Chapter 24 Ethan
Ethan
Iwas an idiot. I realize that now.
I tried to make rules and create boundaries, all to protect Margot’s heart.
But in the end, I was the one who couldn’t stick to the rules.
Every moment I spent with Margot—every smile, every laugh, every touch—made me fall a little harder.
Then one day (Thursday, to be exact), I woke up and realized that I’m falling in love with her.
The only thing standing in the way was my own stupidity and selfishness.
It wasn’t Margot’s heart that I was protecting; it was my own.
I have no reason to doubt my feelings for her. It’s not like this is some woman I met a week ago on Sip; this is Margot, who I’ve known and admired for two years. Things have always been easy between us. There’s no reason to overcomplicate them now.
Still, there are things we need to discuss. Rachel and Sophia are at the top of that list, along with disclosing our relationship to HR. But right now, we’re easing into our new normal together.
Apparently, this new normal includes looking at apartments for Margot.
Part of me thinks it’s a waste of time. She could just move in with me. We spend every night together anyway.
Another part of me thinks it’s crazy to even consider moving in together right now. We need to take things slow. Going all in from the start is what got me in trouble last time.
The parallels between Margot and Rachel are not lost on me.
Both started out as favors. Both were supposed to be fake.
But things with Margot feel so different than they did with Rachel.
With Margot, I don’t have to force anything.
I don’t have to try to make myself feel something that simply isn’t there.
With her, it’s easy, comfortable, consuming.
I don’t doubt my feelings for Margot, or hers for me.
“Here it is,” the leasing agent says as she unlocks the door and leads us into the empty apartment.
Margot steps inside, and her face falls. The walls are more scuffs than paint, and the carpet looks like it’s twenty years old. Then there’s the smell—musty, faintly sweet, and all too familiar. My stomach lurches while the rest of my body tenses.
The leasing agent begins her well-rehearsed speech. “This is our one bed, one bath model. It has plenty of storage space…”
“And a roach problem,” I interject.
The woman blinks at me, straightening her blazer like she’s putting on armor. “Pest control is a top priority to our management team. A professional service sprays the entire property every two weeks with an environmentally friendly, green-certified pesticide.”
Well, at least she’s not denying it, just talking around the actual point.
“Thank you for your time,” I tell her. “We’ll continue our search elsewhere.”
Confusion flashes over Margot’s face as she glances at me then at the leasing agent. She forces a quick, polite smile and utters an unnecessary apology before following me out of the apartment. I just can’t be in there with that smell, and Margot definitely cannot live there.
I motion for her to descend the stairs outside first. The looks she gives me is half confusion, half admonishment, but she holds her questions until we’re back in the car.
“What was that, Ethan?”
Raking a hand through my hair, I stare out the windshield.
The smell lingers in my nose while uninvited memories crowd my mind: thin mattresses, dirty sheets, the faint buzz of the vending machine outside reminding me that I pretended not to be hungry when my parents asked because I didn’t want them to feel bad about getting stuck at work and missing dinner hours at the soup kitchen.
“That smell,” I finally say. “You didn’t notice it?”
Her brows pinch together. “What smell?”
“Cockroaches. That apartment’s infested.”
“And you could smell it? Is that some sort of superpower or something? Were you bitten by a radioactive cockroach at some point?”
“Not exactly,” I say, letting the words hang there for a moment. “When I was a kid, my family didn’t always have a place to live. We stayed in a lot of motels, shelters, places like that. A few of them smelled like that. It sticks with you.”
The humor drains from Margot’s face, and her expression softens. “Ethan, I’m so sorry. Emma’s mentioned that you and Garrett had a difficult childhood, but I didn’t realize…”
“It’s fine,” I say.
Margot seems caught off guard by my interruption. What was meant as avoidance came off as irritation. I reach across the center console and grab her hand, squeezing lightly.
“Sorry, I just don’t really like to talk about it, but it’s part of who I am and you should know.
My childhood wasn’t all bad. In fact, I have a lot of really good memories, even when we were living in crappy motels and homeless shelters.
My parents really did try to provide for us as much as they could, and Garrett and I learned to make the most of the situation. ”
“What about Silas?”
“Not so much,” I say, my jaw tensing at the mere mention of my oldest brother.
Margot nods, compassionate but cautious. Her eyes linger on my face, analyzing whatever emotion she finds there. After a few seconds, I give her a subdued smile and pull her hand up to my mouth, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles.
“Alright, what’s next?” I ask, changing the subject.
Letting go of my hand, Margot pulls her phone out of her bag and scrolls through a spreadsheet. The corners of her mouth tug downwards. “There’s a place on Washington near 47th Ave.”
Her frown is contagious. That intersection puts her squarely in Globeville, a run-down neighborhood of old warehouses and manufacturing plants straddled by highways. The fact that apartments exist there is news to me.
Sensing my disapproval before I have a chance to voice it out loud, Margot cuts in. “The complex was renovated recently, and the rent is very affordable. It’s worth taking a look at.”
“Can I see that list?”
Margot looks mildly annoyed, but hands me her phone anyway.
A quick glance shows me that her spreadsheet is sorted from lowest to highest rent.
The other columns track square footage, distance to work, fuel costs (calculated to the penny, adjusted for inflation, and probably cross-checked with the US Department of Energy).
“This is… comprehensive,” I say.
“I just want to catch up on my savings,” she says with a defensive edge to her tone. “Jeremy insisted on living close to downtown in the nicest place we could afford. Covering the rent by myself, plus replacing all of my furniture these last few months has put me behind.”
Of course Margot has a strict budget, most of which is probably dedicated to saving for rainy days and retirement. I love that about her. But I’m also not letting her rent a place that’s sandwiched between a smelter and a meat-packing plant.
“Look, I get it,” I start. A doubtful expression crosses Margot’s face, but I remind her, “I’ve struggled too. I haven’t always had it this easy when it comes to money.” She nods gently, conceding to my point. “But before you sign a lease anywhere, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Okay…” Margot says slowly, her eyes fixed on mine.
I wasn’t planning to tell Margot about the promotion until the board officially approved the position, and I definitely didn’t plan to tell her here in the parking lot of a roach motel masquerading as an apartment complex.
“You’re getting a promotion,” I blurt out.
“I am?” Margot’s eyes go wide. “To what?”
“Director of Financial Operations. It’s a new position that I’ve been working on creating for you, but it’s taken a while to get the board’s approval.
They were concerned about the optics of promoting someone from an executive assistant to a director.
I had to show them that your job has always been more than that.
You’ve been doing the workload and responsibilities of a director ever since I got promoted to CEO. ”
“Holy shit, Ethan,” Margot sputters, bouncing a little in her seat. “Are you serious?!”
I nod. “Yes, but we have to keep it quiet for a little longer. The board still needs to take a final vote on it.”
“Of course,” she says, still beaming.
With that big smile on her face, there’s no way I can regret telling her about the promotion a little prematurely. It’s in the bag. Every member of the board has expressed their support. All that’s left is the final vote, which will take place in less than two weeks.
Redirecting my attention back to her phone, I sort the list she made from high to low.
The top pick is now a spacious one bedroom in a nice part of town.
The rent is much higher than the sketchy Globeville apartment, but still modest considering the enormous pay raise she’s about to get.
And selfishly, I’m already excited about the location, which is only a couple of miles from my house.
Even if I’m not ready to take the next step yet and move in together, I like the idea of Margot living nearby.
“Do you want to go see this one next?” I ask, handing the phone back to her.
Margot glances down at it and smiles. “Let’s go.”
***
The Whitmore is nothing like the roach-infested apartment complex that we just visited. It’s a brand-new mid-rise building, modern but classic in a distinctly Denver way. It’s a sleek but cozy mix of red brick accents and big glass windows overlooking a large park.
When we step into the lobby, a thirty-something brunette greets us with a smile. She rises from her desk and crosses the room to introduce herself with a firm handshake.
Her eyes linger on me a second too long then she asks, “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“I don’t think so,” I reply, firm and dismissive.