide a seamless transition when she leaves.”

Anna gave the new guy a chilly once over, and when Wesley moved on to his next agenda item, timesheets, she met my gaze with a What the hell? You were supposed to get my job! look. I attempted a shrug, but the moment felt too heavy to lift a shoulder at, resulting in a clumsy elbow winging out. I couldn’t feign nonchalance any more than AI art could get the eyes on a portrait right.

But the more I looked at Beckett—Beck, the more my poor-pitiful-me mood melted with a fit of smoldering anger in my chest. And I realized I should take the hit with grace, but I was too pissed. I’d worked at The Arlow Group for five years and had nothing but positive feedback from my supervisors. In our one-on-ones, I frequently received an earful of “leadership material” and “really took the initiative with this project.”

Yet, nothing ever came of it. And damn it, with this last go-live, I’d brought my A-game. Staying until seven-thirty or eight on most nights. Making myself available on the weekends. And don’t even get me started on the ass kissing, which had involved lending a shoulder to cry on as Wesley navigated through his fresh divorce.

I should have been in Florida, getting tipsy before noon and arguing with my sister about whether we should try a haunted tour or go barhopping on Duval. Instead, I stared at the man who stole my promotion, with his nice hair and even nicer shirt.

Seriously, this guy shows up with his Egyptian fucking cotton button-down and grabs the position I’d been slotted for for years? And why?

I knew the situation had to be more complicated than how it seemed. Still, it was all too easy to imagine some, he’s a golf buddy, or I went to college with his old man bullshit.

I didn’t know the meeting had concluded until my teammates gathered their things and headed for the door. Usually, during meetings, I took meticulous notes. Today, my note page sat blank.

Anna leaned forward. “You deserve an explanation. He practically promised you this position,” she whispered fiercely.

I shook my head. “It’s fine,” I whispered back. “This doesn’t need to be a big deal.”

“It’s already a big deal,” she hissed. “Either you say something, or I will.”

My eyes widened. Anna was only going to make things worse for everyone. “Fine!” I shooed her away. “I’ll talk to him.”

Wesley shuffled toward the exit like everyone else, but before he could make a full retreat, Anna called out, “Wesley, Emily needs to speak with you.”

He sighed. He knew where this was going. “Of course.”

Anna gave me one last commiserating look before closing the door with a soft clink. Now that I had Wesley’s attention, I hesitated, unsure where to begin. My mind swarmed with angry thoughts buzzing in and out of my train of thought.

I landed on, “I think I may have misunderstood. Didn’t you say the promotion was all but mine?”

“Emily,” he said carefully. “No one in this office works harder than you. Sometimes, I wonder if the team could even function without you.” I crossed my arms, not in the mood to be buttered up, but then, fearing I resembled a sulking child, uncrossed them. “You’ve always made sure all the little details line up. And we need that.”

“But?” I prompted, sensing the lingering word.

“But Beckett had stellar recommendations from some big names.” Finally, the real truth. Beckett knew people. That’s what it always came down to, didn’t it? “Besides, he’ll bring a fresh perspective to the team. We could use that.” Wesley’s hand rested on the door handle. He was done with this conversation. “I know this is a lot to process, but try to see this as an opportunity for growth.”

I attempted to smile, but my facial muscles seemed to think that would be an act of mutiny. “Sure,” I managed.

Because, really, what else was there to say? They’d already hired Shirt Guy. It’s not like the powers that be were going to say: Oops! We forgot we had a totally competent employee for the position until she whined about it.

It was a done deal.

Wesley looked at his phone, claiming to have a Zoom meeting with corporate. So, I returned to my cubicle, immediately pulling up an email I’d gotten from a headhunter a month ago. I wondered if she was still looking for a business analyst fluent in AX.

I’d start by updating my resume. I’d worked at The Arlow Group for five years. I had experience now. Certainly, I could find a pay range to match that. Maybe I could even find a job with a healthy work-life balance. If those even existed.

I pulled my resume from Google Docs but stopped, mouse hovering by the reply button. I let out a long breath. I wasn’t in any position to make life-altering decisions, not when this angry, anyway.

I worked in a big, clean office in a beautiful location with mostly good people. My job was secure, and I made enough money to afford rent.

The grass wasn’t always greener on the other side. I clicked out of my resume and dropped the idea of quitting.

I didn’t have time for fantasies. There was a reason I’d had to cancel my trip with Hailey. I opened my inbox to find eighty-three unanswered support tickets. My stomach dropped at the daunting day ahead. Not even my new mouse pad or coconut plug-in could save me now.

At six o’clock, Anna shuffled past my desk, tote on her shoulder. “Don’t let them keep you late,” she said with a yawn. “At least you won’t be alone. The new guy is burning the midnight oil too, wants to get through as many orientation videos as possible.”

My eyes flicked in the direction of his cube, but I had no intention of discussing Beckett. He may not have intentionally stolen my job, but I was still sore about it. “I’m not staying much later,” I said to her original comment. “One more ticket, and I’m out of here. Ten minutes tops.”

Except the last ticket I opened proved to be quite the challenge, and before I knew it, I found myself lost in the puzzle. By the time I realized the complexity of the problem, I’d already dove too deep.

I emerged from the office two hours later than Anna, eyes burning from staring at my computer screen too long, shoulders aching from my rigid posture. The only perk of leaving the office late was the view of the Woodlands waterway. Our building was nestled among boutique shops, several restaurants, and my gym. All of which sat right on the bank. At night, they illuminated the stringed lights on the trees, which reflected romantically on the water. There was no arguing; it was a great location.

Or so I thought.

As I pulled my keys from my bag, a piece of paper knocked loose. The wind picked it up, and the note tumbled to the waterway, where it snagged on a low-hanging branch reaching toward the water like a witch’s gnarled hand.

I squinted at the paper, only inches above the water, hating littering but sure I wasn’t missing anything important. Then I made out the lavender square. It had seemed like seventy years ago Anna had given me her cousin’s address on that sticky note.

Damn it! Can’t forget Georgia.

I dropped my bag near the tree and tested a perpendicular branch—a skinny thing—but it seemed sturdy enough. Gripping tightly, I leaned out and over the water, my free hand stretching toward the note.

My fingertips grazed the paper when I heard the crack.

I barely had time to register the branch had snapped when water enveloped me—cold and unwelcoming. I doggy-paddled upward, forgetting all other strokes until I surfaced, gasping and sputtering. My hand slapped against the concreted edge, and I pushed myself up—something I do every morning after swimming laps at the gym—but my arms buckled, and I slipped right back in.

“Here, I’ve got you,” a deep voice called. “Grab my hand.”

With hair and water in my eyes, I could only make out a squatting figure on the bank in front of me. I reached out. My hand met a muscular forearm, and I held tight as he easily pulled me up.

“Th-thank you,” I said, pushing soaked hair away from my face.

As soon as I did, I locked eyes with my rescuer, Beckett—Beck, The Arlow Group’s newest senior associate. It took half a second for my gratitude to dissolve into embarrassment. Had he stayed this late trying to get ahead of those orientation videos? No one worked this late on our team . . . except me.

“Are you okay?” he asked, helping me to my feet.

Can you die from embarrassment? “Yes. I’m okay. I just dropped something, and I—”

Beck’s eyes trailed down to his arm, where I’d soaked his nice dress shirt from wrist to elbow. And as quickly as my gratitude had flipped to embarrassment, his concern turned to disgust.

“I’m sorry,” I said, cheeks and ear tips flaming.

Beck looked back at me. “What could you have possibly dropped to warrant diving for it?”

“I didn’t dive for it!” My voice rose with the need to defend myself. “I fell in.”

Beck ignored that. “Because even if it had been a hundred-dollar bill—”

I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him I’d gone for Cousin Georgia’s address. I’d already kicked myself over it. I didn’t need any help. Anna could have written the address out for me again. No water involved. But still, Beckett here didn’t have to be an ass when I was clearly freezing and already embarrassed beyond repair.

I couldn’t imagine treating a practical stranger like this, let alone someone I had to work with for the foreseeable future. Maybe he didn’t recognize me from the conference room. Maybe the wet hair skewed the picture he’d stored away as my mental profile picture. Or, more likely, he’d met dozens of people today at his new job and couldn’t possibly remember all those faces. Good. Then, I could treat him like a stranger instead of a slightly superior coworker.

“It wouldn’t have covered half the bill for that shirt, I know,” I said sharply. Beck opened his mouth, but I didn’t want to hear it. He’d stolen my promotion. I wouldn’t let him steal the last crumbs of my dignity. My bag still waited by the tree. I shouldered it. “Well, this has been fun.”

“Wait. I’m sorry. I—” His gaze dipped, and I followed it to my floral, now translucent blouse. I slapped an arm over my breasts and glared back at Beck, but he’d at least had the decency to avert his eyes. “I have a jacket in my car,” he said to the sky. “I can go get it for you.”

“No need. I’m headed straight home if that wasn’t obvious.” The strap of my bag dug into my shoulder, but I managed to shift it while keeping the other arm safely pressed against my boobs. “But thanks. You’re my hero in damp Egyptian cotton.” I had to work against the violent chattering of my teeth.

I didn’t so much as spare him another glance, but I could feel the weight of his gaze as I forced my legs toward the parking garage, leaving watery footprints in my wake.